Literary Vibes - Edition LXVI
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the sixty sixth edition of LiteraryVibes. We have returned to you with some brilliant poems and fascinating stories. Trust you will enjoy them within the confines of home, when the Corona induced lockdown is hopefully in its last week.
We are happy to have two new talented poets in LV this week. Ms. Padmapriya Karthik and Ms. Madhumathi are from Chennai and as their poems show, they are extremely talented with a promising future. They are also quite accomplished, having published their poems in reputed journals. We welcome them heartily into the family of LiteraryVibes and wish them lots of success in their literary career.
It seems the agony of Corona epidemic is getting compounded by the sad loss of people who are close to our heart. The death of the brilliant, versatile Irrfan Khan and the lovable Rishi Kapoor hurts, not because they were meant to be immortal, but because they left us early in their life. And that too at a time when their millions of admirers cannot convey their grief properly. The pity in death foretold is that the dying man knows his days are numbered and can feel it coming. I found in Internet a letter from Irrfan Khan purportedly written from his London hospital in 2018, poignantly philosophising about life and its frailties. I am reproducing it at the end of this editorial in good faith, hoping that it is authentic.
The great Persian poet Rumi had spoken of death in a manner which encompasses exactly what people hearing the foot steps of approaching death feel. Here it is:
WHEN I DIE
When I die
when my coffin
is being taken out
you must never think
I am missing this world
Don’t shed any tears
Don’t lament or
feel sorry
I’m not falling
into a monster’s abyss
When you see
my corpse is being carried
Don’t cry for my leaving
I’m not leaving
i’m arriving at eternal love
When you leave me
in the grave
Don’t say goodbye
Remember a grave is
only a curtain
for the paradise behind
You’ll only see me
descending into a grave
Now watch me rise
How can there be an end
when the sun sets or
the moon goes down
It looks like the end
it seems like a sunset
but in reality it is a dawn
when the grave locks you up
that is when your soul is freed
Have you ever seen
a seed fallen to earth
not rise with a new life
why should you doubt the rise
of a seed named human
Have you ever seen
a bucket lowered into a well
coming back empty
Why lament for a soul
when it can come back
like Joseph from the well
When for the last time
you close your mouth
your words and soul
will belong to the world of
no place no time.
LiteraryVibes pays its salute to Irrfan Khan and Rishi Kapoor - two unforgettable heroes of Hindi cinema. May their incredible achievements inspire the future generations.
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Wish you a happy reading.
Please take care, stay home, stay safe.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
......................................
Here is Irrfan's letter written for his fans from a London Hospital in 2018:
"A few months ago I suddenly came to know that I was suffering from neuroendocrine cancer, the first time I heard this word. After searching, I found that there has not been much research on this word, because it is the name of a rare physical condition and because of this there is more uncertainty about its treatment. So far in my journey I was walking at a fast pace… I had my plans, aspirations, dreams and destination with me. I was getting absorbed in them that suddenly TC tapped on the back, 'Your station is coming, please get down.' Palms up I protested, my station has not arrived yet... and got the answer, 'Have to get down at any of the next stops. Your destination has come' Suddenly you realize that you are flowing like a lid (cork) on unexpected waves in the unknown ocean… for the misconception of overcoming the waves. Fearing this, I tell my son - in this situation today I want only this much. I do not want to live this mental state in a state of panic, fear, disgrace. In any case I want my feet, on which I can stand and live in neutral condition.
After a few weeks I was admitted to a hospital. It hurts so much. It was known that there would be pain, but such pain… now the intensity of the pain is being understood… nothing is working. No consolation and no consolation. The whole work was reduced to that moment of pain… the pain felt bigger and bigger than God.
The hospital that I am admitted to, also has a balcony… The view outside is visible. Coma Ward is right above me. On one side of the road is my hospital and on the other side is Lord's Stadium. There is a smiling poster of Vivian Richards. Mecca of my childhood dreams, I did not realize at first sight upon seeing it… as if the world was never mine.
And then one day I realized… as if I am not part of something that claims to be certain… neither hospital nor stadium. What was left in me was actually the effect of world's immense power and wisdom… My hospital was to be there. The mind said… only uncertainty is certain. This realization prepared me for dedication and trust… no matter what the result may be, where it will take me, after eight months from today, or after four months from today… or two years… the anxiety was bypassed and then dissolved It started happening and then the calculation of living and dying came out of my mind.
For the first time I realized the word 'freedom' in the true sense! A feeling of accomplishment. My belief in doing this work became the absolute truth. After that I felt that that belief penetrated every cell of mine. Only time will tell whether it stays… I am feeling the same at the moment. People of the whole world are praying for me to be healthy in this journey. Are praying All those I know and those who do not know are praying for me from different places and time zones. I feel that their prayers have come together, becoming a great force… a rapid life stream, entering me from my spine and sprouting from the skull above the head. It sprouts and becomes a bud, sometimes a leaf, sometimes a branch and sometimes a branch… I look at them happily. Every twig, every leaf, every flower stems from the collective prayer of the people, shows me a new world. Realizes that there is not necessarily control of the lid (cork) on the waves. Like you are swinging in the cradle of nature!"
Table of Contents
- AN IRONY Prabhanjan K. Mishra
- WORLD IS A STAGE Haraprasad Das
- DREAMS, MEN LIVE... Dr Ajay Upadhyaya
- COSMOS Dr Ajay Upadhyaya
- THE SERPENT Krupa Sagar Sahoo
- MUCH ADO ABOUT... Dr. Nikhil M Kurien
- WHILE PASSING-BY… Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura
- NIYA'S LAMENT Lathaprem Sakhya
- TITLE Sangeeta gupta
- EPOCH Thryaksha A Garla
- WITNESS Thryaksha A Garla
- AGNI PARIKSHYA Sumitra Mishra
- WE KNOW NOTHING Molly Joseph
- FLOW WITH THE FLOW Molly Joseph
- YOU FASCINATE ME Sundar Rajan
- SHADES OF GREEN Sundar Rajan
- THE COMPANION Sridevi Selvaraj
- WHAT CONSTITUTES… Padmini Janardhanan
- SILENCE Anjali Mohapatra
- A CONFIDENT LADY Setaluri Padmavathi
- I AM A GARRULOUS.. S. Joseph Winston
- PARTNERS Sheena Rath
- HARMONY Ravi Ranganathan
- CHARITY Anandh Kumar
- GRANDMA'S KITCHEN Padmapriya Karthik
- THE SOLIFLORE OF... Madhumathi. H
- ARRIVAL... Madhumathi. H
- A TOUCH OF LOVE Mrutyunjay Sarangi
- THE SPEAKING STONE.. Pravat Kumar Padhy
What I carry and contain
is myself. Entirely.
From the best to worst.
An incongruous
beautiful dichotomy.
My immaculate exterior
and suave manners
covering the selfish fish.
The best of my arrogance
the worst of my aesthetic
roll together.
Open me,
meet a teacher.
Shift the page,
meet an impresario
in a theatre of absurd.
I instruct,
a bipolar magnet -
the teacher
fighting the nemesis;
the convener embracing it,
absorbing it,
loving it. Am not a fool,
nor exactly wise! A guess!
Prabhanjan K. Mishra writes poems, stories, critiques and translates, works in two languages – English and Odia. Three of his collected poems in English have been published into books – VIGIL (1993), Lips of a Canyon (2000), and LITMUS (2005).His Odia poems have appeared in Odia literary journals. His English poems poems have been widely anthologized and published in literary journals. He has translated Bhakti poems (Odia) of Salabaga that have been anthologized into Eating God by Arundhathi Subramaniam and also translated Odia stories of the famous author Fakirmohan Senapati for the book FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM (VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI). He has also edited the book. He has presided over the POETRY CIRCLE (Mumbai), a poets’ group, and was the editor (1986-96) of the group’s poetry magazine POIESIS. He has won Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award and JIWE Poetry Award for his English poems.He welcomes readers' feedback at his email - prabhanjan.db@gmail.com
WORLD IS A STAGE (KHELAGHARA)
Haraprasad Das
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Didn’t you know,
the world is illusory,
a stage,
we all, play-actors?
Take my example -
acting as a Dhrupad maestro
with hardly an ear for music
like the midday sun
pretending to set fire
to the earth;
my fame, fleeting as footprints
on wind-blown sand.
Step into my playhouse -
feed milk to the rubber snake,
rescue the toy parrot
drowning in the bathtub,
catch the shoelace-butterflies
before the knots loosen
down the steps
and the butterflies disappear.
Nothing is real, including
all your quests, questions,
it’s just beating around the bush.
Perhaps,
God has created
the world that way.
Come on,
enjoy the playhouse.
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
The park was deserted. The children’s play area was quiet for months. The hubbub of activity in the playground had become a distant memory. The lockdown, mandated by the emergency COVID-19 Law, aimed at protecting the public from ravages of Coronavirus, was getting increasingly oppressive for everyone. The play area was feeling the pinch too, suffering from the complete absence of children. They were safely kept at bay, by their responsible parents, dutifully complying with Law of the land. The sign on its gate, read: Following Government advice on current COVID-19 pandemic, Playground Closed for the foreseeable future.
The swing stood still, although it had a look of waiting for a signal from somewhere, to start moving again. The slide was a forlorn sight, scanning the surroundings for children, who might just slip underneath their parent’s watchful eyes and innocently defying the ban, come running to it. The static see-saw was poised to burst forth into activity any time soon. The Climbing Frame, with its knotted ropes making a square pattern, looked like open mouths of a bunch of hungry chicks, huddled together in their nest, waiting for their mother to put in some food.
John was strolling in the park, with all his possessions in a back-pack. A young man, barely into his late teens, he has been homeless for about a year. The chaos at home brought about by his parents’ disorganized life, was troubling him for some years and lately had become unbearable. As soon as he turned eighteen, he left home for his itinerant life style in the city.
Living on the streets was not entirely fun, but he had taken it in his stride, and had settled into a routine. The anonymity of the city life presented to him the solitude, he desperately sought. There was no dearth of space for sleeping at night, thanks to the numerous nooks and crannies the massive office buildings of the city offered. Food was plentiful and free. He could even manage to earn a decent sum from busking, towards his pocket money. As long as he kept his nose clean, police hardly bothered him.
This harmonious equilibrium was disrupted by the COVID-19, which ushered the Lockdown Law, with its draconian infringement of civil liberty, unheard of in peace times: Leaving home was forbidden, except for food, medicine, essential work, or emergencies. Breach of this embargo was an offence, punishable with instant fines, and thousands of cops were deployed to enforce this. But this new law also threw the Government in a quandary; the homeless people could not be ‘locked down’ simply because they had no home. That brought in the new Government initiative to provide temporary housing for all the rough-sleepers of the city.
This dealt a shattering blow to John’s peaceful existence. He did not fancy the accommodation the authorities had arranged for him. The very idea of compulsory confinement was suffocating to his free spirit. Moreover, company of other homeless people was the last thing he wanted. All their talking of difficult home circumstances and troubled childhood, simply stirred up painful memories of his own past, he was trying to forget. So, he was on the run.
He walked out of the city centre, as far as his legs could carry him. There are too many of these cops in the city, he thought. He had to get away from the glare of the patrolling police. All he was looking for was a quiet place to spend the night.
The play area looked like a perfect hide-out for the night. He put his back-pack down and sat on the bench. He could not remember when he last entered a playground like this. During his childhood, they were somewhat basic, in their design and get-up. And, the chaos during his childhood left little time for his parents to accompany him for play into a park like this.
From the fatigue of his long walk, he soon drifted off to sleep. The tranquil air and the gentle breeze added to the soporific mix. But his mere presence stirred much excitement among the swing, the see-saw, and the slide, as if they were woken up from their hibernation.
As the night fell, the playground came alive, as if by the touch of a magic wand. The slide winked at the swing, which, in turn, let out a faint whistle at see-saw, to make sure they didn’t disturb John’s sleep. Soon, they all swung into action, to entertain their oversized guest. The playground was transformed into a fairyland.
John dreamt of a little boy, in a wheel-chair , in the middle of a magical playground. The boy looked longingly at the array of gadgets surrounding him. His floppy legs did not have enough strength in them, to lift him to any of them. He shifted his glance from one gadget to the next. This only made his longing to get on them, grow. Hopelessness of his situation was building up inside and finally he let out a plaintive cry.
To his amazement, the legs of the slide’s ladder began to move in his direction, dragging the whole slide behind it. He simply gaped at it, which stopped near his wheel chair. He was next dragged from his wheel-chair, on to the ladder of the slide, as if his body, made up of metal, was wrenched out of the chair on to the rungs of the slide’s ladder by a powerful magnet. As his floppy legs touched the lowest rung of the ladder, a rush of energy thrust them into action. He climbed up the entire ladder, effortlessly, making him forget that he ever had weak legs. As he reached the top of the ladder, he saw, all the other gadgets were gazing at him, pleading him to come to them.
He came down the slide and plumped on the ground. He was again unable to move his legs. Wide-eyed, he saw the swing flying out at him and picking him up in its seat. Soon, he was swinging in the air, enjoying the splash of cool breeze on his face. The pleasure of getting to a height from where he could catch a glimpse of lights from the edge of the city, was evident on his face.
As the swing finally came to a stop, his eyes caught the see-saw, from the other end of the play area, stretching itself towards him. One end of the See-saw, lowered itself gently close to the ground, pushing itself between the ground and his legs. In a scooping movement, the see-saw raised him off the ground. Soon, he was going up and down in air, with the playground fairy, sitting at the other end of the see-saw, to give him company and thrust for the see-saw.
The little boy was having the time of his life. He forgot that he had floppy legs and ever needed a wheelchair to get around. But his luck didn’t last long.
He heard a gentle thumping noise from a distance, which gradually got louder. Soon, the thud on the ground got heavier too. The boy could see a silhouette of a giant moving closer to him. As it drew nearer, he could see the ogre’s scowling face, marching towards him, with a mace in his hand. The ogre was also making a growling noise, which was not loud enough to drown out what he was shouting at him. But it was beyond his comprehension. His menacing sight and the frightful noise got his heart racing. He wanted to flee but his legs would not move.
John was rudely woken up by the police man’s raucous voice, ‘Didn’t you see the notice on the gate of this play area? It says clearly, it is closed.’
Lying on his back, on the bench, John opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He had to rub his eyes, to focus on what was dangling close to his face; It was the tip of the cop's baton.
( Literary Vibes wishes Dr. Ajaya Upadhaya a very Happy Birthday )
Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya from Hertfordshire, England. A Retired Consultant Psychiatrist from the British National Health Service and Honorary Senior Lecturer in University College, London.
Translated from Odiya by: Malabika Patel
The story begins in a first-class compartment of the Howrah–Ahmedabad Express, in the late hours of a rainy night. It unfolds along with the movement of the train, which goes up the hills and down the valleys. The train halts at the stations, but the story doesn’t cease. How can such a story about humans ever come to an end? It knows no breaks, no interlude, no pause, no intermission. Has there ever been a finishing line to the ever-flowing march of human history?
The hero of our story is a railway officer. A young direct recruit, about twenty-five, bubbling with dreams and passions—but a greenhorn to the railways. Like all young men, his eyes sparkled with hopes and dreams of a rosy future, his persona oozed with such sincerity and dollops of self-confidence that it seemed as if all the trains, with his magical touch, could reach their destination before time. With such vibrant and lively characters around, the serving railway employees of the division could be inspired and become epitomes of courtesy and selfless service.
After completing the foundation course at Mussoorie, our hero joined the South Eastern Railways. Two years of probation, within which he was supposed to do a Bharat Darshan tour, which included visits to railway stations, parcel offices, goods sheds, reservation offices, coal mines, steel factories … all as part of the training. Before going on this Bharat Darshan, our hero was on his way to the Railway Staff College, Baroda, to acquaint himself with preliminary knowledge about the Indian Railways.
The train arrived at Chakradharpur(CKP) station at 1.30 a.m. in the night. The change of guard took place at this station. Conductors of Kharagpur divison handed over the charge to their counterparts at Chakradharpur. The new conductor, after being introduced to our hero, allotted him a lower berth in the first-class compartment. On getting the berth, our hero settled into his seat, with his bag and baggage in place. After this, what else was left for him to do other than sleep? He could scarce read a book, as it might have disturbed the other passengers. Besides, there was no way of getting to know any of his other co-travellers—all of them covered, from head to foot, in that damp rainy night. Hence, sleeping was the only natural thing to do.
But our hero would not get a wink of sleep as his young head was crowded with all sorts of domestic thoughts: must construct a house in his village, help the younger brother complete his studies in college, and find a suitable groom for the younger sister. Only some of the items on his list of unfinished tasks. But then, our hero was not sanguine if other tasks were not to crop up after all these responsibilities ended. So it was better to banish all worries and let sleep take over. This was what he told himself.
The morning after, our hero was taking a while to rise from his sleep. It was a lazy morning. But what was this? As soon as he opened his eyes, his big yawn stopped midway and his posture changed—from horizontal to lotus!
What could be the reason? Not far to seek an answer. The adjacent lower berth was occupied by a woman, and a young one to boot. She could not be more than twenty, guessed our hero, though he always found it difficult to guess the right age of women.
We can call the young lady the heroine of our story. Though not devastatingly beautiful, she definitely had plenty of oomph and charm, which made one’s eyes remain gazing upon her face for a long time. Fair of skin, with a sharp and dainty nose, doe-shaped lively eyes, she was endowed with black, lustrous hair, though it was cut short in tune with the times. Her appearance suggested that she was of a Bengali origin, and our hero wondered which film actress she could be compared with—Moon Moon Sen? Aparna Sen? No … no … well, even if not in the likeness of the regal Suchitra Sen, she could pass off as more beautiful than the other two.
Now, who can define beauty? Is there any yardstick for female beauty? Well, our hero was reminded of the Bard’s saying: “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” Has beauty something to do with age? The first flush of youth had caressed our heroine with the bounty of spring and drenched her with the beauty and fragrance of fresh roses. Even apes look beautiful with the onset of youth, so say the Sanskrit poets. Our hero was also of the same age, where one’s mind was always humming amorous tunes, amidst all the noise. And for a young man, what could be more overwhelming than the sight of a pretty young woman for company?
The same can be said of the opposite side too. The proximity of a handsome youth can be slightly unsettling for any young woman.
“Good Morning. Where are you travelling to?”
“Baroda. What about you?”
“Ahmedabad. You boarded around midnight from some station, na?”
“Ya. You? Perhaps from Kolkata?”
“Ya. How did you know?”
“Just guessing.”
“Sir! Tea,” the bearer saluted.
The train had arrived at Jharsuguda. After Kolkata, if one wanted the best tea or coffee, it was to be found at this station. Since the train did not have a pantry car, a message had been conveyed to Jharsuguda station.
“Bearer! One more flask of tea for memsahib. Quick!”
“Do you work with the railways?”
“How did you know?”
“Again, just guessing.”
Both of them broke into laughter.
“Do take some biscuits with the tea. It won’t lead to acidity.” Our heroine extended a packet of biscuits.
“Are you a doctor?” Our hero was curious.
“Ya, I’m studying medicine. How did you know?”
“Haha, just guessing.”
“So, our guesses are spot on.”
Again they broke into another round of synchronous laughter. Amidst this pleasant banter, a third character got up from his slumber, rubbing his eyes. In the meantime, another flask of tea had arrived. The train left the station.
“Get up, Khokan, have tea!”
Our hero looked towards the upper berth.
“Oh! Is he your younger brother?”
“Ya.”
While sipping their morning cuppa, some more facts about each other were collected and verified. Our hero, as we already know, was a probationary officer with the railways, on his way for training to Baroda. Our heroine revealed that she too came from a railway family. Her father was an engineer in the railways, so she was accustomed to its style and ways. She was studying medicine in Moscow. She was visiting a relative in Ahmedabad.
Now, the younger brother of the heroine can be called the fool of the pack. He was much younger than our heroine, perhaps ten or twelve years of difference between them. Round cherubic face, chubby cheeks with his body plump … the cuddly younger brother could evoke amused affection in anybody. However, more than eliciting amusement, our hero felt smug; there would be no threat from the younger brother. He could spend hours talking to the girl without any fear of disapproval.
In such situations, the very young sibling, instead of being a roadblock, can help the process; from fertilization to germination to further advancements in an incipient relationship. So our hero felt assured that he could row the boat of sweet romantic talk with the heroine, unopposed and uninterrupted. Further, to add flavour to the budding romance, the fourth berth in the compartment lay empty.
How could that be the case? Normally, Ahmedabad Express was the only direct train for the expat Gujaratis in Kolkata. It always ran a crowd. Tickets were booked two months in advance. How did such a situation come to pass on that day?
The situation was such that though it was the only direct train from Kolkata to Ahmedabad, there was nothing to boast about regarding this train. If there had been a prize for a decrepit train, this one would have won, hands-down. To make matters worse, the pouring rains of the previous night had created some sort of leak in the upper berth of the compartment, due to which the conductor had shifted the passenger to another bogie.
When the extended tea-time came to an end, the younger brother rushed to the washroom toattend nature’s call, a towel in hand. But how was it that our hero was not feeling any such pressure? He had not shown any urgency to head to the washroom. Was that morning such a golden and entirely novel experience for our hero? Was there no room for him to attend to the daily and dirty routines, and just because the chit-chat kept becoming sweeter and more enjoyable with the passing of each moment?
Our hero was on an upward swing; he was singing to himself, talking to himself. What a beautiful match they would make; by the time he finished his probationary period, she would have completed her medicine course. The daughter of a railway engineer, so beautiful and accomplished! Their match would surely be a big hit in social circles. So she would be his memsahib. When our heroine rose from the berth to take her vanity purse off from the hook on the side of the coach, our hero also stood up and cleverly measured her height against his. It was just the right stature.
Meanwhile, ample cups of tea had been consumed, and it had done its work on our hero. He could no longer put it off. Nature’s call had to be heeded, and its urgency made our hero finally get up from his seat. He rushed to the toilet only to come out of it chuckling.
“What happened? Why so much mirth?”
“Your brother … Khokan …”
When our hero got excited, his words would get warbled, and he would swallow them up.
“What happened? Tell me frankly, na.“
“The bathroom is open and Khokan is fully …”
“Oh!” Our heroine also joined in on the laughter. Her sparkling giggle washed away whatever formality stood between them. “This must be the doing of your railway’s doors,” our clever heroine commented and went to inspect her brother in his situation.
Thereafter, there was no counting of hours. The rains had given way to bright sunshine, and the territory of Odisha had given way to the terrain of Madhya Pradesh and beyond. None kept track of when breakfast was over and when lunch had been served and eaten; the happy banter was only broken intermittently by hawkers: pakorawallah, kelawallah, badamwallah, chaiwallah. Most of them were patronized by the fool played by the brother. In between relishing and digesting the eatables, his queries—“Which river is this?”, ”Which dam is this?”—were the only irritants for our hero. He wished that the junior would consume all the food and go on a six-month-long slumber like Kumbhkarna.
That day, the whole world looked colourful. The entire universe seemed to overflow with joy and ecstasy. The distant horizon was covered with the cool canopy of the blue sky. Mother earth was almost as if offering its green trophy as an homage to the gods of the sky. The naughty wind was flirting and caressing the paddy stalks on the fields. The verdant carpets on both sides of the rail track were greener than ever and the intervening jungles more delightful. The distant hills were looking splendorous in their height, and the blue sky was dotted with flocks of birds; their twitter was like a symphony conducted in the air. Everywhere, there was a celebration of life and of its youthful exuberance.
Our hero was imagining that he was not travelling in a ramshackle train of the Indian Railways but was mounted on a shining white, flying stallion, which was flying them beyond the clouds, the moon and the stars, to an unknown fairyland.
In the meantime, another big station had come—Nagpur. They bought oranges, bhusabal bananas and seedless grapes. More expenses were incurred all throughout the journey, happily, by our hero. Smitten by our enchantress heroine, our hero’s demeanour was suave, his smiles hearty and conversation polished; in fact, all the arsenals of sophistications were in full display, all through the journey.
After dinner, our heroine was naturally feeling sleepy, while sleep had escaped our hero’s eyes. He was imagining what it would be like if the train journey could have been endless, despite the leaking roof, the dirty compartment, the rattling motion of the train. He wished his destination would never arrive. Like a satellite, the train would revolve round a planet, day and night, month after month, year after year. This golden trip would then become immortal. The happy hours spent on this memorable day would remain eternal.
In the course of the conversation, our hero had skilfully highlighted all the positive aspects about himself: his status as a Class I officer, his hobbies like reading, writing, and sports. When it came to his family and background, it was mostly an exaggeration and less a fact. More water than milk. How could he reveal that he was born in an unheard-of village, in a backward area? Where a motorcycle makes the urchins run after it for a mile, to whose land the rain god is so unkind that nothing grows, where cows do not give milk as much as manure, where the thatched roofs are so low that one has to bend to avoid their prickling. Would he say that he belongs to Delhi instead of Odisha?
Our hero knew telling the truth courageously happened only in Bollywood films, where the protagonists on the celluloid screen swear everlasting love even if they come from radically different backgrounds. The heroine would have taken the first plunge into the ocean of love knowing well the modest background of the hero.
But where is the place for such emotional intensity in the real world? The contrast between the dream world and the real world was glaring, like that between heaven and hell. Even the birds go back to the shade of the trees when they face the hot sun, he surmised.
“No, but I will not take such a self-defeating step. I will create my own reality.” This was our hero’s new-age musings that he presumed would make his dream a reality.
But what the heck? What is happening? Where is the story drifting, with only two characters, the hero and the heroine? Is there no other character in this story, one who can bring about some momentum and take the story forward to its happy ending? Does our hero need a villain to do the impossible, to win over his lady love? The readers must be eagerly awaiting the appearance of a villain who alone can cement the wide chasm between the two.
Well, there indeed was a villain in the tale. Not the usual ones—with bloodshot eyes, a shaven head and the flex of rippling muscles—a la the filmy ones! He would come on stage only at the appropriate time. The villain of our story is extremely dangerous. But he is scared of daylight. He is someone who is powerless before the Sun God. The darkness of the night is his friend. The quiet of the night is his ally. So he would come, tiptoeing in the deathly hours of the night.
The villain of our story is a serpent. Well, that should not come as a surprise. Was not the serpent the first villain of civilization? The devil came to Paradise in the guise of a serpent. The first creation of the Creator, Adam and Eve, how happily they lived and how blissfully they had been cavorting around under the protective care of the Almighty, until Satan could not tolerate this happiness anymore and tempted the couple to bite the forbidden fruit.
The night was getting darker and deeper. Rains of the previous night had returned with a vengeance. The dilapidated roof of the train was taking the hit. The torrential rain beat upon it with sounds that resembled the pelting of pebbles. The whistling sound of the wind was reverberating through the compartment and the rain lashing all around them.
The serpent, which had slipped into the compartment earlier, was growing virulent. Rains make the serpent more potent, while all the other animals, like birds and insects, grow number under the spell; a sort of languor grips them. Animals and birds, cuddling their offspring, go into a deep slumber in their nesting holes, crevices and all possible niches. Only the serpent gets out of his cavern. Neither scared of the torrential rains, nor of the sludge and muck around, it is the only creature who comes out to prey on the hapless rain-terrified creatures.
The night was getting older, and with it grew the ferocity of the serpent. An unknown thrill was gripping it. Our hero was completely under its spell. He felt like something was desperately trying to escape his being. A star, which was as if trying to defect to a different orbit.
What a lovely day it had been, what tingling happiness and exhilaration throughout. But what is this? All those heavenly feelings were now getting crushed under the weight of the serpent. What does a villain do? The villain’s work is to go on a rampage and to trample on the beautiful treasure troves.
In the adjacent berth, our heroine was blissfully asleep. A lovely dream was replaying on her dreamy eyelids. In that dim-blue light of the compartment, her two feet, from under the sheet were like the lissom petals of a white lotus. The deadly serpent, in full form, wanted to recoil on the white lotus as it would have in a pond, full of such supple lotus stalks. When she turned, it looked like a lovely flower bush, which the deadly serpent wanted to sneak into and crush.
The rain was relentless. As if someone in the sky was emptying out pots and pots of water on the earth. The serpent was getting restless. It was now trying to spread its hood and was ready to attack. Its quivering, red, flared-up tongue looked ominous.
Our terrified hero was frightened to death. He was shivering. Will there be a catastrophe? He was desperately trying to get out of the clutch of the serpent and was perspiring heavily. Somehow, he managed to get up and open the windows.
A gust of wind came in, and with it, the shirt hanging on the hook fell down along with some papers. When our hero tried to switch on the light, something else fell. Was it an owl that had jumped into the semi-darkness of the compartment? Was it some bad omen?
Our hero picked up the purse that had slipped out of his shirt pocket, and with it some papers and a photo. In that faint blue light, our hero picked up the photo and looked at it. Another round of perspiration bathed him.
Slowly, a few scenes flashed before his eyes. The engagement ceremony in the temple, along with the parents from both sides, the bashful face of the girl surrounded by her friends, her furtive glances at him, the feast, the acceptance from both sides and the sweet anticipation of a rosy future.
But here, in this compartment, in that rain-soaked night, our hero was gradually becoming besotted with his new find. His love was not able to fathom these obstacles.
Another voice rings in: “What is love? Do you know what it means? Is it a passion, a weakness, an infatuation or an accident? Is libido the definition of love? Is love not a sacrifice? A silent surrender?”
From the other side, the hissing sound of the serpent went on unabated.
A voice whispered: “The photo-wali is your parents’ choice. Only the engagement has been done; nothing more than that. You could return the advanced gift of money. The train companion is educated, accomplished, beautiful, and city-bred. She can accompany you to clubs, hotels, and social gatherings. She would be a perfect match for your professional standing and status. Listen to this voice! Don’t leave a lifetime chance of plucking such lovely low-lying fruit.”
Our hero was bewildered by the many voices from all sides. One voice said that he would be consumed by this spark, which would become a blazing fire. The other voice said that this wasthe moment, and he should seize it for a fun-filled life.
Our hero was sliced by a double-edged knife. What would he do?
The morning after, our hero discovered that the serpent had bitten itself. It was lying listless, poisoned by its own venom. His hood and body were broken to pieces.
But there is no death for the serpent. Till the sun and stars move the universe, till life goes on in the earth, the serpent will remain alive and kicking. But on that day, it was lying, vanquished.
In the berth in front of him, our heroine was sleeping like a calm and composed goddess. A slight and benign smile quivered on her lips. Had the serpent not failed to overpower her, such a beatific precious smile would not have been playing on her lips. If the serpent had been victorious, there would have been no fragrance in the flowers. There would be no nectar, only a surfeit of venom. The betrothed girl would not have an assured smile, but a life that had been rejected and full of pathos.
If the serpent had won, life, as in Hobbes’s word, would have been, “nasty, brutal, and short.”
The dew of the night was melting away under the morning sun, like qualms melting away from our hero’s mind. Getting down at Baroda station, carrying his handbag, suitcase, and all his assorted work-related manuals, our hero walked away, slowly into the crowd, with his head bent under the weight of guilt. He realized that it was he who had morphed into a deadly serpent the previous night.
Krupasagar Sahoo is a leading name in contemporary Odia literature. With twelve collection of stories and six novels to his credit he has created a niche for himself in the world of Odia fiction. Many of his works have been translated in to English and other major Indian languages. Drawing upon his experience as a senior Railway officer, he has penned several memorable railway stories. He is recipient of several literary awards including Odisha Sahitya Academy award for his novel SESHA SARAT.
It was around five pm in the evening that Seth, the retired English Literature professor stepped into the library. The library was his favourite haunt and he had by now read most of the books in English fiction. Since he had covered almost all of the recognized English literature books, his current pastime was to revisit the books he had already finished reading . He did it by selecting an author and then went through all the works of the author in a rapid manner so that the plot and characters wouldn’t fade from his memory.
The librarian did not notice Seth reading in the far corner of the library as the shelf carrying the Shakespearean works was at the end of the huge library. The librarian closed the library for the day by seven pm and Seth was locked inside.
Seth was deeply immersed in the drama of Julius Caesar and he must have been reading that splendid work for the tenth time. The craft of the drama was so brilliant that Seth got dissociated from the world around him and he found himself in Rome witnessing the various scenes and acts. By the time Seth returned from Rome it was already late and the library was closed for more than an hour . There was no way to communicate with the world outside as the library had installed mobile jammers. Mobiles were the greatest enemy to the principle of silence. Seth had to settle in the library itself till morning with the books for his company. He was not sad of being lonely nor was he scared that he was locked up. He just saw the opportunity of having a full night to read a lot more.
Seth was a widely acclaimed authority in Shakespearean works and he could talk and comment on the works of the bard for umpteen hours and because of that he was nick named as the ‘Little Spear’. As time ticked away, pages flipped and Seth’s eyes too got drowsy. Very soon he was enjoying the heavy dew of slumber.
It was past midnight when he heard a man walking towards him. Seth adjusted himself on the sofa he was resting and he saw a hefty fellow wearing the ancient Roman attire moving around him.
“Who goes there?” Seth asked immediately. There was a suspenseful silence for a moment and then the reply came, “It's me, Brutus”. Seth was really surprised at the reply and he looked at the man more closely.
Brutus - Why do you have a doubt? Of course it is me, the same noble Brutus who killed Caesar for the welfare of Roman citizens, because I loved Rome more than I loved Caesar.
Seth – (Still caught in surprise) But why are you here?
Brutus – It is just that I decided to take a walk, for vexed I’am in my mind.
Seth - What is that troubles you Brutus, for you are the noblest of all Romans?
Brutus - I shall tell you, for you are a well read man of Shakespearean works. Tell me, wasn’t it unfair of Shakespeare to name our drama as ‘Julius Caesar’ rather than ‘Marcus Brutus’ when I’am the fulcrum on which the story moves? Doesn’t my name sound big like Caesars? Or, write them together, mine is as fair.
Seth – Relax Brutus, relax. It is true that you play more of the role than anybody in the drama, yet you have been deprived of the title.
As Seth and Brutus stood talking about the injustice, they saw a bald headed man walking towards them. Brutus immediately understood who it was and suggested to Seth that he would hide himself till the man passes by. As Brutus made his exit, the great Shakespeare walked in.
Shakespeare – Did you see Brutus around? I have come in search of him. I have searched for him all through the pages of the book and he is not there. A plebian told me that he had gone outside the book. He is getting irresponsible these days. What if someone comes to read ‘Julius Caesar’ and does not find Brutus there.
Seth - But sir, it's night now and nobody will come.
Shakespeare - Oh, I forgot that, but yet he should get my permission before he steps outside the books.
Seth – He is not here. But if he comes this way I will certainly tell him that you came here searching for him. But before you go, can I ask you something?.
Shakespeare - Ofcourse, you may.
Seth – Wouldn’t it have been more fair to name the drama as ‘Marcus Brutus’ rather than ‘Julius Caesar’?
Shakespeare – Oh no! Even after Caesar’s death he is still mighty. His spirit walks abroad and turns his enemies' swords into their own entrails. What I mean is that Caesar dead is more powerful than Caesar living. (After a pause) What made you ask such a thing ? Was Cassius here?
Seth - No. I just asked, that’s all.
At that moment Julius Caesar enters wearing a laurel wreath on his majestic head.
Caesar – There you are Shakespeare. I was looking all around for you. Then it was the page boy who said you were here talking to a stranger.
Shakespeare - Meet my friend. He is a keen reader and has a doctorate on my works.
Caesar – Glad to meet you in the name of Rome.
Seth – I too am glad to meet you emperor!
Caesar - Pardon me. I didn’t hear you . Come to my right side, for my left ear is deaf.
Seth – (Moving to the right side of Caesar) Glad to meet you. I have studied much on your character.
Shakespeare – (To Caesar) what made you search for me.
Caesar - It’s that some of your characters have turned against you and are planning a seige. An attempt to change the story lines of the existing dramas.
Shakespeare - What?! My own characters to whom I gave life, going to attack me?
Caesar – The whole thing comes from the brain of Shylock. He says you cheated him by making Portia come as a lawyer and asking him to take the pound of flesh he needed from Antonio’s body without spilling a drop of blood. Thus he seeks revenge for his loss of land, money, daughter and for sparing Antonio.
Shakespeare – I should have never created him.
Caesar – The attack is led by Macbeth and Othello.
Shakespeare – What about Hamlet and King Lear?
Caesar – Hamlet is with us because you made his drama the most famous of all. As for King Lear, he is angry with you for making him cry and worry in his old age with the loss of his lovely daughter Cordelia. He wants to rewrite the plot of the drama and beg forgiveness from his daughter.
Shakespeare – Oh!. I’am doomed.
Caesar – Don’t worry. We have the strong Roman army at our side. Caesar himself will stand in front and Brutus will lead the attack with Octavius and Mark Antony followed by Antonio and Bassanio from Venice, King Henry, the gentle men of Verona, Benedick and Claudio from Spain and others. Don’t worry, Caesar is here.
Seth - Does it mean that there is going to be a battle?
Caesar - Yes. As soon as I find Brutus our army will be ready. Tomorrow dawn we will fight them.
Shakespeare – Let me prepare a few odes by then.
Seth – Caesar, tomorrow is the Ides of March. Beware, don’t go out tomorrow.
Caesar – Cowards die many times before their deaths but the valiant never tastes death but once. Danger knows that Caesar is more dangerous than it and so Caeser shall go forth.
Saying this Caesar walked away in search of Brutus and Shakespeare too bid his farewell thinking what all was happening in his world. As the two walked away form sight, Brutus slowly came out from his hiding place.
Brutus – What were they saying about a battle?
Seth – Yes. Some of the Shakespearean characters have turned against him for mistreating them. They want to take things into their hands and rewrite the plots in their favour.
Brutus - I too have been mistreated. Now here lies my chance in getting justice.
It was then that the most wicked of the Shakespeare’s creations entered as a team of wolves. Cassius, Casca, Cinna, Decius and Iago were some of the formidable members of that pack.
Cassius – We have been searching for you Brutus. Did you hear the news about the approaching battle?
Brutus – Yes. My friend here was telling me about it.
Cassius - Can he be trusted ?
Brutus – Yes.
Casca - Then our time is ripe. We will kill Caesar. But should we kill just Caesar?
Brutus – Yes. Only Caesar and no other blood should be shed. Let Macbeth and group tie up Shakespeare and throw him into the dungeon.
Cassius - After that you can be the ruler of the Shakespearean kingdom and put the title of yours on the drama instead of Julius Caesar. I have drawn out the plot to kill Caesar with Macbeth, Othello and Shylock. We will go out with Caesar’s as part of his army and as soon we have a good proximity to Caesar in the battle field, I will give the signal and we will stab Caesar. Decius will engage Mark Antony away from Caesar. At Cinna’s signal, Othello will attack and then we too will join them in the attack against Caesar's army. In the confusion they will finish the story of Shakespeare too.
Brutus – So we have a neat plan for tomorrow. Go take rest and prepare yourself for the great day .
Cassius – Goodnight to all
The battle ground of Philippi stood ready on the ides of March to receive the bloodshed and dead bodies. Caesar's army was yet to arrive while the army led by Macbeth was there waiting ready for them.
Seth – Glad to meet you Macbeth and Othello, the great warriors.
Macbeth – Pleased to see you too avid reader.
Seth - Are you people sure that you want this battle against your creator?
Macbeth - Sir, we consist of an army who have been deceived by Shakespeare of their lives. It’s revenge that we seek. Don’t you know my story? I was promised by Shakespeare through the three witches that I will be a duke first and then a king. Later he promised me again through the same witches that I shall never be conquered until the great Birnam wood move against me. But Shakespeare deceived me by making the enemy soldiers take branches from the trees of Birnam wood as a camouflage in attacking me and from the fort it seemed as if the whole Birnam wood was moving. Again the bard tricked me by promising that no man born naturally of woman can harm me, but Macduff who kills me in the drama did not have a natural birth. He was taken out after cutting his mother’s belly.
Othello – Don’t you know my story? Both Shakespeare and Iago injected the poison of jealousy into me against my poor Desdemona, I cannot forgive him.
Seth – I can’t witness all this blood shed. Let justice win if there was injustice done other than for the plot of the story which made you all famous characters.
Seth then went to the other side where Caesar’s army had just arrived. Seth went close to Caesar so as to warn him against the plot by his enemies but Brutus was very much next to Caesar. So Seth quickly wrote a letter and went beside Caesar.
Seth - Read this letter.
Caesar – No letter now my friend, give it to me later and I will read it in my leisure after this battle.
Casca - (Pushing Seth away from Caesar) Move aside.
Suddenly all the conspirators get around Caesar. From the wolf pack, Casca stabs first followed by others. As Brutus makes his stab, Caesar fell uttering, “et tu Brute, then fall Caesar”. Once Caesar fell, the enemy started its attack. Shakespeare who stood beside was shocked and he turned pale at the brutal assassination. Hatred and revenge prevailed as sword met sword and blood gushed out in retribution. Caesar’s army, though had an initial fallback, was now fighting back under the able leadership of Mark Antony and Octavious Caesar.
In the mayhem that followed, Seth saw Shylock slowly approaching Shakespeare, who stood frightened. Shylock had a dagger in his hand and he kept on saying “Give me a pound of flesh with blood”. He was all about to stab the bard when suddenly Seth saw a smart young man pass his sword through Shylock's heart making him fall down. He was Romeo
“Come with me” Romeo said in urgency and he took Shakespeare to a white chariot where Juliet was waiting for them. Nobody had to tell Seth as to why Romeo saved the bard’s life. Their story was the most tragic of all, but the writer was kind enough to make them one in death. Seth saw the chariot speed away from the battle field.
As Seth turned around, Antony and Octavious had won the battle. Brutus and Cassius killed themselves when they realised that they were defeated. Macbeth was killed by the person who was not born of a woman and Othello stabbed himself out of sadness. Seth stood there watching the corpses lie all around him. He looked towards the horizon and saw the chariot disappear into the bright rising sun and it forced him to rub his eyes.
Seth suddenly got up from his deep slumber as the sun rays rushed in through the ventilator. At his feet lay many books scattered on the floor. It was all Shakespeare’s various dramas which had fallen off from the shelf.
Seth sat there puzzled for sometime. He could hear the librarian opening the big front door. It was time for Seth to step out into the real world leaving the fictitious world behind. He walked out dramatically, carrying the epic dream even as the librarian wondered from which book did Seth come out in the morning.
Dr. Nikhil M Kurien is a professor in maxillofacial surgery working in a reputed dental college in Trivandrum. He has published 2 books. A novel , "the scarecrow" in 2002 and "miracle mix - a repository of poems" in 2016 under the pen name of nmk. Dr. Kurien welcomes readers' feedback on his email - nikhilmkurien@gmail.com.
In the garden of exotic flowers
With blue green mountains
As background canvas,
Under the deep blue sky
Spotless without any clouds,
The dancing water of the stream
Going past you,
Gently, kissing your beautiful feet,
I wonder,
Where should I
concentrate my mind,
If it is your eyes
That reflects all the spectacles
Or every part of your body
That individually
Depict the nature’s beauty.
The flowers bloom with the smile
The braided hair mildly shakes
With the evening gentle breeze,
Your swan-like walk
Steals the heart
Muddling the mind.
The curves and the contour
Seems like waves in the sea
As I try my best
To swim across the foggy eyes.
She is the whole of nature
In display by the God, almighty
For me to adore and enjoy
While I just, pass by
On my way towards eternity.
"Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura passed out from BITS, Pilani as a Mechanical Engineer and is serving in a PSU, Oil Marketing Company for last 3 decades. He has done his MBA in Marketing from IGNOU and subsequently the PhD from Sagaur Central University in Marketing. In spite of his official engagements, he writes both in Odia and English and follows his passion in singing and music. He has already published two books on collections of poems in Odia i.e. “Ananta Sparsa” & “Lagna Deha” , and a collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love”. His poems have been published in many national/ international magazines and in on-line publications. He has also published a non-fiction titled “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. His books are available both in Amazon & Flipkart.". Dr Behura welcomes readers' feedback on his email - bkbehura@gmail.com.
"My heart is breaking, I can't bear this". she sobbed on her friends shoulders, "Why should it happen to me? Whatever I love and long to keep for myself is taken away from me". Suddenly Kanaka remembered the feeling she had when Goldie the kitten died. Goldie was very beautiful with stripes and ginger colour. She decided to keep it away from her siblings so that at least she would have one pet to call her very own but one morning she found it dead. She felt she was cheated. Listening to the incoherent flood of words she guessed the "he" is not a kitten. As she listened, her mind surged with mixed feelings as comprehension dawned. She couldn't understand Niya's passion for another man after having three children of her own and living happily with her husband. Words of consolation refused to come from Kanaka's lips, she was in total confusion. But this is not a time for philosophising and for determining what is right or wrong she realised. This is a moment for consoling her friend who had come to her broken and sad, a time to help her to bear this emotional cyclone and help her to see reason. If she didn't help her she would be shattered, Kanaka knew that and it might end in tragedy too.
So she led her to a chair and made her sit down. Fortunately everyone had gone for lunch break. But that was not a safe place because walls have ears. So she gave her some water to drink and led her to the wash basin and made her wash her face and spruce herself up. Then she went to her table, wrote a half day casual leave and placed it on her Head's table. Gathering her bag, she asked Niya to go and get her belongings after handing over her leave letter too.
Niya, now her thoughts diverted, left to do as kanaka told her. Meanwhile Kanaka went to dismiss her Writers' Club students who would be waiting for her after lunch. As she went down the corridor she met the secretary of the club and told her that the meeting was postponed for the next week . There was a look of disappointment on the girl's face because they enjoyed these classes, where they had lots of fun. By the time she reached the portico Niya was waiting after phoning for an auto. "Where shall we go?" kanaka asked. " Let us go to the Sankaracharya stupa, that is a special place for us," Niya replied. It was only 5 miles away and Kanaka agreed, they could be back home by 3.30 pm, by the time their children arrived from school. They decided to go by the same auto.
Niya was lost in thought and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Kanaka sat numbly beside her, thousands of questions raised their snaky heads making her uneasy and upset. Reaching the stupa the auto was paid and let off. And they started climbing the steps, Kanaka never uttered a word, she was waiting for Niya to break the silence. Kanaka had visited the place many times and so knew what statues stood on each landing. They always amazed and enchanted her but that day she didn't see anything she was climbing automatically. When they were almost near the top Niya stopped near a window from where they would get a bird's view of the surrounding area. She stood staring intently at something. Then like a torrent everything came out amidst tears and racking sobs.
He was a young Doctor and had a clinic of his own in their town. Where he would be on duty three afternoons per week. She had visited him for medicine for her daughter. The visits became frequent. They became good friends. Soon he was there in her family circle accepted by her family and friends. She loved him, found him gentle, kind and understanding. Never criticising her, accepting her with all her faults. She had someone to lean on in her loneliness when her husband was away for long spells. They became good friends within a short time. They went out together when time allowed and on one such outing at the stupa they had confessed their love. So the Stupa stood a witness to their passion. That day out of the blue he told her that his marriage was fixed. His old mother really wanted someone at home and out of compulsion, to make his mother happy he had agreed. The news shattered her castle where she secretly enjoyed a life with him. She had visited him on a whim on her way home for lunch that day. Kanaka was flabbergasted and scared too. She knew if she criticised Niya at the moment it would be like the proverbial last straw on the camel's back. She waited for the sobs to subside.
The crux of the problem was, Niya didn't want him to marry and have a family of his own. She considered him her own possession. She went on repeating it as she sobbed. She had been brave when he told of his marriage and invited her and her family for the engagement as well as the wedding . She congratulated him and wished him all the best and went home to cry her heart out. But she wanted to share it with Kanaka, her dearest friend who would never sit on judgement on her and also to tell her the actual truth that she didn't want him to marry. She wanted him to remain single always, She knew she could tell Kanaka who was her confidante. She knew this sharing would relieve her. So she rushed back to college to tell Kanaka and find relief on her shoulders.
But now the burden was Kanaka's to bear. She felt like a priest over burdened with confessions, which believe it or not destroyed the peace of the priest.
Relieved, Niya was, as she descended the stairs. She went on speaking about him, how he had entered her heart and revived her womanhood and made her bloom as a lovely flower. How spring had come into her life. She never felt lonely after that. She could share everything under the sun with him. From books and movies to her family she could discuss with him. He was a good listener. Even looking after her two stubborn teenagers became easier for her now. He had a way with one and all. He helped her solve their problems too. She, not even for one moment thought that he too had a life of his own. That realization came only when he broke gently to her the news of his marriage. No she did not hate him. Let him live his life. Her only prayer was he should be her life long good friend and he had agreed.
Kanaka listened to everything as if she was seeing a movie in which there was only one actor. Almost a monologue but scenic enough. When they descended the last set of steps, kanaka sensed Niya had regained her spirit. She was her old self. She looked at the watch and gasped out, "Oh my, it is 3 pm, time to rush home Kanaka, children will be home soon." Kanaka looked at her and smiled. Yes, Niya had become her old self, strong, independent and self reliant. She pulled Kanaka along with her as she strode to the auto stand with a purpose.
Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.
Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony
I am work in process
not sure of what
will be the outcome
the uncertainty of it
entices me
I like to watch over
my childlike excitement
of not becoming the one
I am expected to be
I walk away from
anyone's expectations
I let myself drift directionless
within the dark, anxious
raw time and space
devoid of a day plan
I unlearn the ways of this world
become unstructured
uncultured, non entity
and realise
now I am free
to be whatever
I merge as clay
in earth my eternal abode.
Sangeeta Gupta, a highly acclaimed artist, poet and film maker also served as a top bureaucrat as an IRS Officer,recently retired as chief commissioner of income tax. Presently working as Advisor (finance & administration) to Lalit Kala Akademi, National Akademi of visual arts. She has to her credit 34solo exhibitions , 20 books , 7 books translated , 7 documentary films.
A poet in her own right and an artist, Sangeeta Gupta started her artistic journey with intricate drawings. Her real calling was discovered in her abstracts in oils and acrylics on canvas. Her solo shows with Kumar Gallery launched her love for contour within the abyss of colour; the works seemed to stir both within and without and splash off the canvas.
Her tryst with art is born of her own meditative ruminations in time, the undulating blend of calligraphic and sculptonic entities are realms that she has explored with aplomb. Images in abstraction that harkens the memory of Himalayan journeys and inspirations, the works speak of an artistic sojourn that continues in a mood of ruminations and reflections over the passage of time.
Sangeeta wields the brush with finesse, suggesting the viscosity of ink, the glossiness of lacquer, the mist of heights, the glow of the sun, and the inherent palette of rocks when wet. The canvases bespeak surfaces akin to skin, bark and the earth.
Her first solo exhibition was at the Birla Academy of Art & Culture, Kolkata in 1995. Her 34 solo shows have been held all over India i.e. Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata, Bangalore, Hyderabad, Lucknow, Chandigarh and abroad at London, Berlin, Munich, Lahore, Belfast, Thessolinki. one of her exhibitions was inaugurated by the former President of India; Dr. A.P.J Abdul Kalam in August, 2013. Which was dedicated to Uttarakhand, fund raised through sale proceeds of the paintings is used for creating a Fine Art Education grant for the students of Uttarakhand. She has participated in more than 200 group shows in India & abroad, in national exhibitions of Lalit Kala Akademi All India Fine Arts & Craft Society and in several art camps. Her painting are in the permanent collection of Bharat Bhavan Museum, Bhopal and museums in Belgium and Thessolinki . Her works have been represented in India Art Fairs, New Delhi many times.
She has received 69th annual award for drawing in 1998 and 77th annual award for painting in 2005 by AIFACS, New Delhi and was also conferred Hindprabha award for Indian Women Achievers by Uttar Pradesh Mahila Manch in 1999, Udbhav Shikhar Samman 2012 by Udbhav for her achievements in the field of art and literature and was awarded "Vishwa Hindi Pracheta Alankaran" 2013 by Uttar Pradesh Hindi Saahitya Sammelan & Utkarsh Academy, Kanpur. She was bestowed with Women Achievers Award from Indian Council for UN relations.
She is a bilingual poet and has anthologies of poems in Hindi and English to her credit. Her poems are translated in many languages ie in Bangla, English and German, Dogri, Greek, urdu. Lekhak ka Samay, is a compilation of interviews of eminent women writers. Weaves of Time, Ekam, song of silence are collection of poems in English. Song of the Cosmos is her creative biography. Mussavir ka Khayal and Roshani ka safar are her books of poems and drawings/paintings.
She has directed, scripted and shot 7 documentary films. Her first film “Keshav Malik- A Look Back”, is a reflection on the life of the noted poet & art critic Keshav Malik. He was an Art Critic of Hindustan Times and Times of India. The film features, several eminent painters, poets, scholars and their views on his life. The film was screened in 2012, at Indian Council for Cultural Relations, , Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, Sanskriti Kendra, Anandgram, New Delhi and at kala Ghora Art Festival, Mumbai 2013. Her other documentaries “Keshav Malik – Root, Branch, Bloom” and “Keshav Malik- The Truth of Art” were screened by India International Centre and telecast on national television several times.
Widely travelled, lives and works in Delhi, India.
Years later she thought of it,
The days she flew her kite,
High in the sky,
Racing among the clouds.
She read through her diary,
She looked through her albums,
She thought back to the time,
She was living the best epoch of her life.
She saw her friends everyday,
Spent whole weeks with them,
Fell asleep on tables,
Ate food from the wrong lunch box.
All dressed like dolls alike,
Tender flowers they were,
Writings scratched on their arms,
Chalk powder resting in their hair.
The smiles without cameras to paint them,
Were the happiest of all,
The mismatched lab chemicals,
Were the brightest of colours.
Fighting for places to sit,
Because everything mattered,
Everyone holding their own value,
Every action holding its worth.
Every prank worth the smiles after,
All the trouble worth getting into,
She'd lived her best life in a terrarium,
A terrarium they all called 'school'..
Shivering, she smiled, not from her eyes,
At the person beside her,
As he gently made conversation,
She looked at her shoes.
Like a dog sniffing danger,
He grilled her with questions,
Hoping for his instinct to be false,
Hoping it wouldn't be true.
She eased out of his insistent asking,
Her heartbeat betraying her innocence,
She couldn't decide to tell,
Or to pretend and hope it goes away.
She hurried down the hallway,
Exiting the crowded lift with two,
Feeling him breathe down her neck,
She turned back and saw no one.
Is she a witness if she saw shadows,
Only shadows, but she was so sure,
The murderer was the friendly man,
Who was so considerate in the elevator.
Scared out of her wits,
She shushed herself into silence,
Was she a witness if she saw only shadows,
Shadows and a blood-covered knife?
Thryaksha Ashok Garla, an eighteen-year-old, has been writing since she was a little kid. She has a blog and an Instagram account with about 200 poems posted till date. She touches upon themes such as feminism, self-reliance, love and mostly writes blues. Her poems have been published in two issues of the 'Sparks' magazine, and in poetry anthologies such as ‘Efflorescence' of Chennai Poets’ Circle , 'The current', 'The Metverse Muse', 'Our Poetry Archive', 'Destine Literare', 'Untamed Thrills and Shrills', 'Float Poetry', and in the 'Setu e-magazine.' She won the first place in the poetry competition held by India Poetry Circle (2018) held in Odyssey. She's pursuing psychology. She's a voracious reader, a violinist, and dabbles in art. She can be reached at: thryaksha@gmail.com by e-mail, Instagram: @thryaksha_wordsmith and on her blog https://thryaksha.wordpress.com/.
There was a question
Followed by a silent nod,
Weaving a “No” in the air.
Followed by
A chilling hateful look
An attempt to grab by the bun
Then the inevitable invective, “Slut!”,
Then the chasing around the bed.
Tears welling up and slurping
And an affirmative “No” in the pleading eyes.
Followed by
The smacking, the blows, the curse
Causing blistering wounds
On the body she lent to be licked
Every night under the cloak of love.
Followed by
“Tell me the truth!”
The malice in his eyes
Itched to eat her lusty red cunt
A hard push threw her on the bed
She fumbled and collapsed like a pillow
He got up panting like a running leopard
Twisted his fingers around her neck like a cobra.
Followed by
A struggle to wriggle out
To be pushed again very hard
The curtain was not yet drawn.
“All you women are sluts!”
There was a pull, a tug that tore the skirt
She could no more tolerate the humiliation
The daily hunting and the “Agni Parikshya”
The darkness surrounding the question on her chastity
She ran out into the darkness like a chased doe
And shut the door for ever like Nora Helmer.
Major Dr. Sumitra Mishra is a retired Professor of English who worked under the Government of Odisha and retired as the Principal, Government Women’s College, Sambalpur. She has also worked as an Associate N.C.C. Officer in the Girls’ Wing, N.C.C. But despite being a student, teacher ,scholar and supervisor of English literature, her love for her mother tongue Odia is boundless. A lover of literature, she started writing early in life and contributed poetry and stories to various anthologies in English and magazines in Odia. After retirement ,she has devoted herself more determinedly to reading and writing in Odia, her mother tongue.
A life member of the Odisha Lekhika Sansad and the Sub-editor of a magazine titled “Smruti Santwona” she has published works in both English and Odia language. Her four collections of poetry in English, titled “The Soul of Fire”, “Penelope’s Web”, “Flames of Silence” and “Still the Stones Sing” are published by Authorspress, Delhi. She has also published eight books in Odia. Three poetry collections, “Udasa Godhuli”, “Mana Murchhana”, “Pritipuspa”, three short story collections , “Aahata Aparanha”, “Nishbda Bhaunri”, “Panata Kanire Akasha”, two full plays, “Pathaprante”, “Batyapare”.By the way her husband Professor Dr Gangadhar Mishra is also a retired Professor of English, who worked as the Director of Higher Education, Government of Odisha. He has authored some scholarly books on English literature and a novel in English titled “The Harvesters”.
We know
nothing
beyond
our
complexities...
the sea change..
how
it engulfs
the tenor
of life..
hah!
how they
fleeted fast
those pollen
moments
that stirred
creativity
in whatever
you did
in days of yore...
you woke up
to the tune of
sparrows
that chirped
a merry morning,
waiting for
the bell
of the milkman,
the news paper
boy...
plans aplenty
you weaved
to make the
day special,
be it at home
workplace.
or at social circles..
hmmm...
the problem
of plenty
with wardrobes
full
for party wear
the agonised
moments
to pick and
choose,
attire
the right,
to impress..
attending
extravaganza
that knew
no bounds..
sprightly.
you were
spreading
cheer
in faces,
places...
they say
the energies
you dissipate
lasts.
revisiting
memories
shall I trace
vestiges
to enthuse
myself...
these
lock down days,
waking up
to the lethargic
tunes of the day...
reports
flooding,
mixing despair
and hope..
life the train
that chugs on
paced,
on
slower notes,
after its
frenzied run
on grooves
roaring,
howling..
The river..
how it teaches
even the fallen leaves
to flow..
telling
there is beauty to flow with the flow...
no matter you get stuck
at times
on rocky curves
still, there is beauty
to flow with the flow..
the river
how it cuddles
and holds you close to heart...
but letting you
flow...
Dr. Molly Joseph, (M.A., M.Phil., PGDTE, EFLU,Hyderabad) had her Doctorate in post war American poetry. She retired as the H.O.D., Department of English, St.Xavier's College, Aluva, Kerala, and now works as Professor, Communicative English at FISAT, Kerala. She is an active member of GIEWEC (Guild of English writers Editors and Critics) She writes travelogues, poems and short stories. She has published five books of poems - Aching Melodies, December Dews, and Autumn Leaves, Myna's Musings and Firefly Flickers and a translation of a Malayalam novel Hidumbi. She is a poet columnist in Spill Words, the international Online Journal.
She has been awarded Pratibha Samarppanam by Kerala State Pensioners Union, Kala Prathibha by Chithrasala Film Society, Kerala and Prathibha Puraskaram by Aksharasthree, Malayalam group of poets, Kerala, in 2018. Dr.Molly Joseph has been conferred Poiesis Award of Honour as one of the International Juries in the international award ceremonies conducted by Poiesis Online.com at Bangalore on May 20th, 2018. Her two new books were released at the reputed KISTRECH international Festival of Poetry in Kenya conducted at KISII University by the Deputy Ambassador of Israel His Excellency Eyal David. Dr. Molly Joseph has been honoured at various literary fest held at Guntur, Amaravathi, Mumbai and Chennai. Her latest books of 2018 are “Pokkuveyil Vettangal” (Malayalam Poems), The Bird With Wings of Fire (English), It Rains (English).
I admire you in fascination,
A magic web on me, you've spun,
Ne'er for a moment, my eyes are off you,
For I know your there for moments, few.
My wait is not in vain,
But will I see you again?
From my vision, you'll leave,
I, for one, will not grieve,
For etched firmly on my mind's eye,
Is this canvas from the ethereal sky.
Rakesh lifted his right hand to straighten his ruffled hair as a steady breeze was blowing across the terrace.
“Oh! What a sight, Sandeep. There is so much greenery all around. I am so used to the concrete jungle in the city I find this refreshing,” said Rakesh.
Rakesh looked round and uttered a cry. “Look at that wide tree with a large symmetrical umbrella shaped crown. Is it the Rain Tree? It has such lovely pinkish flowers with white and red stamen set on head. It looks so colourful with the array of flowers on the umbrella.”
“Yes. It is also known as the “Five O’clock” tree as the leaves fold during the evening.
“Look at the Gul Mohar tree to your right. It has fern like leaves and flamboyant display of flowers. They have four spreading scarlet orange-red petals and are very attractive. It is also called “Flame of the Forest” or “Flame Tree”. All varieties of avenue trees here have started blooming. You have come at the right time at the onset of summer.
Rakesh said,” I now recall how in school, the large bean like cover which holds the seeds, look like a dagger and we used to play “Police and Robber”, holding it proudly in defence.”
Rakesh got up from his seat and said, “With so many colourful trees lined up neatly on the roads and the incessant chirping of the birds, I would love to take a pleasant walk in the avenue. As we stroll down the roads, you can tell me how you went about with your tree planting venture, Sandeep.”
“As you know, I am a nature lover. One of the reasons I have moved over here to the suburbs is to have my own garden you see here, among other things,” began Sandeep.
“Yes. You really have a serene surrounding and I find it very relaxing too,” said Rakesh.
“I found that the colony is ideal for planting avenue trees. The soil is very fertile as these were earlier agricultural lands which have since been converted into housing sites.”
“I took up the project in right earnest. Initially I did some research on the requirements for tree planting based on the government guidelines. I identified an NGO who promote and encourage such activities to start with. Seeing my interest they gave me half a dozen avenue plants and also provided me instructions on how I should handle this project, which was inspiring. I located another NGO who sell saplings at nominal rates to support this noble cause, from where I procured a variety of saplings. I then chanced upon a cow shed in my vicinity which provided me the source for manure. Armed with these inputs, I was ready for the project to take root.”
“I did an initial survey of the area to identify where the underground water lines were and also where the over head electricity power lines passed. I consciously had to ensure that, under the power lines, I did not plant saplings that needed a free skyline to grow .In areas where the power lines passed, I mentally noted that I had to plant saplings that are colourful but did not require free skyline to grow.”
“I realised that as a first step I had to convince the local residents, who were all strangers to me, about the need for vegetation in our surroundings and its advantages in the long run. I had to identify likeminded persons who would join hands with me in this venture. I made some enquiries and came to know that the local association was not functioning for some years and had to be activated to make it a participative affair,” said Sandeep to Rakesh.
“I felt that the primary requirement was to activate the local association. Republic Day was round the corner and I made use of that opportunity to meet the committee members and convince them of the need to reactivate the Association. Intimation was sent to the residents to assemble for the flag hoisting ceremony at the appointed time and place on Republic Day.
“Once the flag was hoisted, I was asked to give a speech. I explained broadly on the need for tree planting in our area. I identified a few residents who were keen on participating with me and sensing the positive mood I moved in quickly. I had with me on hand a variety of about half a dozen plants I had got from the NGO. I distributed them to the interested residents. With the help of some keen youngsters, we located ideal spots along the roads, dug up a pit each of one foot square and a foot deep. Inside it we dug a smaller pit of half a foot square and half a foot deep. We then added manure and planted the trees, each at a distance of about ten feet. The residents took the ownership of watering specific plants near their residence. When the news of this activity spread, more residents came forward and within a fortnight we had planted about seventy saplings..”
“It was very encouraging to see each morning the residents carrying a bucket load of water for the saplings which they did with utmost care. Every week end, I carried out an inspection to keep count of the saplings and also to see whether they have been attended to properly, When I found some of the saplings needed more watering or care, I informed the residents who willingly attended to it. Before the onset of the summer, the saplings had taken root, had grown well to withstand the harsh summer months.
“Didn’t you experience any hurdles in this exercise? asked Rakesh.
“Yes. I will share these interesting anecdotes with you,” said Sandeep.
“One person took me aside and asked me, “Sir, you provide manure and saplings free of cost though you would have paid for them. And you also nurture them at home till they are planted. You must be getting some financial benefit out this venture?.”
“I tried explaining to him that it’s a social objective I have undertaken but he refused to believe me. Then I took up a different approach to convince him.”
I asked him, “How will our avenue look once the saplings grow to full height?”
“It will look very pleasant sir and more residents will take up walking as an exercise to enjoy the ambiance,” he said.
I then asked him, “If the area looks attractive and presents a healthy atmosphere, will not more people prefer to come and settle down here?”
“Yes sir, surely,” he replied.
“In that case will not the rentals and the land cost go up?” I continued.
“Oh! Now I understand sir. I never thought along that angle. I will also start watering and nurturing the plants sir,” he volunteered.
“In another instance, a resident, being possessive, planted these saplings inside his compound, in spite of my telling him that these are avenue trees which require lot of open space to grow. Only later on, when the saplings began to grow, he realised his folly. With great effort we had to relocate these plants on the road and nurture them with care till they took root.”
“We have a few youngsters in the group who felt we should go in for not saplings but some bigger plants not realising the costs involved. I have heard people telling me often that if your intentions are good, things are bound to take place in a positive manner.”
“It was soon after Vardha Cyclone, which had battered the city and uprooted trees all over the city. An organisation came forward to offer a couple of well grown plants to interested individuals. I made use of this opportunity to pick up these plants. I then approached the organisation and briefed them about my tree planting exercise in my area. Once convinced, I was asked to give a request letter for additional plants. I sought about twenty plants from the organisation. To my surprise, I was given fifty plants. Seeing this, my residents were very excited and planted all these with great vigour.”
“Once the saplings began to grow, we started to add manure and fill up the pits with sand so that the roots were deep into the soil and were well protected to withstand heavy rains and strong breeze.”
“It is now over two years and about sixty saplings have survived and grown into trees. We had planted an assortment of saplings, some giving shade only while majority were flowering trees and a few fruit trees. These have started to blossom.”
“This exercise also brought the local residents together, establishing a good bonding. My target now is to cross the century mark,” concluded Sandeep with a smile.
Rakesh said, “I also see the goodwill you have created in your avenue with residents smiling and waving on seeing you. This is what is required in our society.
“I suppose your routine question to me on why I have moved to the suburbs from the city finds an answer,” asked Sandeep.
“Yes, for sure. It’s a good move, especially when I see a trim, healthy and cheerful Sandeep,” said Rakesh.
Mr. S. Sundar Rajan, a Chartered Accountant with his independent consultancy, is a published poet and writer. He has published his collection of poems titled "Beyond the Realms" and collection of short stories in English titled " Eternal Art" which has been translated into Tamil,Hindi, Malayalam and Telugu. Another collection of short stories in English titled "Spice of Life" has also been translated in Tamil. His stories in Tamil is being broadcast every weekend on the Kalpakkam Community Radio Station under the title "Sundara Kadhaigal". His poems and stories have varied themes and carry a message that readers will be able to relate to easily.
Sundar is a member of the Chennai Poets' Circle and India Poetry Circle. His poems have been published in various anthologies. He was adjudged as "Highly Recommended Writer" in the Bharat Award - International Short Story Contest held by XpressPublications.com.
In an effort to get the next generation interested in poetry Sundar organises poetry contest for school students. He is also the editor of "Madras Hews Myriad Views", an anthology of poems and prose that members of the India Poetry Circle brought out to commommorate the 380th year of formation of Madras.
Sundar is a catalyst for social activities. He organises medical camps covering general health, eye camps and cancer screening. An amateur photographer and a nature lover, he is currently organising a tree planting initiative in his neighbourhood. Sundar lives his life true to his motto - Boundless Boundaries Beckon
THE COMPANION
Sridevi Selvaraj
He sleeps at my feet when I work
Thinks I shouldn’t be disturbed.
He looks at me pleadingly now and then
With liquid eyes that melt your soul
I know he wants something now
Food? A walk? A pat? A talk?
It all depends on interpretation
The signs have to be decoded.
When I speak he looks at me
Straight and listens so well
If I had listened like this in class
I might have conquered the world.
His silence speaks aloud to me
Giving ways to hermeneutics.
I wonder if he really knows
He belongs to another genre.
When a visitor suddenly arrives
His barks meet him with defiance.
May be he thinks I need to be protected
May be he is just welcoming the caller.
I don’t understand his script,
His specialized dog language.
When I smile and greet the visitor
My little one understands so well
And welcomes the scared guest
With a lovely quiet attitude.
He seems to be at ease in my world
I have brought him out of his world.
My guilt feeling is merely a cover up
For my insensitivity towards his family.
Prof. S. Sridevi has been teaching English in a research department in a college affiliated to the University of Madras for 30 years. She has published two collections of poems in English: Heralds of Change and Reservations. Her prose works are: Critical Essays, Saivism: Books 1-8 (Co-authors-C.T.Indra & Meenakshi Hariharan), Think English Talk English, Communication Skills, and Communicative English for Engineers (Co-Author-Srividya). She has translated Thirukural, Part I into Tamil. Her Tamil poetry collections are: Aduppadi Kavithaigal, Pennin Paarvaiyil, Naan Sivam and Penn Enum Perunthee.
WHAT CONSTITUTES ONE'S PERSONALITY - A STRONG PERSONALITY?
What is personality? Very many answers are available for that question.
In short it is the sum total of all that one is.
And what makes up what one is?
Reflecting, 9 distinct aspects across two dimension - external and internal. These tapestried in a unique design makes one's unique personality.
Let us look at 2 external environmental aspects and 7 Internal, individual aspects.
1. The external environment
Growth - life - does not happen in a vacuum. The prenatal environment one develops in and the kaleidoscope of environments one grows in, come to live in all through life till the very end have an immense impact.
2. The cohort consciousness
Research in the twentieth century brought focus to this aspect. Those born at a particular time span tended to have some similar traits. This could be because of a shared "socio-political atmosphere" during the prenatal and early childhood phases. Thus we have the ‘world war babies’, ‘the baby boon personalities’, ‘the millennium kids’ and so on. This also exerts its influence on one’s personality in a subtle way.
However the impact is dependent on the interaction of the external elements with the internal ones.
Individual and collective, conscious and unconscious aspects within the individual combine at any given point in time to determine which aspects of the then environment exercises maximum valence leading to expressed behaviour.
Internal aspects
What are the internal aspects that shape our personality?
On reflection seven aspects present themselves as threads that form the tapestry
3. The basic DNA
The cellular framework within which one functions sets the limits of potential. However how much of the potential gets expressed is a matter of the holistic integrated result of all the factors.
The conscious aspects
4. The cognitive aspects
Our conscious mind continually interacts, gets modified by its interactions and develops continually. This would include our intelligence, thinking, learning, feelings and emotions.
5. Volition
Although is seen part of the cognition dimension, it is treated as an independent aspect here. Volition is often ignored although it is the most potent of all. It determines and directs all other aspects. When properly developed and exercised it could nullify or modify much of the influence of other aspects. We are - can be - what we 'WILL' ourselves to be. Else we become what others 'will' us to become.
The unconscious aspects
6. The Freudian unconscious
The repressed, suppressed memories of strong experiences that exert their influence in subtle and strong ways.
7. The Jungian collective unconscious
This has in it records of the programmed collective experiences of people in general and the specific polity that one is born into; and as each individual is a function of evolution, he carries these imprints which form part of the ‘swabhava’ or intrinsic disposition of the person.
8. The specific karmic agenda* (prarabdha)
One is born with this agenda of life. One of the core purposes of life, as is widely believed, is to work through and nullify the karmic debts and so any opportunity that the environment holds for this, gains valence automatically. In fact one may even go in search of such opportunities.
9. Swabhavic orientations/ desires (vasanas).
The likes and dislikes that are inherent could be very compelling and push us towards a certain behaviour. Those who believe in multiple birth see this too as a carryover from previous births.
All the 9 influence our personality.
However, as Thiruvalluvar said: " uzhayum utpakkam kaanun. Muyarchi than meivarutha cooli tharum"
Efforts will certainly give its rewards. It can even turn destiny the other way.
And hence, of all the factors volition is supreme. Volition distinguishes man from other life forms and puts us on top of the evolutionary ladder. A well-developed strong volition makes wise choices. It is the hallmark of a strong personality.
Foot note:
• Karmic debts - For those who believe in multiple births this could mean the repertoire of past lives action whose effects and counter effects are the purpose of life.
However if the multiple birth paradigm is not given credence, this could mean the evolutionary aspirations of a given soul.
Padmini Janardhanan is an accredited rehabilitation psychologist, educational consultant, a corporate consultant for Learning and Development, and a counsellor, for career, personal and family disquiets.
Has been focussing on special education for children with learning difficulties on a one on one basis and as a school consultant for over 4 decades. The main thrust is on assessing the potential of the child and work out strategies and IEPs (Individual Educational Plans) and facilitating the implementation of the same to close the potential-performance gap while counselling the parents and the child to be reality oriented.
Has been using several techniques and strategies as suitable for the child concerned including, CBT, Hypnotherapy, client oriented counselling, and developing and deploying appropriate audio-visual / e-learning materials. Has recently added Mantra yoga to her repository of skills.
She strongly believes that literature shapes and influences all aspects of personality development and hence uses poetry, songs, wise quotations and stories extensively in counselling and training. She has published a few books including a compilation of slokas for children, less known avathars of Vishnu, The what and why of behaviour, and a Tamizh book 'Vaazhvuvallampera' (towards a fulfilling life) and other material for training purposes.
It was lunch break. I leaned back for ten seconds on my rocking chair. I think I was totally exhausted with continuous phone talk with my boss, as well as with other staff members! From early morning of 8:30 am, I was literally stuck to my laptop till lunch hour.
‘Ah, my goodness! At last a short break!,’ I took a deep breath of relief. I pondered about the last discussion before shutting down the laptop. Strolling around the room, I came out to the dining table. Dad, mom, my siblings, everybody had finished their lunch. I was to rejoin in the ‘laptop’ after home - work from home! I looked at my watch, then gulped the food as fast as possible. There was no time to enjoy the tasty food leisurely. Once I was done, I went back to my room for the next session. As I opened my laptop, the screen came up with the full size image of my boss.
He started his usual lecture, giving his advice, and future plan of work. I had nothing to say except ‘yes boss’! I was not against his wish, but the excess dose was too irritating for me! I felt like nodding my head every time like a dummy, nothing else. To some extent, I was happy that at least the next day, I could see what exactly was going on around my city. Although I was well aware of the heartbreaking news across the world I wanted to know how bad was the current situation! The next day was Sunday, I would be free.
***
Sunday morning! Usually, I get up a little late to compensate for the whole week’s loss of sleep. Just to get some fresh air, I went to my balcony. It was 9:30 am. I was stunned looking at the outside scenario from our building, and beyond it! I couldn't capture a single person on the vast open space of our campus, which is usually filled with residents busy with entertainment sports or some other events. Especially, on the Sunday early morning, the playground area fills up with the high pitch noise of children. But, the last few days, fear of the pandemic had taken away the happiness of everyone!
I gazed at the sky. The sky was clear, hardly any bird was seen. Perhaps the sky appeared so clear because of less pollution. ‘But, who quarantined the birds? Are they aware of the deadly virus?,’ I murmured to myself, and smiled at my own absurd thinking. The part of the road which was visible from my balcony was silent. Randomly, one or two persons were crossing. No vehicles, nothing. The funniest part was - hundreds of families are residing in the the same campus, but from nowhere any noise was audible, not even the babies' cry! I was really surprised at the quietness of the surrounding! ‘Where are we heading? How many more days? Can we really hide ourselves from this tiniest virus?’ I was terribly puzzled with all these questions, but kept quiet! I didn't like to show my weakness to my family members.
Though tensions of office work were not there, I didn't feel relaxed. I came back to my chair. Suddenly, the message tune drew my attention towards my mobile phone. I switched it on.
Someone messaged me, ‘Watch the breaking news .....and see the documentary film released by some unknown person.’
I felt angry. Silently, I watched the phone. ‘When these stupid persons will stop these fake news?’ I frowned, and switched off my phone. But few minutes later, once again the message tune forced me to watch it.
This time I lied down on my bed, and opened my iPhone. My anxiety increased to imagine what worse could happen, adding to our existing miseries!
‘The latest news is more ominous than all the past ones. It is said that the virus is prone to multiply with sound. So, all are requested to make as less sound as possible. And besides, protection of ears is also necessary.’
‘What?! Who the hell are you? Are you kidding?’ I wrote angrily.
‘It’s not fun. I got the news, and I messaged you. Watch the documentary by the unknown.
I was quiet for some moments. However, I couldn't resist my anxiety to see what exactly the documentary was! Once again, I switched on my phone.
***
‘People are totally dressed up like astronauts. There is no way at all to identify to which country they belong! Not a single person was in normal dress up. They were rushing somewhere. But they walked so funnily, it seemed as if they were walking on the moon. From their walk, I guessed they were worried, they must not be in a normal situation. As if some one is chasing them seriously, and they are running to save their life at any cost!'
I switched off my phone immediately. ‘What crap? Is this a cartoon drawing to threaten the human life more? Now whatever has happened, is that not enough?’ I wished to relax on a Sunday, and what tension was this! I couldn't calm my mind, then came to the drawing room to switch on the TV. Every news channel had only and only one discussion - ‘Corona virus’!
My eyes were fixed on the pictures of different cities across the world! For once the most crowded cities were also completely silent. No humans, no vehicles, nothing was moving on the roads. It looked so weird, but that was the truth! And the increasing number of mortality in all the big cities were so dreadful that every one was afraid anything could happen at any moment! The very life was at stake, everything so uncertain!!
I was really immersed in deep thought. ‘Is this the end of the human race? How many days we can play hide and seek with these viruses?! And even in these crucial times people commit social crimes?’ I shook my head. ‘God knows whether it was a conspiracy or misfortune of humans!'
I didn't dare watch the news any more. My heart started pounding. All were locked inside houses. A typical silence engulfed the whole city. Absurd thoughts crowded my mind. Human mind is so fast, it was running from one track to another. Suddenly, I landed on so many thoughts at the same time. Like education, business, global relationship, blah, blah, blah. Perhaps a time will come when school going children would get their studies through internet- a virtual education! Suddenly, phone buzzed. I picked up the phone. My friend Nikhil, a doctor in a well known hospital was on the line.
‘Hello, Amit?’
‘Yeah, Nikhil! Tell me. Where are you?’ I was on my toes, hearing his worried voice.
‘Amit, do me a favour, please! I don't have much time. Just listen to me carefully.’ His voice was feeble, and there was too much call interruption. I couldn't hear his full sentence even! But, I felt as if he urgently required something.
‘Yeah, Nikhil. I can hear you. Tell me, what do you want me to do?’
‘Amit, just inform my fiancée that I am affected with the virus. Somehow I caught it working with the patients. And I am quarantined. I tried her phone but I couldn't connect her. I have no idea how she is now! Please tell her to keep patience.’
‘What??! But..but where are you Nikhil? In which hospital? Can I visit you?’
‘No. You can't. Lockdown is still there.’
‘But, Nikhil! I can arrange something, and I would like to see you.’
Suddenly the line was completely cut off. I was disgusted with this call drop, and the poor network connection.
Hardly twenty days before lockdown, Nikhil’s engagement with Nita was done in a five star hotel in Banglore. I was one among the big invitees. It was a wonderful party! I was surprised how Nikhil had caught this dreadful disease! He was absolutely ok, and he took all precautions before visiting the patients.
I clumped around the room with an unsteady mind. ‘How will I connect Nita?!’ I dialled two, three friends of mine, who were working in Bangalore. Luckily one of them responded and passed on Nita’s residence number, not her mobile number. With a hope, I dialled that number. There was no response!
It was really a weird feeling! I tried again and again. After six, seven trial, a male voice responded, ‘Hello? Who do you want?’
‘Can I speak to Nita, please?!’
‘What? I can't hear you.'
Once again, I repeated, ‘Nita ma’am. Is she there?’
‘She is hospitalised. By the way, may I know your name please!’
‘Yes, yes, Amit. But, why is she hospitalised?’
‘She was having a slow fever and cough. Doctor suspected something, so advised her to stay in the hospital till her blood reports come.’
I dropped on the rocking chair, mobile in my lap still connected to the other side. The voice of that man was audible, not clearly though!
I felt as if the sky was falling upon me! What would I say to Nikhil?! I went on thinking, how come both were sick at the same time! Definitely, somebody having infection attended the engagement ceremony from where both caught the infection. And that somebody must be one of their relatives who came from abroad -Singapore!
‘Has this virus come to make all of us silent forever?’ I murmured to myself. After a while, I telephoned to Nikhil. Although, I decided not to tell him about the illness of Nita.
The phone rang, but nobody answered. I tried again. This time, somebody picked up the phone. When I requested him to hand over the phone to Nikhil, he paused for ten seconds. Then, in a painful voice he said, 'Dr. Nikhil passed away a few minutes back.'
With a bang, my phone fell down on the ground. I was speechless!! I couldn't believe my ears. Nikhil's voice was echoing in my ears,'Amit can you do me a favour, please......'
I sobbed like a child, my family members were in the other side of the room. So nobody knew the mental trauma I was going through!! God knows how his last rites will be performed and by whom!
A strange feeling haunted me again and again! Emptiness! No wonder silence was spreading like cancer everywhere!
Ms. Anjali Mahapatra is a retired teacher from Mumbai who taught Mathematics and Science to students in Ahmedabad, Bhubaneswar, Lucknow and Mumbai for more than thirty years. She took to writing after her retirement and has penned close to a hundred stories so far. Her stories have appeared in Sunnyskyz and other magazines. Two of her collection of short stories, 'An Amazing Letter to Me and Other Stories' and 'Granny Tales' have been published in Kindle Unlimited.
I met an innocent and confident lady once,
Who said: “my legs slid under a four-wheeler
and I had torment for a hundred and fifteen days.”
Later, I was happy to see her in the pink
that brought her courage and peace,
and enabled her to feel her husband’s love!
I admired her partner who served her
like a human to another human, with concern;
Perhaps it’s known to be loved and beloved!
She thanked the almighty for her life’s return
that made her cherished son feel the motherly love;
Perhaps it’s known as the oneness of the loving family!
I quoted, “Illness shouldn’t make you feel low
and if you have no confidence and chivalry,
You'll be defeated twice in the journey of life!”
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi, a postgraduate in English Literature with a B.Ed., has over three decades of experience in the field of education and held various positions. Writing has always been her passion that translates itself into poems of different genres, short stories and articles on a variety of themes and topics.
Her poems can be read on her blog setaluripadma.wordpress.com Padmavathi’s poems and other writes regularly appear on Muse India, Boloji.com and poemhunter.com
I AM A GARRULOUS BOT
S. Joseph Winston
Hard wired with logic intricate
The construction of me so complicate
Often need to handle so delicate
Present version built more explicate
I am a garrulous bot?!
Every simple problem I complicate
To solve it all consummate
Excess of my stupidity indulgence
Often construed as intelligence
I am a garrulous bot!
sexagesimally I played with time
To train myself for a game
discovery of my heart became
So difficult for the beautiful dame
I am a garrulous bot!
You ask my name
I speak of the reason for my name
All for hours yet no answer for the name
Forgot their own names, who asked my name
Go back home without my name
I am a garrulous bot!
For being so logical I am with apathy
Take decisions without any sympathy
A cyber bot incarnation i wish to be
no worries and no cries
I am a garrulous bot!
The impaired memory makes me
Even forget that I am absent minded
in a way not to keep any grudge
but yet to resolve the meaning of love
I am a garrulous bot!
Many walked in my shoes
some said its too lose
and slipped through the noose
some said its too tight
and ran away at sight
I am a garrulous bot!
People Byte my memory
and dusted my mirror heart
intently looked into to see their own image
but dejected seeing a different image
I am a garrulous bot!
S. Joseph Winston is pursuing his PhD at the Mechanical Engineering Department of IIT Madras. His research is in the area of computer vision for remote robot calibration. He has completed his MTech in Machine Design with the university first rank at Kerala University and working as Senior Scientific Officer, heading Remote Handling & Irradiation Experiments Division and also heading a section Steam Generator Inspection Devices Section at Indira Gandhi Center for Atomic Research, Govt. Of India, Kalpakkam. His areas of interest are developments of robotic systems for remote inspection of power plant systems and soft intelligent motion controls for robotics and automation. His hobbies are photography, Traveling and creating computer program snippets. He has interest in human psychology and love to interact with different people.
Oh!! my dear munchkins
Life has taken away your grin
Not understanding anything that is happening around you
You have tolerated more than you can chew
Car rides taken a back seat
In this lockdown and sweltering heat
Hushkoo sacrifices his chicken rice
Reducing his meals to twice from thrice
Rahul the saudade traveller
Living these days in marked parameters
Showcasing his best behaviour
A moment to be written on paper
Relishing his custard in every flavour
The most difficult task
To make him wear the mask
The Almighty will be the shield for our children
For everyone in a million
Hushkoo knows All
He needs to connect with his superiors overall
He is part of nature
And above all adventure
He has a high understanding
But our needs are expanding
We regret, we bow down
Do send our message to every town
Rahul and You are our only crown
Paint the mysterious Universe... with a tint of brown
As we all continue to frown.
Sheena Rath is a post graduate in Spanish Language from Jawaharlal Nehru University Delhi, later on a Scholarship went for higher studies to the University of Valladolid Spain. A mother of an Autistic boy, ran a Special School by the name La Casa for 11 years for Autistic and underprivileged children. La Casa now is an outreach centre for social causes(special children, underprivileged children and families, women's health and hygiene, cancer patients, save environment) and charity work.
Sheena has received 2 Awards for her work with Autistic children on Teachers Day. An Artist, a writer, a social worker, a linguist and a singer (not by profession)
You provoked my sound with your eerie silence
My sound dissected your quietness
Our time hung between your silence and my noise
This subtlety is
Camouflaging the deep bond between us
Enough of our pretences
Let us come back to our senses...
... ... ...
You provoked my rage with your rueful reticence
My rebound deciphered your acquiescence
Our thread hung between your glance and my voice
This fidelity is
Fusing the deep longing between us
Enough of our defences
Let us come back to mend fences...
... ... ...
You provoked my impatience with your patience
My resonance defused your dissonance
Our symphony hung between your nod and my choice
This affinity is
Harmonising the deep sync between us
Enough of our inferences
Let us rejoice in Love’s gracious recompenses....
Ravi Ranganathan is a retired banker turned poet settled in Chennai. He has to his credit three books of poems entitled “Lyrics of Life” and “Blade of green grass” and “Of Cloudless Climes”. He revels in writing his thought provoking short poems called ‘ Myku’. Loves to write on nature, Life and human mind. His poems are featured regularly in many anthologies. Has won many awards for his poetry including , Sahitya Gaurav award by Literati Cosmos Society, Mathura and Master of creative Impulse award by Philosophyque Poetica.
Charity is an act of giving and sharing with lot of benevolence in the heart with unconditional love. In the religious context it is abundance of love and kindness. Charity is not mere donating money for a cause, but it is something beyond this. Chinese philosopher Confucius says, “Charity is not giving a biscuit to the dog. But charity is giving biscuit to the dog when you are as hungry as the dog”. Yes. Before giving charity, one must experience what is hunger, should have felt the pinch of poverty and should have experienced how the agony of misery and misfortune would be. He should understand the wretchedness of impecuniousness. Then only he can make charity. Many people do charity by donating money to temples and charitable institutions for mere publicity and fame and to escape income tax. They are under the impression that if they do charity in this manner, they can become popular among the people. But what is charity and how it can be done? Answer is available in our religious books.
Bhagavat Gita considers charity as an act of duty and good quality of a man and it should be done according to one`s capacity. Gita says it is a mode of goodness. It should reach the people who are really deserving and in distress. In Islam it is said that if any Muslim plants any plant and a human being or an animal eats of it, he will be rewarded as if he had given that much in charity. This is a very simple way of doing charity that anyone can plant a plant for the welfare of not only for the mankind but for animals too. In the Bible Jesus explains how to make a charity. He says “When you give to the poor, don`t announce it with trumpet fanfare. Don`t your left hand know what your right hand does.” Buddhism speaks about charity, when it says, “If you give freely without expecting anything in return that is real charity. Jainism and Sikhism also speak about charity as an act of generosity of giving to someone in need and distress. Next to love, most of our religions advocate charity as the noblest virtue and one who does it will be rewarded adequately in this life or in the next. Does charity mean only giving money?
No. Mahatma Gandhi says, “The best way of fund yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” Serving human beings is a service to God. Charity can be in the form of service also. Helping others to overcome the distress that they face by counseling with them, helping elderly people to come up with their activities, educating poor children, nursing the diseased by taking them to hospitals and by providing them with some medicines, helping the blind to cross the road are all considered to be charity in the form of service. Monitory help alone need not be a charity, but services like these also are to be considered as charity.
Charity is not restricted to serving the human beings alone, but it can be done to animals also. Showing compassion to all animals is the greatest virtue of all that a human being can possess, as animals are dependent on us and in turn we are also dependent on them. All living beings, not only human beings, but others like animals, plants and trees also have the right to live. Human beings do not have any right to kill these innocent creatures. All living beings have the right to live. Animal sacrifice has no meaning as we do not sacrifice anything that we possess. It is a meaningless ritual. Though it is taking place in the name of religion it should be banned outright. Encroachment of forests where most of the animals live should be avoided. Places where animals live should also be taken care of. All charitable institutions that take care of animals should be encouraged by providing adequate funds. Not only public, but Government should also come forward to sanction funds to these institutions. Charitable organizations that are taking care of destitute animals and people should be encouraged and more people should come forward to donate funds to them. Taking care of nature, by not polluting it is also a kind of charity that we can do to plants and trees as they are also living beings and they also require our love and care. This way global warming can also be avoided and out Mother Earth can be saved.
The definition of charity as already told is nothing but caring, giving and sharing. When we apply this definition organ donation also comes under this purview. This is the noblest virtue of all.
It is often said that charity begins at home. But let it come out of it, so that many destitute people get benefit out of it.
Anandh Kumar is a Retire Bank Manager who has thirty years of service in Banking Industry. He is an ardent lover of reading and writing. His is a regular contributor to a magazine "Dignity Dialogue" published by an NGO from Mumbai. He regularly writes in Muse India and Poemhunters.com. He lives in Chennai.
Evocative memories bloom gently
Fragrance permeates throughout the mind
Treasured images come alive vividly
Eyes smile, hearts melt at the thought
Of my grandma 'Pattu Paati' as we call her fondly.
Specially designed clay stoves,
Specifically crafted stone mortars,
Different earthen wares, Heavy stone pots,
Small coffee grinding machines,
Her kitchen assets-indeed flavourful assets.
Cascade of flavours stream from her kitchen.
Fresh brewed coffee awakens the senses.
Heavenly smell wafts when clay stove fires.
Smoke envelops her, becomes wet with sweat,
Yet,glows brightly with radiant smile.
For sweets, jaggery and sugar alone not melts
Her sweetness too merges..
Out comes the sweet, delicious as feast.
Aroma exudes from kitchen, while her hands Work with the brass cookie press.
Out comes the snacks, crisp and crunchy.
Greasy spicy pickles in heavy ceramic jars,
Flavorful powdered spices in handy bottles,
Her other tasty avatars from kitchen.
Memories may glide back to nest, but never fades.
For she carved our hearts not just with aromatic delectable food that her dainty hands served,
But with purified immense scents of love that her tender heart poured.
Not just ambrosial smell we inhaled from her every dish,
But inhaled her love, unconditional love…
Ms. Padmapriya Karthik is an enthusiastic story writer for children and a poet. She has secured eighth place in Rabindranth Tagore International Poetry contest 2020.Her works have been featured in various anthologies published by 'The Impish Lass Publishing House’. She contributes poems to Efflorescence anthology, Muse India an online journal.
Her children's stories have found place in The PCM, Children's Magazine. She has won 5th place in the National story writing contest 2019 conducted by The PCM, Children's Magazine.
THE SOLIFLORE OF 'NOW'
Madhumathi. H
Milky green, drowsy orange
Intoxicating fragrance
Some memories bloom as the Telosma...
The scents of the past, linger for life
Gift few happy curves to our lips, and hearts
And blur our eyes too, with a drop or two
Like, suddenly looking up from a book, or
A song experienced, eyes closed
Tickled by a whiff of heavenly fragrance
Our soul searches frantically, the trail of memories
The notes of the perfume sprayed from the yesterdays...
Ah!
Succumb not, dear heart
For the past is but a bonsai tree...
Our tomorrows to take deeper roots on the vast Earth
To become a huge shelter of love, a Banyan
TODAY
Let us sprout moment by moment...
Fragrances may taunt, yet
We shall bloom as Oasis, a garden of hope
Perfuming the Universe, with the notes of promise
"Am there - I care", while our wounds are still healing...
Through the rain-washed windows
That hide the landmarks
Behind tiny cascades of raindrops
Your arrival in bokeh mode
Makes the waiting
A beautiful experience
Watching you nearing
The gate...
Every step forward
Greetings exchanged
With the plants, trees
The cuckoo, and the bluebells
That have witnessed her moments
Waiting for you...
And now
Another rainy day
Let her dreams, prayers
Be not washed away
Like a feeble paperboat...
Knock the door
Ring the bell
Out of the blue
Arrive like a special surprise
To heal her wound
That pains more
In undissolved fears...
A festival to celebrate
Needs no festoons
When love decorates
The interiors...
Arrive
Like a festival
And
Illumine her soul
Dear Omniscient sweetheart...
Madhumathi is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry(English and Tamil), Photography, and Music, Madhumathi believes writing is a soulful journey of weaving one's emotions and thoughts, having a kaleidoscopic view of life through poetry. She experiences Metamorphosis through writing. Nature is her eternal muse and elixir. Poetry, to Madhumathi, is a way of life, and loves to leave heartprints behind in gratitude, through her words. She strongly believes in the therapeutic power of words, that plant love, hope, and enable a deep healing. Madhumathi loves to spread mental health awareness through writing, breaking the stigma, and takes part in related activities, too.
Madhumathi's poems are published with the Poetry Society India in their AIPC anthologies 2015, 16, and 17, the multilingual anthology 'Poetic Prism' 2015(Tamil and English), Chennai Poets' Circle's 'Efflorescence' 2018, 2019, India Poetry Circle's 'Madras Hues Myriad Views'(2019) celebrating the spirit and glory of Madras, in the UGC approved e-journal Muse India, in IWJ-International Writers' Journal (2020), and e- zines Our Poetry Archive(OPA), and Storizen.
Blog for Madhumathi's Poems :https://multicoloredmoon.wordpress.com/, http://mazhaimozhimounam.blogspot.com/?m=1
A TOUCH OF LOVE
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Dr. Tripathy slowed down on the way to the Operation Theatre at the Tata Steel Plant Hospital, Jamshedpur. There was some commotion at the Reception Counter. The lady in charge was shouting at a helpless man, "How many times do I have to tell you, your sister is not covered in our medical treatment scheme. You are a plant supervisor, can't you understand this simple thing?"
"But, where do I take my sister? She has come to me with great hopes. She has no support, her husband and son died in a road accident five years back. Where will she go for treatment? It is such a big company, why can't they cover the treatment of blood relatives?"
"Sir, you are really impossible. Can I change the hospital's policies? Do I have the power?", the lady shouted at the top of her voice. A few passersby who had gathered started dispersing.
Dr. Tripathy went to the counter and looked at the lady sternly, "Why do you shout at the poor man? He is already stressed, do you need to aggravate his stress with your shouting?"
The lady knew Dr. Tripathy, everyone in the hospital did. He was one of the best neuro surgeons in the country. He owned the famous Sanjeevani Hospital in Jamshedpur and visited Tata hospital twice a week as a consultant.
"Sorry sir, this gentleman is harassing me for the last ten minutes, I have told him in clear terms we cannot cover the treatment of his sister, he is not prepared to accept that."
Dr. Tripathy looked at the man - a middle aged person, well dressed, looking worried and forlorn, "What's the problem Sir, what's your name, where are you from? Your accent shows you are an Odia, which part of Odisha are you from?"
"I am Manoranjan Chaudhury, from Cuttack Sir. And you are Doctor...?
"I am Dr. Muktikanta Triapty".
"SIR? You are Dr. Muktikanta Tripathy? The famous Neuro Surgeon? O My God, I never thought I would be seeing you ever in person."
Manoranjan bent down to touch the feet of Dr. Tripathy who stopped him, "What has happened to your sister? What old is she? Have you shown her to some doctor?"
"We had consulted a doctor at Bhadrak Sir, that's where she lives, she is very unlucky Sir, five years back she lost her husband and son of twenty two years in a road accident. She is forty nine years old. The doctor at Bhadrak told us she has a brain tumour and advised us to take her to a big hospital. So I brought her here. My poor sister, see how she is lying there on the bench, mute and almost lifeless, yet she was always so active, so talkative. In fact she used to do so much chabar chabar, we used to call her Chabari! Now she has gone silent, sleeping all the time".
Dr. Tripathy looked up, his heart started pounding, "Chabari, your sister? Come, let's see her."
The moment he looked at her, his pounding heart jumped, O My God, it is the same girl, from so many years back, there was no mistaking on that. The face had become pale, the eyes overshadowed by dark circles, the curly hair blowing aimlessly under the fan. But, how could he forget her face, the face that had set his helpless heart throbbing like a non-stop sweet ache? It had awakened his adolescent mind, opening it up like soft petals under a gentle breeze......
Just to be sure, he asked Manoranjan,
"Where exactly is your house at Buxi Bazar?"
"In the lane behind GlassHouse, the photo frame shop......"
Dr. Tripathy looked wistfully at him,
"A single storeyed house with a garden at the front and an arched gate?"
Manoranjan looked at him, startled,
"Sir, do you know our house? Have you been there?"
The famous Doctor looked at him. Have I been there? Manoranjan, when did I leave that house? Has my subconscious mind ever left that place? Can one pluck the most unforgettable memory of the past and abandon it on the way like a discarded bunch of flowers? How old were you on that scorching summer day, when an eager boy knocked at your door, thirsty, about to collapse from the unbearable heat? Ten? Twelve? And Didi? Chabari Didi? What was her age? Did this innocent boy of sixteen know how to assess girls' age? And didn't she appear ageless on that summer morning, someone like an angel from the heavens?
Manoranjan was looking at the Doctor,
"Sir, will my Didi die without an operation? I cannot spare more than two lakh rupees from my GPF savings and this hospital will charge her at least four lakh rupees. Is this the end of my dear sister?"
Tears rolled down Manoranjan's eyes. Dr. Tripathy took his hand and consoled him, "Don't worry Manoranjan, we will not let Didi die. Have you heard of Sanjeevani Hospital? Take her to that place. Here, take this note to the Medical Superintendent in Sanjjevani Hospital, he will admit her. Wait for me there. Let me finish a couple of operations here, I will come there and examine her. We will fix a date for her surgery."
Manoranjan hesitated,
"But Sir, that is a private hospital, I am told it is even more costly than our hospital here. How can I afford Didi's treatment there?"
Dr. Muktikanta Tripathy looked at his watch, it was getting late for the first operation to start, the patient must have been etherised, the supporting team will be waiting at the OT. He smiled at Manoranjan, "Don't worry about all that now, we will discuss it later. First we have to save Didi's life, please go to Sanjjevani Hospital. Let me rush to the OT, I am getting late."
It was a good seven minutes walk to the OT. Dr. Tripathy's mind went back to the past, the scorching summer morning when he had knocked at the door of a single storeyed house looking for a little shade from the blazing sun and a glass of water.
That year the summer in Cuttack had broken all records, by eight in the morning the sun was beating down on a tormented earth mercilessly. Muktikanta, a student of tenth class in PM Academy had walked from his home in Sutahat to Ranihat High School for a debate competition. He was representing his school. The debate was to start at nine thirty and he had estimated he would be free by eleven to walk the two miles back to home. But things got delayed. The debate started one hour late and was over only at twelve. Hunger was gnawing at his stomach and ten minutes into the walk he felt thirsty. He went to a roadside tap to drink some water but it was dry. By the time he reached Manisahu Chhak, his head had started reeling, he knew he must go under a shed somewhere and must drink water. He entered the lane next to Glass House, the big Photo Frame shop. There was a house at the corner where the lane met the internal road leading to the Fire station. He opened the arched gate and climbed on to the veranda of a single storied house. He was about to knock when the door opened on its own. He stepped back in terror as a guttural, sepulchral voice announced, "You can enter young man, you have my permission to do so", And then a soft giggle. Inside it was pitch dark, no one was in sight. Muktikanta panicked. He was about to retrace his steps, when a young girl appeared at the door, clad in a white saree, her hair tied in a red ribbon, the colour of a fearful red. She laughed, "Did I scare you? Am I not a good actress? Fit to be in movies? Come inside, it's cool here, you will be burnt like a cake if you stand outside."
Muktikanta had no choice, he was about to collapse. He entered the room and pleaded, "Water! Can you please give me some water?"
Muktikanta had sat down on a chair, his eyes closed, by the time the girl returned with a glass of water. He opened his eyes hearing her foot steps, snatched the glass and drank the water in three gulps. It was cold, right from a fridge. He held the glass to her and murmured, "Some more please."
She ran inside and brought a full bottle from the fridge. Muktikanta drank four more glasses of water, as if he had been thirsty for years!
The girl started laughing loudly,
"You finished five glasses of water! Are you a camel in a desert?"
Her voice was soft, lilting, the like of which Muktikanta had never heard in life. He was embarrassed, "The water was from the fridge. Couldn't resist the temptation!"
"Why, don't you have a fridge at home?" The girl asked, "No, but my father works as a shop assistant at a medical shop, so whenever I go to meet him he gives me water from the fridge at the shop."
In no time the girl had assumed the role of an elder sister quizzing a younger brother, "What is your name? Where do you live? And why are you out in the open on such a cruel, gruelling day?
"I am Muktikanta Tripathy. We live in Sutahat, I am a student of Tenth class in PM Academy. I had gone to Ranihat school for the Annual Inter School Debate Competition."
"How nice, did you win?"
Muktikanta nodded shyly,
"Yes, I won the first place. The topic was 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever'"
"Where is the scope for debate in that? It is an absolute truth"
Muktikanta shook his head,
"I spoke against the topic."
Her innocent, sparkling eyes widened,
"How?"
"I took the stand that beauty is a relative term. It lies in the eyes of the beholder. It means different things to different people. For example you saw just now, water from the fridge seemed to be a beautiful thing to me a few minutes back, for you it is just ordinary cold water because you drink it all the time. If I draw a good painting it may look to you as the most beautiful painting in the world, for me the price it will bring in the market assumes more importance, doesn't it? What brings me joy is the value of the painting, not its beauty."
The girl was listening mesmerised. She clapped when he finished, "Brilliant! Really brilliant! Are you the topper in your class?"
Multikant nodded shyly, he had never ever talked to a girl in his life, let alone a beautiful girl who almost looked like an angel in her spotless white saree draping a slim figure and a red ribbon in her hair. And yet he felt so easy, so comfortable talking to her! What kind of magic she played on him!
"Yes, I always get the first position in all exams. The teachers like me a lot."
She clapped again,
"Wonderful! A brilliant boy, a topper in the class! Tell me, what is Newton's third Law of Motion?"
Muktikanta smiled,
"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."
She was impressed, she wanted to test him more, "Which is the capital of Brazil?"
"Rio de Jeneiro"
"Excellent! Who is the author of Anna Karenina?"
Muktikanta thought a bit, he had read the translation of the book, but was not able to recollect the name of the author.
"It is either Dostoevsky or Leo Tolstoy, I am not sure."
She smiled,
"It is Leo Tolstoy. Who is the composer of Bande Mataram, our national song?"
"Bankim Chandra."
This time the clap was louder,
"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Tell me, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Pat came the reply,
"Doctor...I want to be a doctor."
"A doctor? Why?"
Muktikanta smiled, a faraway look on his tender face, "Whenever I go to the Pharmacy shop where my father works, he shows me the medicines, tells me their names and explains what they are meant for. I sometimes feel I have an old connection with the medicines and the diseases they cure, as if the illnesses are all my old enemies and I have a score to settle with them. If I become a doctor I can do that."
The girl was surprised. She could not imagine someone giving such a novel reason to become a doctor. She clapped again, "O my god, you are really, really brilliant. Some day, when you become a big doctor I will come to you for treatment."
This time it was Muktikanta's turn to be surprised. Do angels ever fall sick, he asked himself. The girl went inside for a few minutes and returned with a glass of cold lassi. She handed over the glass to him and Muktikanta, a shy boy who would never have looked at a girl, took it from her, mesmerised by her beauty, innocence and sweetness. He started sipping it, the pangs of hunger in his stomach slowly subsided.
She looked at him,
"Do you know, I also used to go to inter college debate competitions till last year, and I have won a few prizes also?"
Muktikanta wondered why she didn't go for competitions any more, "Why have you stopped? You should have continued to compete, you seem so intelligent!"
"My parents did not allow me to continue my studies after I finished my B.A. They want me to get married. They think a grown up daughter is a burden on her parents. Tell me, do I look like a burden?"
Muktikanta was shocked. He looked up,
"Burden? You? You are so thin and young, so sweet, how can you be a burden on anyone?"
The girl was happy at the compliments, she smiled cutely, "Who will convince my parents? They are bent on marrying me off."
Muktikanta frowned,
"I can't think of you as a bride, as someone's wife or daughter in law. You are too young for that. But tell me after you get married, will you be like this, laughing, clapping, chattering all the time? Doing chabar chabar, like you are doing now?"
The girl let out a loud laugh,
"Wah, you don't cease to surprise me! You must be exceptionally brilliant, otherwise how could you think of chabar chabar? You know, I do so much chabar chabar my younger brother and his friends call me Chabari didi!"
Muktikanta smiled,
"Chabari! That's indeed a sweet name!"
He had finished the lassi, the girl took the empty glass from him and went inside. She returned after a minute and stood near him.
"I want to give you something, promise you will not say no to me"
Muktikanta panicked, what is she going to give him, why is she asking for a promise? He just nodded his head, worried.
She extended her right hand and opened the fist which held a two rupees coin. She gave it to him, "It's so hot outside, only crazy people walk under the sun at this hour. Don't walk all the way to Sutahat. When you go out engage a rickshaw to go home".
Muktikanta couldn't believe this was happening. For some reason a doubt, an unknown fear gripped him. Was he in a real world? Do such things really happen, or was he hallucinating, coming from under a blazing sun? Or is there something else? Is the girl real? The girl in a spotless white saree with a ribbon the colour of blood red! Her tinkling laughter, and the claps, are they real? And how is everything else so silent? How is it there is no one else in this dark, cool house? Is this a haunted house he has accidentally stepped into? He remembered the sepulchral voice at the time of his entry and shuddered.
The fear must have clouded his face. And the girl sensed it. With a reassuring smile, she took his hand and held it for a few seconds, putting the coin on his palm.
It was a moment Dr. Muktikanta Tripathy never forgot in his life - a moment of awakening of a rare love that spreads into infinity, engulfing in its soft embrace the earth, the ocean and the sky and everything within them. A touch of love that flooded every core of his being, filled his heart with an undiminishing glow, shook the roots of all his feelings and emotions. He looked at her with awe inspired devotion, like a shy, innocent teen would look at a beautiful angel who had appeared from a far horizon, embalming him with timeless love and affection, beauty and serenity.
He looked at her and in a trance exclaimed, "If I could go back to the debate competition now and would be given a chance to speak again, I will shout at the top of my voice, 'A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever'."
The girl blushed at this outburst of encomium and removed her hand.
Muktikanta grabbed the coin, as if it was a precious gift and with one last look at the girl, ran out.
For the next one month Muktikanta remained busy for the final exams. He often thought about the girl and her extraordinary kindness, but concentrated on his studies. After the exams were over, he took two rupees from his mother and went to the house in Buxi Bazar to return the money to the girl. The house was decorated with colourful festoons and flags. There was a shamiana in the garden. It was obvious some function had been celebrated there recently.
He knocked at the door. The lady who came out was clearly the girl's mother, the resemblance was obvious. She looked at him, "Yes? Are you looking for some one?"
Muktikanta bowed and touched her feet,
"Mausi, I am Muktikanta. I had come to this house one month back and your daughter had given me two rupees to hire a rickshaw to go home. I have come to return the two rupees."
The lady looked sad, tears came to her eyes. Voice shaking in anguish, she said, "Where is she, where is my daughter? Who will you return the money to, son? She got married and left yesterday for her in laws' place."
Muktikanta was surprised. The marriage must have been arranged in a hurry, the girl had never told him the marriage was only one month away! He asked her, "Where has she gone to? Is her in law's place in Cuttack? Tell me Mausi, I can go there to meet her."
The lady shook her head, the eyes brimming with tears, "No son, she has gone far away to Bhadrak, " she started wailing, "when will I see my daughter again?"
Muktikanta knew Bhadrak was about a hundred kilometres away, but to his young, adolescent mind, distance really didn't matter. He was possessed of a love that transcended time and distance. It was a deep, intense feeling that had permeated his being, a touch that had washed his body, mind and soul with a pristine purity. He knew he would never forget the girl in the white saree, giggling, clapping and chatting like there was no end.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dr. Tripathy finished the two operations in about four hours and hurried to Sanjeevani hospital. The tumour in Didi's brain had grown to a frightful extent and surgery was imminently required. He performed it on the third day. Manoranjan and his wife attended on Didi. After a week Manoranjan went to Dr. Tripathy's chamber.
"Come Manoranjan, Didi has recovered quite well, although it will take one more week for her to get back all her faculties. She may be incoherent in her speech and may be drowsy for some more days, but she should be fine after a week or ten days. If you want you can take her home tomorrow. But make sure there is no noise, no tension, no stress for her. You have to be careful."
"Yes Sir, we will be very careful. We will make sure she comes to no harm. You can't imagine how loving she is, how caring."
Dr. Tripathy looked at Manoranjan wistfully and then at the distant hills outside. The hills were dotted with wild flowers, a riot of colours smiled at him through the window. Of course he knew how caring she was, how much an epitome of selfless love!
"I know Manoranjan, I have no doubt you all will take care of her."
The next morning Manoranjan came to Sanjeevani hospital to get Didi discharged and to take her home. He went to the billing counter to check how much he would have to pay. He had brought his cheque book, his heart heavy with worry. If the amount was too high and beyond what he could withdraw from his GPF account he would ask for permission to pay in instalments. He hoped Dr. Tripathy would agree to that.
The lady at the billing counter took out the papers and gave them to Manoranjan, "The admission slip says the final billing will be done by Dr. Tripathy. Whenever he gives a large discount to patients he does the billing himself. Please take these papers to him, after he mentions the amount we will collect the money here. The package for the removal of a tumour is 5.5 lakhs. Even if Dr. Tripathy gives you a discount of a lakh, you still have to pay 4.5 lakh rupees."
Manoranjan started sweating. Four and half lakhs! Where will he get this huge amount? His GPF balance may not be more than two and half lakhs. Last year he had with drawn ten lakhs for his daughter's wedding.
"Tell me, is one lakh the maximum discount Dr. Tripathy gives?"
The lady smiled,
"Look, I have been working here for more than seven years, I have never seen anyone getting a discount of more than a lakh. For poor patients however he charges nothing, he does the operation absolutely free. But for you it cannot be free. The records say you are a supervisor in Tata Steel Plant. You are not exactly poor, are you?"
She smiled dismissively and handed over the papers to Manoranjan.
Dr. Tripathy was happy to see him.
"So Manoranjan, all ready to go?"
"Yes Sir, I wanted to ask you if Didi will be in a position to travel to Cuttack by road after a week. Our mother's annual Shradh ceremony will be ten days from now and we always perform it in our home. Didi has never missed it all these years. If I can take her with us, we all will be happy."
Dr. Tripathy thought for few moments,
"Yes, you can take her, but make sure she travels with the least discomfort. Hire a big car, like an Innova or something and go slow. No jerking on the road, no unnecessary stress to her. Ok? And after you return to Jamshedpur, bring her here for a thorough check up. I want to make sure everything is normal. And I want to chat with her. Let me see how soon she gets back to her Chabari form! Then only I will know my surgery has been fully successful."
Dr. Tripathy chuckled.
Manoranjan was fidgeting in his chair. The time had come to raise the question of billing and payment. He handed over the papers to Dr. Tripathy and swallowed twice, "Sir, the lady at the billing counter said you have to do the billing after allowing discount. I had told you on the first day itself I can withdraw two lakh rupees from my GPF account and pay for Didi's surgery. Last year I had exhausted all my savings for my daughter's wedding. Will you please accept the two lakh rupees and write off the balance as a discount?"
Dr. Tripathy was writing something in the papers. He looked up, startled, "Two lakhs? I didn't ask you to pay two lakhs! The full cost of Didi's surgery has already been paid. Where is the question of discount?"
Manoranjan sat up, shocked.
"Paid? Who paid it Sir?"
Dr. Tripathy looked at him, his eyes had become moist, the adolescent boy within him, who thought of all diseases as enemies and wanted to settle score with them, became emotional.
"Manoranjan, in a few days Didi will become normal. When she starts understanding things, tell her that you had brought her to me and I conducted the surgery on her. Remind her that on a scorching summer morning twenty nine years back she had paid the full cost of this surgery to me with a glass of lassi, a two rupees coin and a touch of love."
................................................
(This story has been inspired by an incident in the life of the famous American physician and surgeon Dr. Howard Kelly (1858-1943), one of the founders of Johns Hopkins University)
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing short stories and managing the website PositiveVibes.Today. He has published eight books of short stories in Odiya and has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj.
THE SPEAKING STONE: A COLLECTION OF POEMS
Publisher: Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020
ISBN 978-93-89824-14-8
Price: Rs.295
Book Review by Namrata
Poetry is the language of the soul. As the world battles with a global pandemic which has no end in sight, poetry is perhaps the only respite we have to help us stay sane and survive during these trying times.
The Speaking Stone by Pravat Kumar Padhy is a poetry collection that makes you ponder and reanalyse everything around us including all that we have taken for granted till now – the environment, nature, our planet Earth and most importantly our lives. Spread across forty-two poems, Padhy manages to string together various emotions and brings forth the magic of the enigma called life, beautifully.
Pravat Kumar Padhy is an award-winning poet whose work has been showcased across the world. With seven collections of verses to his credit, he also holds a place of honour in World’s Who’s Who.
Flipping through these poems, you realise the deep value Padhy has for art and literature. His writings reflect the strong urge to redefine life and its magnanimity. The title The Speaking Stone seems to have taken inspiration from the old adage — “What if the stones/ rocks could speak?” Taking this saying further, Padhy has penned down the plethora of answers possible, if the stones could speak. What would they tell us and why — is the gist of the whole collection.
The poems featured in this collection range widely from human life to nature, from love to survival instinct, from greed to necessity and from merely existing to living. Some of his poems recount how one should cease to exist within the narrow boundaries of the society and explore life beyond those predefined boundaries. Others question the very existence of a man.
“In the string of evolution
We all are living particles of vibration
Musing the time to an infinite point
As time has neither a beginning nor an end.”
After reading some of the works of Padhy, one cannot help but wonder at the materialistic hunger which consumes a human being to an extent that it threatens to lead to self-destruction and yet refuses to die. What is that pushes a man to keep chasing goals? How much is enough? Is money the ultimate power which makes a man truly invincible or is it power? Are some of the questions that haunt you long after the book is over.
Life has different meaning for different individuals and still, at the core it remains an enigma for all of us. Moving beyond the parameters of religion and philosophy, Padhy tries to indulge in a genuine conversation with the reader which is both, stimulating and evocative.
“The sun never differentiates
Whether it is north or south
East or west.
It blazes itself to enlighten the world.”
Amidst all of this, he doesn’t fail to remind us, how in the eyes of the Almighty creator we are one. Beyond the barriers of caste, creed, religion and colour, lies one thing that binds us all – a heart full of love and hope.
“The sense of belonging
Is rusted under his skull
In the crowd of diversities,
We are busy nailing
Nameplates of rich and poor,
Forgetting oneness
Of the entire human being.”
At a time, when we stand divided into fragments by our own thoughts, this collection is an imperative read. It urges us to look deeper within ourselves and explore the larger definition of life. Padhy motivates us to move beyond the ordinary and look for that extra, which can make our lives extra-ordinary. His powerful verses remind us the biggest religion above all is that of humanity. And his words denote the power of kindness and empathy, the much-needed elements for survival in today’s scenario. To conclude, it is a read that shakes you, moves you and leaves you convinced that love alone, shall triumph at the end of it all.
Namrata is a lost wanderer who loves travelling the length and breadth of the world. She lives amidst sepia toned walls, fuchsia curtains, fairy lights and shelves full of books. When not buried between the pages of a book, she loves blowing soap bubbles. A published author she enjoys capturing the magic of life in her words and is always in pursuit of a new country and a new story. She can be reached at privytrifles@gmail.com.
(Credit: First Published in Borderless Journal, April, 2020 (Founding Editor: Mitali Chakravarty)
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