Article

Literary Vibes - Edition XXVIII


Dear Friends,

Welcome to the Twenty Eighth edition.

We are happy to welcome Ms. Sharanya, a young, promising poet from Trivandrum, to the family of LiteraryVibes. As her four poems show, she is gifted with a rare  poetic sensibility and is likely to rise very high in the literary firmament. Let us wish her the very best. We are fortunate to have a very lucid and interesting piece of Travelogue from Ms. Kumud Raj of Nagercoil, Tamil Nadu. We welcome her to LiteraryVibes and do hope that she will continue to write for us and keep enthralling the readers with her magnificent travel accounts.

Mr. Prabhanjan Kumar Mishra has also been kind enough to translate the poems of a very accomplished Odiya poet Mr. Kamalakanta Panda whose works are published widely in Odisha. Our heartiest welcome to Shri Panda. We are indeed blessed to have such lovely creations of exceptionally talented writers in the pages of LiteraryVibes.

In today's edition Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, one of our regular contributors, has dazzled us with her mini stories which are captivating and thought-provoking. She has also promised to write some Drabbles for us in the next edition. For those who are not familiar with this form of fiction, Drabbles are very short pieces of writing, not more than a hundred words in length, which try to present a story within a very limited space. They are like gun shots in the air which creates a lot of ripples, sowing the seeds of endless possibilities. Those of us who write fiction can also try our hands in dabbling with Drabbles! I am happy that we are in for exciting weeks ahead!

Wish you a fabulous reading during the weekend. Please send the link to all your friends and contacts. Encourage them to write for the LiteraryVibes and mail their contributions to mrutyunjays@gmail.com
 

With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi

 

 


THE LITTLE ONE

(For Sonal)

Prabhanjan K. Mishra

She is late again.

Her elaborate reasoning

lacks conviction.

Adjectives and interjections

spoil a good lie,

betray like frayed edges.

 

She thinks she is ancient

steeped with wisdom.

Even a simple phrase

rolls in her beautiful mouth

like the lingering flavor

of a vintage wine,

is spat out

like a tooth of Buddha.

 

I notice

a south-westerly monsoon

cloud her eyes,

her forehead pleat with ice

before she asks her office

for a day off.

 

She would risk a trick,

play a secret roulette,

get caught,

pretend to be unaware,

then take pity,

hand me down the cipher.

 

She would laugh her head off,

calling me

the old block

of the new naughty chip.

 

(From LITMUS, 2005)

 


THE  PARTY

Prabhanjan K. Mishra

I dream of ladders and snakes;

look for rungs and handholds,

listen to rustlings intently;

slipping foothold, reptile sibilance.

 

The party crowd

drift from dream to dream,

past to future thru the present,

leaving them gasping;

dream, daydreams, nightmares,

and dreams, anonymous.

 

A sepia letter crumbles in my hand,

a face fades in my old album;

in the west window

vanishes the hill like a ghost;

there stands instead

an offensive high-rise.

 

The party swings, smoke and

Bacardi flow into the arms of amour,

drift out into the pale moonlight

their rhythmic swing fleet-footed.

 

It clangs when bonds get shattered,

sighs signal the churnings of flesh,

the grunts sound the release

of oppressed desires.

 

Am I alive or dead; flesh or ash?

Splits of laugh, the jingle of voices

and the floating aroma of orgiastic sweat

gyrate in an unreal grind towards hysteria.

 

As I wait and drift into a dream

and wake up in a somnolent land:

a whorl of fading faces surface

from other worlds,  other times.

 

(New Poem)

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  

 


THE ASCETIC (YOGI)

Haraprasad Das

Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra

Come off your high horse

of abstinence yogi;

don’t die for vainglory,

adulation and applause.

 

The death has lost its mystique -

since wives committed ‘sati

for scoundrel husbands;

patients died in hospitals

for medical negligence.

 

While dying of penance,

the sound of applause

would not accompany you

to the other world.

 

Body is a vehicle

for life’s fruits and flowers.

Taken to the reliquary of night

they are offloaded into holds

of passion, are bartered for joy.

But offloading them

onto your rock-bed would give nothing

but the rub-marks of stone.

 

Death is a ruthless predator

that will trap you as its prey

in its desolation –

lead you to its grim land

where it crouches

for a confluence with you.

 

In the last minute,

the helplessly ticking emptiness

will show you only a mirror

to have glimpses of your past

that could

have been joyous.

 

After death, your body, oh yogi,

like any mortal’s

would be consigned to a pyre,

your smoke would hop

from hill to hill, an orphan cloud,

never irrigating any land.  

 

Isn’t the applause

for empty self-denials an echo

of two empty palms banging,

hollow as platitudes ?

 

The echo transient, fleeting;

but your flesh

practising incontinence,

hauls you for life over hot coal.

 

Your unrequited dreams

would ripple in time’s ocean,

mirroring your chase after vainglory

starving the body

of food, water, and love;

for the mirage called eternal life.

 


THE DREAMER (SWAPNA)

Haraprasad Das

Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra

Love may subsume guile,

a tender touch may hide lust,

the consummation may, both.

 

But a dream

purges the dreamer of guilt,

he turns into a convert,

pristine and pure,

wishing noble things

when a meteor is crashing.

 

If love is consummated

by forcing the virgin thighs

of the partner,

as Krishna did to Jamalaarjun

in a show of machismo;

like holding fickle wind in captivity.

 

Dreams contain

the prognosis of a future,

like uncharted meteors

crashing from a serene blue.

 

A stoic seeker lusting after bliss,

spurning temptations of flesh,

walks his solitary quest

as a dreamer,

unafraid of a meteors’

scalding crashes.

 

(Both poems from the book MANTRAPATH, 1991)

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 SONG OF SILENCE (NISHABD SHWARA)

Kamalakanta Panda (Kalpanta)

Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra

The muted green

of banana groves

brings me the quiet beats

of your heart

 

like the boatman’s call

bringing a sigh of relief

to the worried traveler

waiting to cross a river.

 

You braille on my skin

the alphabet of love,

the caressing raindrops

wet-finger the earth,

metaphors for our private poetry.

 

You had entered my life,

a refreshing wind;

emboldening me against

my sorrows, guilt, and remorse,

they bolted by the backdoor.

 

My heart feels sheltered

in your sweet captivity,

you, a sacred basil

enshrined in my house,

our presiding deity.

 


MISSING THE SWEETHEART (KALYAANI ICHCHHAA)

Kamalakanta Panda (Kalpanta)

Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra

My heart goes out galloping

in search of you,

across hills and dales

to a snowbound land, hoping

the ice would thaw,

the gurgling stream,

would wash away

our differences.

 

Darkness rules my world:

my room, study desk;

roams outside beyond the windows,

chokes the chambers of my heart.

 

Heartbeats hammer my insides,

the garden dims hazy with rolling fog;

only the telephone wire

connects you to me feebly,

a small consolation,

makes my eyes moist,

my desolation receding;

dry leaves fly away in July wind.

 

Mind remains ajar, agitated,

refusing to doze off

even with the morning’s

refreshing cool breeze.

 

It rather makes me wide awake

anticipating the telephone to jangle,

bringing unpleasant tidings.

I pray for your welfare.

 

Black smoke rises from rooftops

in the neighbourhood;

have the looks

of no ordinary smoke

belched by kitchen stoves,

rather by smouldering hearts.

 

Your return would fill up

my void; even our fields

and orchards, looking forlorn,

would explode into a bloom.

 

(NISHABD SHWARA, from Odia journal Dhwajaa, Oct–Jan, 1996; KALYAANI ICHCHHAA, from Odia journal Samasaamayika, Spring, 1997… Both translations appearing in Literary Vibes 28th issue.)

 

 


SEA BREEZE

Bibhu Padhi

1.

Hold your breath and watch:
the strong whisper runs over
the total blue uninterruptedly.

Now, don’t think about it, spare a moment:
It shows itself  where your eyes can go;
the final blue shakes a little at its touch.

It sails over the seawater, its large features
hover, fall, melt, and then are born again;
it fulfils its slow dance towards the beach.

Look how it makes the last waters feel
the love of my waiting fingers,
how the sun filters a rainbow.

I hold the colours wrapped round my finger.
Suddenly they are blown away.

I wait for your touch.
 

2.

It plays over the patient water
in little waves of sight. Near the land’s end
and the water’s, it sucks in the quiet of the sea.

Slight unremembered hills
emerge like wishes and dissolve
in my eyes and the next blue.

At a different place, it visits
the dark deep green where a thread of the light
is left alone. The forest roars.

Here, it arrives at my lips
with a salty solid touch. Love’s tears
are referred back to their old places. With a loud trick

it sends the landscape into my mouth;
I munch it as I would grapes or kisses.

 

3.

Stand near me, speak to me
through the leaves high up on
the casuarinas, count my heartbeats.

Your touch shall honoured by
my open mouth, my leaves shall receive it
as they would a slow look.

Breathe the lonely places of my city,
throw open your generous arms, wait near
my stillness, hold  my lonely whispers.

Show me your ways. I shall let my words
move with you to places where we lose you,
smell the breath of your easy walk.

The remote whisper shall be preserved
and stitched into a kind of remembrance.

A Pushcart nominee, Bibhu Padhi  have published twelve books of poetry. His poems have been published in distinguished magazines throughout the English-speaking world, such as  The Poetry Review, Poetry Wales, The Rialto, Stand, The American Scholar, Colorado Review, Confrontation, New Letters, Poet Lore, Prairie Schooner, Poetry,  Southwest Review, The Literary Review, TriQuarterly, Tulane Review, Xavier Review, Antigonish Review, Queen’s Quarterly, The Illustrated Weekly of India and Indian Literature. They have been included in numerous anthologies and textbooks. Three of the most recent are Language for a New Century (Norton)  60 Indian Poets (Penguin) and The HarperCollins Book of English Poetry (HarperCollins). He lives with his family in Bhubaneswar, Odisha. Bihu Padhi  welcomes readers' feedback on his poems at padhi.bibhu@gmail.com    

 


WAVES OF TRANSPARENCY

Part II

Sreekumar K

Sliding onto her plate four pieces of boiled tender corns and smearing a dab of honey on them, Patricia went over to an unoccupied table and at it. Even the nearest table was far away from her and no matter how one strained, the discussions from another table stayed away like a chill on the other side of a glass door. You know it is there. Nothing more. To her left, around an oval table sat Emily, Michael and July and to her right was seated, at a differently laid table, Janet, Avanthika and Cheng Li. Yufi, Georges and Jean were sitting at a table facing her though their table was the farthest. Who knows how these cliques came to order. She remembered what Janet, the anthropologist once said to her. The word companion meant the one with whom you shared your food. Patricia, however, detested how anthropology looked at everything from a materialistic point of view.
Emily, sitting at a table closest to her, stole a glance on her without Michael of July noticing it. If Pat were a Greek goddess, who would she be? Adonais or Diana. She was the head of this project. It was a secret known to herself that Patricia was also one of the mysterious sponsors of that project. She had often thought of sharing that secret at least with her soulmate, her lesbo partner, July. However, her bitter experiences of having divulged some official secrets to her now estranged husband prevented her from doing so.
As money lost its position as the chief motivation to love or kill, gang wars mushroomed only in fields of knowledge. Knowledge was power had new meaning now. In the new idiom, it also meant that knowledge is a mankiller, a sinister sobriquet money once enjoyed. At the launching of Edward Whitley’s book Empires of the Mind, her husband had expressed his overwhelming hope that humanity had reached the threshold of heaven. Days when chunks of information replaced bundles of currencies as if the return of the barter system with a vengeance were to be expected soon. Intellectual property rights would become fairy tales when ways to protect such rights became long-forgotten myths. But the world started rotating the other way. Where the governments failed to protect such rights, mafias and gangs saw a huge opportunity. The uneducated thus became the knights guarding knowledge.
Patricia would have killed to have an inkling of what they were discussing at the table right to hers. Cheng Li was there. He was the star of the whole project. An astrophysicist with a Chinese name and the face of a Buddhist monk. His ancestors came from Burma, now Myanmar. They became Christians to survive in the town they landed up. Cheng Li met Dalai Lama on one of his visits to India and was initiated back to Buddhism by the Lama himself. The sponsors had already made some smutty comments on how Patricia had a soft corner for Cheng Li. On several occasions she had almost laid her heart bare before Cheng Li, desiring to elope to Sri Lanka or China with him. But she knew, more than anyone else in the world, that there was really no place to run to and hide.
At the table facing her, Yufi, Jean and Georges were into a serious discussion. It was no concern of theirs who else was listening to their vociferous discussions. Among the three Jean was the only one who had any bit of scientific temper. Yufi was of South African origin, finding from Chinu Achebe's The Arrow of God that the Indian and African mythologies have a lot in common, and wanting to spend some time in India, he found a job at the African Consulate in Mumbai. It was part of his scheme to study the Vedas in depth. After all how much diplomacy can a country like his own boast of? Life was easy but money wasn't. That was when this project came up and he got lured into it by Patricia. He was in it only for the huge amount it offered. Living on a strict vegetarian diet and metaphysics, he hated the western world and considered meat-eating and science as part of a larger conspiracy. In fact, he knew everyone in the project considered him as the only misfit among them. The sentiment was mutual since all he did and was supposed to do was to find out the fault of everyone else. And he was good at it. 

"Frankly speaking, I feel that I am kept in the dark by everyone else, including the two of you. You see, I was the last one to join this project and I don't blame you at all for anything," he mumbled, finally mustering up enough courage to say so.

"Coming in late is no issue. I was here from the start but I too feel like I don't know event what the doorman at the times knows. I did what I was asked to do and never asked a question. Money was that good," responded Georges without taking eyes off Jean's face. He was sure that Jean knew everything about the project in and out.

Jean did not look at either of them but carefully ate his meal. After what seemed like an hour of silence, he decided to speak. Still, he was not looking at either of them.

"I too feel the same though I have a better idea about the project. Not only I knew what this is all about but I expressed my dissent from the very beginning. Now they don't even let me see all the new documents, only a few are sent to me. But it makes my work easy. I procure all their documents through my own channel and now it is easy for me to see what is important and what isn't. Now I don't read what they send me at all. But, make sure that I don't miss a word of what they don't want me  to see."

Jean spoke less loudly that the other two. He seemed to be scared of Patricia in spite of his pretension that he had no fear in him. Patricia, his boss, was at the very next table. She used to be his sweetheart once.

"Then tell us what you understood. It might be of much help to us. Babel, the name, comes from the Old Testament, from a story about people, all the people trying to build a tower to reach God. According to the story, God cursed them. Each of them was cursed to speak a different language and thus their plan was sabotaged. That is how all the language in the world originated, says the Old Testament."

"Really? There are 1900 languages in India, the country where I live now. Not counting the dialects of course. But I came across this story only now and at least now I know what the name of the project means. Hallelujah!"

 

(to be continued)

Sreekumar K, known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala. 

 


FAMILY

Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya

They say: Thank God,

we can choose our friends.

 

But family comes first, literally.

Life’s little lessons, learnt early,

in small steps; never rushed

but relentless.

 

Like steady paces of pilgrims,

on the stone to the deity

in the temple.

 

Each step too light

to make a dent.

 

But, leaving their impression,

in sloping contours of stones,

like the gyri in our curious brains,

 

Laying bare the shining

smoothness of the rugged rocks;

their coolness, soothing on

sore soles in a sunny summer day.

 

Making life’s passage bearable,

and offering a preview of

ways of the world;

it’s white lies and black humour.

 

Their collective

punya* rubbing off like a balm

on the bruising business of life.

 

Family, holding a mirror

on to us; urging us

to reflect on: What

I could have been!

 

*”punya” refers to God’s favour earned through virtuous deeds.

 

15 May 2019

Written on the occasion of International Family Day.

Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya is from Hertfordshire, England, a Retired Consultant Psychiatrist from the British National Health Service and Honorary Senior Lecturer in University College, London. Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya welcomes readers' feedback on his article at ajayaup@aol.com 

 


FEMME  FATALE THE SAVIOUR OF LORD SHIVA

Dr. (Major) B. C. Nayak

Gloomy Mount Kailash,

Alert Baikunthapur

Tensive Devalok,

Pensive Yamalok and Brahmalok,

Lord Yamaraj and Citragupta,

Glued to the computer screen

All the eyes on the chase

of  Lord Shiva  by a demon,

Bhasmasur.

 

If the demon succeeds

in touching Shiva’s  head,

Yama and Chitragupta,

would delete

Shiva’s name permanently….

As granted by Lord himself

The power to turn anyone into ashes

 by touching their heads.

 

The demon wants to  demonstrate

the power on Shiva himself.

The chase is on,

Terrified Lord shiva

desperate to escape.

 

Vishnu, witnessing the turn of events

Descends in the scene,

as femme fatale,

appropriately ,addressed “Mohini”;

the only female avatar of Lord Vishnu,

And an addition of Kurma avatar.

 

Shiva is in distress ,

The encounter  with death !!

 

Mohini’s steps, charms,beauty,

all attract Bhasmasur,

Started dancing with Mohini,

forgetting chasing Shiva.

So much infatuated the demon,

proposed marriage to Mohini.

 

Agreed with condition

 to dance with her,

 and follows her move for move ,

In the course of the dance,

she places her hand on her head

And  Bhasmasura ??

turned into ashes

mimicking the action,

 

Yamraj and Chitragupta,

quickly  opened Bhasmasur’s file

And deleted permanently.

      

 

Dr. (Major) B. C. Nayak is an Anaesthetist who did his MBBS from MKCG Medical College, Berhampur, Odisha. He is an MD from the Armed Forces Medical College, Pune and an FCCP from the College of Chest Physicians New Delhi. He served in Indian Army for ten years (1975-1985) and had a stint of five years in the Royal Army of Muscat. Since 1993 he is working as the Chief Consultant Anaesthetist, Emergency and Critical Care Medicine at the Indira Gandhi Cooperative Hospital, Cochin

 


THE RACE
Dilip Mahapatra



Some star must have been somewhere
linked to your zodiac sign
when the midwife would have held
you upside down
slapping your slimy back to make you cry
and your time would have begun.

The earth would have continued its spin
with the same pace
yet you and your time would have
engaged in the inevitable race
as you would have found your feet
to get up
to amble leisurely and then run together
shoulder to shoulder.

Then you would see it overtaking you
taunting you to catch up
and you put in all that you can
to step up
and eventually you move ahead
basking in your glory
never looking back
to see if it still follows you.

And then a time will come when
time would seem to have become a snail
crawling helplessly
way behind you
and what lies ahead of you
you don't see
no signs of any deadline
just a blurred horizon
that keeps moving away
in sync with each step you cover.

But remember
time is the worst ever predator
that you may encounter
for in due course
it would pick up speed
to outrun you and run you over.

It's just a matter of time.


Dilip Mohapatra (b.1950), a decorated Navy Veteran is a well acclaimed poet in contemporary English and his poems appear in many literary journals of repute and multiple anthologies  worldwide. He has six poetry collections to his credit so far published by Authorspress, India. He has also authored a Career Navigation Manual for students seeking a corporate career. This book C2C nee Campus to Corporate had been a best seller in the category of Management Education. He lives with his wife in Pune, India.


ALL ALONE

Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura 

Alone 

In a deserted island 

With sound of waves 

Clouds overhead 

Surrounded by unknown species 

Among fruit laden trees

Intoxicated by wild aroma 

Of flowers of different varieties 

I looked at the sea 

Sitting on the beach 

Reminiscing old memories 

Of my life in your country 

That once I inhabited 

Before being exiled 

To this unfriendly place. 

 

Out of choice 

I ventured into the deep forest 

For getting aquatinted 

With the trees 

And conversing with animals ,

Singing along the birds

And playing around the streams

So that I could kill some time 

And get occupied 

Without worrying about my past life. 


I have gradually slipped into a new world 

Where I have lost myself, completely 

I see everything and everyone 

Except me. 

My isolation has no meaning 

The island has bridged the gulf

Connecting your heart and soul

To the land of my dream

Where I am in love with you, 

Un-disturbed , 

Unaffected by anyone, 

All alone

In sync with the world

Around me. 

"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.

 


THE CRUCIBLE

Sumitra Mishra

“Please, hold your breath! Twins! Lovely girls!”

Shouted the staff nurse Durga didi gleefully, holding the babies in her hands cuddled as a cradle, the umbilical cords hanging loosely like threads of a discarded trouser. All the medical staff present in the operation theatre heaved sighs of relief as the babies started crying at the same time in a similar voice. The operating gynic hastened to stitch the open uterus, his gloved hands moving fast as his lady assistant handed him different instruments from the sterilizer. All of them were geared in sterile green gowns and transparent sterilized caps, gloves, sandals. The operation theatre was brightly lit, comfortably cool. Essential life saving modern gadgets were placed close to the operation bed monitoring the heart beat and pulse of the patient, Nirupama, who was lying unconscious under anaesthesia. She yet did not know the miracle that had happened to her.

                Then the babies were brought out, dressed in green hospital sterile clothing, with two small identity bands on their left arms. For the anxiously awaiting relatives, as well as Pramod, the father of the children, this was a wild, ecstatic moment. As they all came closer to have a glimpse of the new babies, the corridor of the OT became chirpy as a tree full of sparrows at dawn. Sudha , standing at a distance, watched and enjoyed this much awaited moment. Her hands automatically joined in the gesture of prayer and touched her forehead in thanksgiving. It was a crucial test for her, as for the couple, Nirupama and Pramod, who were her tenants for a long decade. She did not come forward to hold the kids, giving space to the grandparents of the new born angels. While Pramod was called inside to see his wife, the grandparents started discussing the features of the babies. Some likened them to the mother, while others exclaimed,

 “No, they are so much like Pramod ! Just look at their lips! So wide and full!” 

Everyone was so excited and so engrossed in the welcoming the babies that they forgot to tip the staff who brought the good news and the babies. So Sudha came forward and handed a two thousand rupee note to the nursing staff very discreetly and looked at the angels.

Memories of her first motherhood and the accompanying joy and sorrow flooded her mind. Tears oozed in the corners of her eyes as the angelic face of her daughter Manisha flashed across her mind’s eye. Alas! God had lent her for a short time to Sudha to brighten the darkness of her life. Though she was no more, Sudha felt her eerie presence around her all the time. Perhaps God has listened to her prayer and allowed Manisha’s soul to enter a mortal body to be returned to her after fifteen years. She could not resist the temptation to touch the children and drew herself closer. Pramod noticed the array of conflicting emotions, grief, ecstasy, anxiety and relaxation on her face rippling over her lips and eyes. He respectfully handed one of the babies to her and Sudha affectionately gazed at the baby grasping her close to her chest, unable to take her eyes off the child . The gathered relatives talked cheerfully and loudly praising the doctor, the hospital and the staff, which was not proper etiquette in a hospital surrounding, where some other patients and their relatives might be fighting death or diseases. So Sudha made the sign of silence by putting a finger on her lips, lest the children would be disturbed by the confusing noise of this world, to which they have just entered.

As Sudha looked at the soft , floppy face of the baby in her hands, the memory of new born Manisha’s face flashed in the window of her mind. She was as fair, cute and angelic as these babies. But how soon she left them…..just like a rose or lotus, that blooms, spreads its essence and fades . 

 Manisha had been the centre of her life for seven years. But when she was very small, only three years old, attending a play school, Sudha got a phone call from the school. The school Principal called her and said,

 “Madam, your child fell down from the swing! She is unconscious! We have taken her to the nearest hospital, I mean Swarna hospital. Can you please reach there as soon as possible. Our teacher named Prava Mohanty is with her.”

Sudha got a severe jolt and rushed to the hospital after informing Prabodh about the incident. There she learnt that Manisha was born with a congenital heart defect. After that incident visiting hospitals for check up, treatment, operation became a routine in her life. Manisha had to be monitored every three months for measuring the blood platelet counts and any other sign of infection. Manisha’s treatment was being done in Apollo hospital, situated in the vicinity of Swosti Premium Hotel in Jayadev Bihar.The entire area surrounding the hospital and the road from Khandagiri square to Jaydev Bihar had become so familiar to Sudha that she could even say the number of jhopdi huts or cabin stalls standing at both sides of the road. After her first swooning incident, the cardiologist of Swarna hospital confirmed that Manisha was suffering from a cardiac disorder, which needs to be investigated at a more sophisticated hospital with special cardiology equipments. At that time the only super speciality hospital in Bhubaneswar was the Apollo hospital. So Manisha was brought there and was diagnosed as having a valve problem. Her mitral valve was very small, unable to check the inflow or outflow of the blood from and to the heart. The doctors said it was a serious problem and can be corrected only with surgery. But the surgery cannot be done immediately, as she needed her blood pressure to be regulated to normal. Her BP was very low, therefore may not sustain the trauma of a heart operation.

 For Sudha and Prabodh that was the lowest and hardest moment of their married life. They had faced financial crisis, loss of a job for Prabodh, death of Sudha’s mom in cancer, but this was the hardest blow from heaven. They had cherished and enjoyed each moment of their parenthood with Manisha, specially because Sudha had no chance of conceiving again.

Sudha had difficulty in conceiving due to blocked fallopian tubes. When she conceived for the first time after a minor surgery, the foetus was lodged in one of her tubes, which ultimately burst before the foetus was even two months old. Sudha suffered from serious internal bleeding and almost went into a coma, as Prabodh was out of station on an official trip, and she did not get immediate medical help. Her brother reached her place after a day of severe pain and admitted her to a nearby government hospital, considering the pain to be caused by gas or stomach infection. When the doctor diagnosed a serious internal injury, she was moved to Kalinga hospital, but it was too late. Loss of blood led to a collapse and she went into a temporary comatose state. Luckily, Prabodh’s younger brother who is a gynaecologist, working in AIIMS hospital in Delhi, flied to Bhubaneswar immediately after receiving the news and used his contacts to get the best treatment for Sudha. Sudha regained her consciousness after three days, but one of her fallopian tubes, which had burst was removed through operation. Then it became a ordeal for her to think of conception and motherhood. Ultimately she conceived through a mechanical procedure called Intra Uterine Insemination (IUI) , in a fertility centre at Delhi. The experience and expenses were mind-boggling, but they did not mind. Besides Prabodh’s younger brother Subodh and his wife Radhika helped them immensely. It was not easy. After the failure of three attempts at IUI, they were about to go for In Vitro Fertilization (IVF), but by some miracle she conceived naturally.

 Manisha was born through a Caesarean Section (CS) in AIIMS, Delhi and returned home to Bhubaneswar when she became three months old. Since then she had been a normal, precocious child who astonished her parents by her ability to learn. She started walking and talking before she was even one year old, playing puzzles and video games by her second year. Like any child she was normal in her moods, pranks but intellectually more active than most. However, Sudha and Prabodh were very protective about her and didn’t allow her to spend much time outside the home. When she was three years old , she was admitted to a Pre-nursery Play school to acquaint her with the outside world . She had been in school for three months, when she was diagnosed of her heart ailment. Destiny had played it’s nasty trick on them, lending them a bright ray of hope, only to drown them in darkness when they have forgotten the agonies of their grim past. Call it God, Destiny, Fate, Past life, Karma, or what , but it was the cruellest joke they had faced in life.

While Sudha was thinking of her past , her mobile beeped frequent messages from her husband Prabodh. So Sudha went to a corner and messaged Prabodh about the safe delivery of the babies. They were constantly texting each other to release their anxiety, as Sudha didn’t think it proper to call and disturb Prabodh in his meetings or work. But she could not control her palpitating heart, unless she vented out the smoke at some place. Similarly Prabodh was physically in the office due to emergency, but his mind was in the hospital. This is because of the trauma they had suffered during her delivery at IIMS.  Even in a well equipped, renowned hospital like AIIMS, she was given a wrong injection during labour, which resulted in increasing her blood pressure and pulse to a dangerous level. Only because Subodh, Prabodh’s  gynic  brother  was present there, appropriate  treatment was given and she was  taken to the Operation Theatre for a CS, to avoid any repercussion for the life of the baby. But Sudha suffered a lot physically and Prabodh suffered emotionally.

Sudha looked around the hospital to see if Prabodh had reached. He had a very important meeting at office which he could not avoid. But he was in touch with Sudha to know about the situation. Considering the circumstances under which Nirupama was delivering the babies, there was anxiety in everyone’s mind. At this time a nursing assistant approached them with a serious expression on her face and asked for Nirupama’s husband Pramod, who had just left the hospital to get sweets for everyone to celebrate the birth of the twins. Nirupama’s father Mr. Mohapatra came forward to talk to the nurse. The nurse said,

“The patient’s blood pressure is falling. She needs more blood. Immediately contact the blood bank for four bottles of O positive blood. This is emergency.”

Mr. Mohapatra looked completely shaken. His face looked pale, eyes dilated and lips trembling. He was about to fall, when Sudha caught him and placed him on a chair. He could hardly utter the words of the nurse, tears rolled down his eyes. Sudha went inside the OT without asking anyone to see what was happening. The OT was brightly lit, yet she could not see Nirupama , who was covered with blankets and surrounded by a green mass of doctors and nurses. She straight went to Durga didi, who was almost like a friend to her and inquired about Nirupama’s status. Durga didi didn’t say anything, just pointed at the monitor of the blood pressure machine which showed a low zigzag line. Sudha was so familiar with these instruments that she easily comprehended the message. The anaesthesia doctor was standing at the head of the operation table with a grim face, a respirator in his hand connected to the oxygen mask on the patient’s face. Sudha almost ran out . By that time Prabodh had arrived at the OT corridor. Sudha requested Prabodh to allow her to donate blood because she had the same blood group as Nirupama. Even though Prabodh was reluctant, considering Sudha’s health , he could not say a confirmatory “No”. A valuable life was in danger, saving the life was more important than every other consideration.

 Then Pramod  arrived  with two big packets of sweets . A broad hearty smile played on his lips, lightening his face with a warm glow of happiness. No one dared to spoil that loving glow and tell him the truth about Nirupama’s condition. Prabodh grasped his hand cordially, congratulated him and said,

“Nirupama needs blood immediately. Sudha’s blood is also O positive. I think we should not delay. I am rushing to the blood bank, in case more is required.”

Pramod could not grasp the meaning of his words, spoken so calmly. His body, mind, soul were all engaged in relishing the joy of his hard earned fatherhood.

“What’s all this you are talking about? Blood? Why? What happened to Niru?”

Sudha rushed to Pramod as all the others were busy in conversation. Her face was flushed, lips pallid, legs tottering, yet she controlled the quiver in her voice and said to Pramod:

“Pramod, you know Niru is like my daughter. I can’t lose her. Please allow me. Nothing will happen to me.”

Lying on a bed near Nirupama’s bed, plastic pipes transporting her blood into Nirupama, Sudha recollected the memories of their long relationship, since the day she met the couple at AIIMS, Delhi, where Manisha was undergoing heart operation. Nirupama was around thirty and Pramod a few more years senior to her. What stroke a chord between them is the unexpressed grief under her floppy eyelids and the wet softness in her empty gaze. Sudha knew the meaning of that look and understood the pain in her heart. She heard the couple talking in Odia, so she gathered more empathy and asked,

“From Odisha? Which part? I am from Balasore, settled in Bhubaneswar. You know Khandagiri, isn’t it?”

Nirupama cast an apprehensive side glance at her, as if her privacy was being intruded upon. She smiled wryly and said,

“Who doesn’t know Khandagiri? We are from Kendrapada, Marshaghai, you know?”

“Of course I know. What’s the problem, if you don’t mind! My daughter, very young, has to undergo an operation, in her tiny heart, some valve problem! God is kind, everyone says, just think about this five years old child, who is taking so many injections! My God , why am I telling you all these?’”

Nirupama interjected, “No, no problem, we are not bored! We have to share our agonies with someone, or else our hearts will burst apart! It’s good that you can so easily confide your grief to an unknown person, I can’t easily do that. You’re a very open person. I like you.”

Sudha got the hint of compassion from Nirupama’s soothing tone, and went on chatting for an hour to unburden her heart, while Manisha was inside the ICU, being given oxygen and other treatment after a bout of severe pneumonia. Prabodh was too busy with his laptop on a sofa in a corner, utilizing the wait time for office work. The hospital did not allow anyone to enter the ICU until the visiting hour. So it was the painful two long waiting hours which she spent with Nirupama at the waiting lounge that brought them close. She learnt about Nirupama’s infertility problem by asking a few leading questions, such as,

“With whom have you left your children?”

“How old is your first child?”

Nirupama could not hide the details for long from Sudha’s experienced, probing mind. She also poured her heart out like pouring a cup of tea for a friend, who has praised the tea and asked for one more cup. Sudha came to know of her ordeal as an infertile woman amid the family and relatives of her old school in laws, who treated her as an untouchable and inauspicious creature. The trauma of a married woman without child after ten years of marriage,  that too in Indian traditional male dominated society is no less than a victim of rape. They treat her not as a victim, but as a criminal.

Sudha volunteered to help Nirupama because she had faith in Subodh, her younger brother in law,the gynaecologist in AIIMS, Delhi. She asked her to come with her file to Subodh’s residence after a day or two either in the morning before 9a.m. or at night after 9p.m.After reviewing her file, Subodh found Nirupama had serious hormonal imbalance and her fallopian tubes were clogged due to a chronic pelvic infection. She needed prolonged treatment and an operation. In AIIMS, she has been properly briefed. The problem was that for constant monitoring they have to stay in Bhubaneswar near Apollo hospital, where Nirupama would be treated. Sudha came forward and suggested that they may occupy the ground floor of their house as the tenants have already given notice to leave the house. Everyone agreed including Pramod. He had to communicate daily to Kendrapada for his job at the Collectorate where he worked as a senior clerk till he manages a transfer. Ultimately Nirupama and Pramod became not only their tenant, but friend, confidant and closest relative to Manisha.

While her blood was flowing to Nirupama, the thought of Manisha’s unadulterated affection for this lady, whom she never called aunty but MAA convinced her that perhaps they were sisters in their last life. During their stay at Sudha’s house, Nirupama took charge of Manisha half of the day when Sudha was at school, but never complained. Manisha was more than happy to be with her MAA, than with her Mommy. When she was gone, the loss hit both the couples almost equally. So when Nirupama became pregnant after three IUI and two IVF procedures, Sudha and Prabodh were as much happy as Nirupama and Pramod.

 What a trick of destiny  Nirupama’s pregnancy was! When the couple and the doctors has almost lost all hope, on their twentieth marriage anniversary, Prabodh reached with Nirupama’s urine report, which indicated a hope for pregnancy. It was a miracle, because the pregnancy happened without any artificial procedure or help. As if after twenty years of trial, God had taken mercy at the couple and forgave them their past sin. They were elated, but did not dare to celebrate. All of them went together to the ISCONS temple at evening to offer prayers for the future. But Nirupama’s ordeal was far from over. After two months of pregnancy, the ultrasound report suggested the possibility of an abortion due to low lying placenta, twin foetus and inadequate HSG (hysterosalpingogram, necessary for the growth of the foetus ) in Nirupama’s blood. She was advised complete bed rest and had to take three injections daily to stabilize the pregnancy. Nirupama lived under great physical and emotional stress. The presence of her mother, who came to take care of her and frequent visits by friends and relatives assuaged her tension. But Sudha and Prabodh provided the greatest moral support by constantly inspiring her with videos of successful difficult pregnancies, stories and chants. By the seventh month, Nirupama’s uterus was upset by unnatural cramps and frequent spotting. The fertility specialist, who was treating her persuaded Nirupama to carry on for a few weeks more till the brains of the babies mature. The last month was the most crucial and difficult for Nirupama. She suffered from a serious problem known as preeclampsia, leading to high blood pressure and unusual swelling. She could not sit even for toilet, had to be given a bed pan. She also faced difficulty in breathing and often felt nausea tic. She could not eat or sleep properly for the last two months. Pramod remained worried for her health and escorted her to the hospital whenever there was need, even took leave for two months to stay beside her. Though the growth of the babies seemed adequate, there was a fear of premature delivery. The doctor did not dare to wait till the due date. She decided to undertake a Caesarean Section before two weeks for the safety of both mother and children. So here she was on the operation table of the gynic ward of Apollo hospital.

A panic groan distracted Sudha’s mind in contemplation. Someone pressed her hand. She looked at her left, it was Durga didi. There was an urgency in her face and voice mixed with something else, panic, anxiety, sadness, what was it? She said,

“The patient wants to talk to you. She is uttering your name and her husband’s name. Please come. No more need of blood transfusion.”

Sudha felt as if a 420volt current ran through her body. She imagined the worst. While trying to get up she was about to fall down, her knees did not hold her, but in time Durga Didi caught her by her arm. They silently proceeded to Nirupama’s bed side where Pramod was already standing with his left hand on Nirupama’s head and the right hand grasping her left hand. One of the nurses was holding both the new born infants deep in sleep.

Nirupama was fluttering her eyes. The oxygen mask was covering half of her face. She was unable to speak with her lips, but her eyes tried to communicate her thoughts with an unearthly glow. She indicated the babies by a movement of her eyes. She raised her hands, saddled with needles and bandages, touched one baby and pointed at Pramod. Then she touched the other baby and pointed at Sudha. Sudha was overwhelmed with joy and grief. Tears rolled down her eyes as she bowed and touched Nirupama’s head with her lips. Nirupama very slowly whispered, “She’s Manisha!”

When they all left the hospital with Nirupama’s body, it was around eleven p.m. To Sudha the hospital seemed empty and eerie like a new moon night, when the owl hoots enjoying the darkness. When they had entered the hospital in the morning at about nine a.m., the hospital corridors were so lively, overcrowded and noisy. Perhaps it was the visiting hour of the doctors, so the attendants of all patients as well as the nursing staff were alert and moving here and there, collecting documents or recording the routine check up measurements. Sudha had set up a kalash with a coconut decked with a marigold garland, at the door step of Nirupama’s flat praying Ganapati for the auspicious entry of the new babies into the house. Did she forget to pray for Nirupama? She was not sure…..!

 

Smt. Sumitra Mishra is a retired Professor Engish from Bhuvaneshwar, Odhisha. She is an accomplished poet and writer of short stories. She is passionate about Literature and spends her time in reading & writing.

 


HISTORY ON A PEDESTAL

Dr. Nikhil M Kurien

History, such an adamant lady,

Coaxes, reprimands her husband Future,

To create stories for her

That she etches on her as her story.

 

And so happens incidents or accidents,

Murder and birth, freedom yet slavery,

War per treaty, invention plus discoveries

Which she preserves as her story.

 

Damn beautiful she is amongst the stories,

Attuned to glory as an ancient mother.

Folks flock to her for enrichment,

She whispers what no medium or sorcerer can.

 

Realise that what she has recorded

Is his creativity, his story and not hers.

Aptly she named herself  History,

And we bemused to see her on a pedestal.

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.

 


PAINTING - WATER COLOUR ON PAPER. WAS IT A DREAM?
Latha Prem Sakhya


A  deja vu flooding me
The tea estate decked in emerald
The horse shoe mountains
‎At the far end of its dip
‎Hidden in a flowery dale
‎The layems, our beloved maid  Cheeru
And tea pickers ‎lived with their families.

The cluster of jasmine, the riotous colours of flowers,
My swing  near the dome shaped jasmine cluster,
The valleys I roamed with my friends,
The hills I climbed in search of peaceful corners ,
To merge with nature, lying on her lap.
Relishing her sweet presence in the gentle breeze
The fluttering flowers, the humming bees
The twittering birds among the ?ushy vegetation.
The occasional hail storms filling me with joy
A dejavu, a mirage,  a vision
haunting me,
Exorcised forever in a painting.

 


INSTINCT

Latha Prem Sakhya

 

It was a hot day, with my fledgeling under my wings I  dozed off in my cool nest. Suddenly I felt her being pulled out by a predator. I  flew after him, with my tiny feet I managed to clutch my baby  while pecking at him. Finally I was able to peck at his eyes with my sharp beak. He let go off my baby and flew off. Oh what a nightmare, I woke up to see framed at  the entrance the head of an owl. I flew at him and pecked at his eyes and saw him falling down.

 


FISH LOVE 

Latha Prem Sakhya

 

Poomani sat at Kanaka's feet looking belligerently at Niranjan. As if saying, come now, poke me or tweak my ears. Kanaka couldn't help laughing. It was a game between them. Poomani was all his when Niranjan returned from the market. He would bring fish for her, until she got her quota she would twist and turn around his leg purring like a train. When she got her quota of fish and totally satisfied she would walk off as if she never knew him, it was fish love he would say, just  like women.

 


SECRET

Latha Prem Sakhya.

 

She saw his passion filled eyes as he kissed her good bye at the airport.  Before she could turn her eyes away he  saw her shocked gaze upon them. His hidden secret was revealed, from that moment he became her enemy. However much he dissembled, it leaked out through his venomous indirect hits. And she realized that he is no more a friend to be trusted.

 


PROPERTY

Latha Prem Sakhya

 

Granny full of love told her four year old grandson, "when you grow up we will give all our property  to you. Will you look after them?"  Denny looked downcast. "Don't  you want them?" Lifting his head, he said, " yes, but mama says everything belongs to her and she won't give me anything. I have to study hard and make money and buy  what I want". Granny burst out laughing, hugging him to console him.

 


SOLUTION

Latha Prem Sakhya

Watching the enthusiasm  of her little grandsons, five and four years old, packing  up for a weekend   jaunt the widowed granny asked, " Now, who is staying back  to look after me? I will be all alone."  The elder one a bit on the  serious side said, "Ammama go to aunt's house, she will look after you". I Can't", granny replied, "she is not there". Immediately the second one, Harry, chirped in. "Then you go to the church  ammama, you always say grandpa  is there". Granny stood aghast not knowing whether to laugh or to cry.

 


PROTECTION

Latha Prem Sakhya

Denny and Harry uncontrollably  naughty,   five and four years old, destroyed the knob of  the AC vent in their grandpa's new car volkswagen, Ameo. So grandma told them she would punish them by extracting money from their mamma for whatever they destroy. Immediately Denny said "No  ammamma," "why not?" She asked. "My mamma works from morning till night but she gets very little money so you ask my pappa he will give you". "So you won't stop destroying our things? " We can't  say, sometimes we  will", Denny replied looking at Harry who was nodding vigorously, for support.

 

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

 


HIDE AND SEEK!

Dr. Preethi Ragasudha

He comes!

With gleaming eyes and drooling mouth.

Patiently scanning the room,

Searching for her.

She cringes behind the old table

Wishing herself to be a shadow!

Shrinking her small body into nothingness,

Fearing that he will find her none the less.

He talks with her mother so nicely

But she is unaware of his ultimate aim!

The girl thought, maybe her mother will see through his deceit,

Maybe she will ask him not to come to play with her anymore.

But as always, he charmingly tells her mother

To carry on with her household chores.

For he is going to take care of her child,

Going to play his little game of hide and seek.

He brings out a bunch of cute little candies

And throws it in her direction.

They look so colourful and tasty

The wrappers all so nice and shiny!

She comes out of her hideout, unaware of his lascivious eyes.

She collects the candies greedily, suddenly cowering under his gaze.

He grabs her by her waist, and carries her off to his turf.

She doesn't struggle anymore, she is used to his ways by now.

She is numb and fearless,

For, she had learnt to block everything!

When he is done with his game, she waits for him to leave.

She then collects the wrappers, which are all by now crushed.

She carefully folds each one, and puts them in her pocket.

She has plans for the future,  

To make an album of wrappers!

Dr. Preethi Ragasudha is an Assistant Professor of Nutrition at the Amrita Institute of Medical Sciences, Kochi, Kerala. She is passionate about art, literature and poetry.

 


STANDSTILL

Sharanya B

A few words typed

A few fallen tears,

An army to fight, no battle to win

So less to say, so much to convey,

A handful of memories, bittersweet

To ponder upon for many more years...

No more to be made again, for I am tired of being the performer,

For a short while now, let me be a spectator..

 


PROMISE

Sharanya B

The residues of an un kept promise,

Emit vibes, echoing tones, varying in resonance,

Like silent weeps and loud cries,

Awaiting to be fulfilled, fragments of the soul and body

engrossed in the solitary purpose; to anticipate;

Occasionally deceived by every sound and scent;

Overcome by faith unshakeable,

The comeback of a promise, long departed,

For too long now,

They begin finding divinity in it's faded footsteps,

 


IN SEARCH

Sharanya B

She waded around through the river of solitude...

Her body, drenched and clothes heavy,

This river, whose end she could not see..

But longed to reach the land, to mingle and laugh,

To run around; her legs free, body warm and dry...

Yearning for help, she wandered on and on,

Eyes dart around in constant search, an occasional loud cry,

Frightened with every ripple she sees nearby,

dubious; could it be a hungry predator,

waiting to devour her; or simply a nonentity...?

The body tires, with every step forward,

Wrestling the water; wary of time

when darkness tinted the sky,

A warning to stop; retire from the day's search,

She stops still; another attempt gone futile...

Another night, trapped in exile,

Left with the privilege to stay idle; enjoy the twilight,

And wish with all her mind

'May it not rain or pour tonight!'

So she may survive the dark and

tomorrow, regain the fight.

 


INSPIRATION

Sharanya B

 

I ponder on where she acquired her inspiration from...

Could it be, from the ropes of agonies that

she braided long, tiring her hand...?

Could it be, from her shattered life she tried to rebuild

like a castle from dry sand...?

Could it be from the relief she gained, as she swam within

the deep sea, salty of her tears...?

Could it be, from the pain of the bruises by

the winds against her face,

as she speeded away, fast, from her fears...?

Or could it be, from the moment she realized

she has suffered enough abuse,

Took the sword, ready to regain,

and feared no man or beast,

since she had nothing more to lose...

 

Sharanya B, is a young poet from Trivandrum, who is presently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature in Kerala University. She also has a professional background of working as a Creative Intern in Advertising. She is passionate about Drawing and Creative Writing.

 


VISITING CHINA - BEIJING DAY ONE

Kumud Raj

 Beijing in autumn - trees wrapped in green, gold and vibrant reds. Ancient buildings, beautiful architecture, wide open spaces and people, people, people everywhere - babies, toddlers, chattering teenagers, youngsters glued to their mobile phones, fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers - everyone out enjoying the weekend. We tend to stand out both due to our brown skins and our clothes. People staring at us, giggling folk wanting to be photographed with us, we seem to be a constant centre of attention. Most of them seem to be country folk come from the provinces on the weekend to see their capital city.

     

Day one begins with a visit to the Summer Palace of the emperors of China. In China, the dragon represented the emperor while the symbol of the empress was the phoenix. The gardens are full of unfamiliar trees, each of them looking like a painting. And in the middle of the garden stand the Dragon and the Phoenix.

The palace lake is full of enormous lotus leaves though we don’t spy a single flower. The willows weep over the water and the persimmon trees are laden with ripening fruit. The buildings look exquisitely Chinese and provide a beautiful background for our selfies and other pictures.

We move on to Tiananmen Square. The National Holiday is just over and the Square is beautifully decorated with flowers pillars and bushes and poinsettias in full bloom. The Chinese flag flutters in the middle of the Square and the soldiers on guard duty look very smart in their uniforms of white, blue and green. The Forbidden City is adjacent to the Square. It is a huge complex which housed the royal family and was forbidden to commoners. It is a heady feeling to be right there in the heart of history.

After lunch, we are whisked off to a tea shop where we are introduced to Chinese tea-making and many kinds of Chinese tea which are so different from our Indian teas. All of them have mild fruity /floral flavours and are light, taken without milk or sugar. Many of us end up buying tins of oolong tea!

And then we visit a Chinese silk shop. It’s nothing like our Indian silk shops. The walls are hung with beautiful paintings in silk and silk embroidery. Absolutely exquisite! We are shown silk worms and taken through the process of silk making. The silk is incredibly soft and costs the earth. They make very light quilts with pure silk threads, cool in summer and warm in winter! I never knew that pure Chinese silk is so very beautiful and I shudder when I think of all that cheap stuff we find in Indian markets that are referred to as “Chinese silk’!

And now it’s off to the Kung Fu show. Am not too enthusiastic about it, though. Kung Fu? Something about a panda and youngsters who like to think they are he-men?! Or so I think as I take my seat in the theatre. The lights dim and there follow 70 mesmerising minutes of an absolutely fantastic show. I can only express myself in superlatives here. Technology, imagination and skill combine to make this an incredible show. The show we watched has been staged about 8000 times !

It’s dinner time and we go to the Peking Duck , a restaurant near the theatre. What a dinner! Our first truly Chinese meal in China and what a feast! Apart from the Peking duck itself, there are plates and plates of salad, chicken, beef and more duck! The nice thing about Chinese food is that you can eat and eat and eat and still not feel heavy. We return to our hotel absolutely satiated. What a day! Beijing, we are ready for more..........

 

Ms. Kumud Raj is a retired English teacher. She enjoys teaching, loves books and music, gardening and travel.

 


EPISTLE TO SANDRA

Ibraheem Anas Sakaba 

 

You envelope me

I'm so lost in you

I desire not to be found

 

In sight of you,

My worries turn smoke

journeying to the sky

 

Whenever I look into your eyes,

My heart melts

My world vanishes

 

The music of your voice,

tickles my heart

our hearts beat in harmony

 

Oh dear,

Your love is water

But your smile sets me ablaze

 

You are my rock of strength

your care anchors me

you are surely my pillar

Ibraheem Anas Sakaba has B.A in English Language from one of the Universities in Nigeria. He is a teacher who is also a poet and a writer.

 


THE RED FLOWER

Kabyatara Kar

As I move back to my childhood days

The flashback fills my heart with happiness.

Remembering that huge tree with' red flowers',

from my paraphernalia.

 

I used to wait for my lunch break at school..

As the bell rang,I didn't desire to eat,

I sped towards the huge tree.

Behind which lay the burial ground

 

Discarding my fear of any apparitions,

I thrived to get a single flower..

 

Each day my desire grew,to hold one of those red flowers.

And take it back for my mother..

I wished to query her about the attributes of the red flower.

 

Looking high up,my hopes to reach it rose..

A day on request I reached my school early,

And miracle happened..

 

Carrying the load on my back I rushed to the most desirable site..

Amazed was I to see a red flower near the tree

Waiting for me...

Smiling at me

 

I attained my mission that day

Which had left me mesmerized with the beauty of the red flower...

Kabyatara Kar (Nobela) 

M.B.A and P.G in Nutrition and Dietetic, Member of All India Human Rights Activists

Passion: Writing poems,  social work

Strength:  Determination and her familyVision: Endeavour of life is to fill happiness in life of others

 


GENIUS

Mrutyunjay Sarangi

Advocate Sabyasachi Ray believes that he is a genius, a rare specimen who can browbeat a lawyer in any courtroom using his brilliant wit and booming voice. He says a good lawyer is like a python - he looks at the opponent’s eyes, makes him feel threatened, waits for him to crack and the moment there is a sign of weakness, strikes and swallows  him whole. At the peak of his career Ray wins the most celebrated case of the decade, saving the son of a powerful politician from certain conviction. He feels there is nothing left to conquer till his own daughter is brutally raped on a stormy evening in a deserted office building. The genius goes ballistic, itching to lay his hands on the accused………

 

On a February afternoon, near Rajmahal traffic signal, some citizens of Bhubaneswar town were treated to a rare sight. Sabyasachi Ray, the celebrated, most talked-about lawyer of the town, got down from his car while waiting for the light to turn green and started running towards the Station Square like a man possessed. He was seen tearing his hair, scratching his face and howling madly.

In no time his abandoned Honda City car became an object of curiosity. Drivers of the cars behind it started honking impatiently and finding no response, skirted it and moved on, casting angry glances at the unoccupied car. Before the traffic constables pushed the car to the side curb, half a dozen street urchins came near it, touched it with hesitant caution and rubbed their palm on its silky surface. One of them, more daring than the others, opened the door, got into the driver’s seat and started fiddling with the switches. Suddenly the car radio boomed into a loud song, throwing him off balance. Meanwhile two others had got into the luxurious back seat and sat on it, enjoying the comfort of the cushion. One of them started bouncing on it and found it to be ticklishly exciting.

Advocate Sabyasachi Ray would have exploded like a Diwali cracker had he witnessed this scene. He is too conscious of his aristocratic bearings – of his car, his dress, the Italian leather shoes and the Schaeffer pen in his pocket. The way his car was being manhandled by the urchins would have made him angry and he would have blasted them with his booming voice. 

For Sabyasachi Ray, the booming voice is a trademark, his USP. When he stands up to present his arguments, the entire court room becomes quiet, all ears tuned to his words. The elderly judges, prone to light naps at lengthy arguments, sit up and listen to him in rapt attention. Sabyasachi weaves a magic around the court room, his words are carefully constructed, his strategy consciously drafted to make a mockery of the opponent. He says, a good lawyer is like a python, he looks at the opponent’s eyes, makes him feel threatened, waits for him to crack and the moment there is a sign of weakness, strikes and swallows him whole.

A brilliant lawyer, Sabyasachi says, is not made, he is born as a genius. A genius is rare. If you give a bat and ball to a young boy and make him play cricket for years under a good coach, he will become a good cricketer but not a Sachin Tendulkar. Cricketers like Sachin, singers like Lata Mangeshkar, painters like Raja Ravi Verma are not made by training, they are born as genius. 

Sabyasachi considered himself a genius, right from the school days, when sparks of his brilliance used to dazzle others. After getting a degree in Law he started as a junior advocate under the tutelage of the famous barrister Nitin Chatterjee. Soon he opened his own chamber and in ten years’ time went far ahead of others. With fame, money, and success he became a celebrity in Bhubaneswar. Rotary Club, Lions Club, and Universities competed with each other to get him as a Guest Speaker. He didn’t have time for lesser institutions. A healthy contempt for rivals in his profession kept him on edge all the time. At a Rotary Club function, a journalist once asked him about his main competitor, “What do you think of Sadhan Patnaik?” Sabyasachi Ray shot back, “I don’t think of him. I don’t have the time!”

His two-storied mansion in Surya Nagar is a fine specimen of wealth and elegance. A stamp of aristocracy is evident everywhere – from the neatly manicured Korean grass lawn, the paintings on the walls, the potted plants on the balcony and the grills on the balustrade. When he, his wife Dipti and daughter Ananya go out in their Honda City to Chilka, Chandbali or Konark, people gaze in awe, conscious of their status and reputation.

Sabyasachi Ray is simply a brilliant lawyer. In the court room he enacts dramas to dazzle the judges, to intimidate the witnesses and to confuse his opponents. He knows the psychology of the judges and their weaknesses. Some are sympathetic to the poor, others consider themselves the sole upholders of truth and some others are the messiah of the downtrodden. Sabyasachi plays on their minds and tries to exploit their individual weaknesses. 

There is no end to the success stories of Sabyasachi Ray. He is a legend in legal circles. Clients know that once they pay the fees to him, their fate is safe in his hands. Sabyasachi says he doesn’t believe in truth or falsehood. It is his job to weave the magic of words and convince the judge with his version of the truth.  What lies behind the facts does not bother him. To him, the wad of currency notes paid by the clients is the truth. He has won hundreds of cases and most of them could have gone the other way, if some other lawyer had handled them. For him, success is an addiction. Even a single failure causes him acute depression, like a drug addict denied his dose of drugs.

Dancer Bijayini Das’s case is the most sensational victory of Sabyasachi Ray in recent times. The case had made headlines for many days in the local and national media, not only because she was an exceptionally beautiful young girl, but because the accused was the famous son of a powerful politician of Orissa. Vipin Samantaray is the MLA of Paradip and the uncrowned king of the crime world of coastal Orissa. Chintu is not only his son, but also his successor in every respect. At one time Bijayani was his constant companion, and his prize catch. For a couple of years they were seen together at Konark, Gopalpur, Chilka and all the famous resorts of the state. One day Chintu dropped her like a used napkin - just like that - here today, gone tomorrow. To prove that with his tons of money, he can acquire and abandon beauties like Bijayini at his sweet will.

Bijayini shut herself up for two months and then took up the job of a dancer at the famous Neelkamal night club and restaurant – a meeting point of all the big-wigs of Bhubaneswar. Politicians come there, so do film stars, businessmen, industrialists, bureaucrats and police officers. Chintu is a regular there. When Chintu enters the restaurant with his friends, a hush falls over the place. Chintu revels in the attention – as the anointed prince of crime, protected by the powerful father and his connections. The manager constantly hangs around the table to check if everything is alright. One never knows what will happen if the young man with a mercurial temper loses his cool for some reason. But having Chintu makes good business sense. He never spends less than fifteen thousand rupees, and often leaves a bundle of notes without counting them.

Bijayini is the only one in the night club who doesn’t have any fear of Chintu. She goes to his table, makes taunting gestures, touches his hand and dances provocatively to make him angry. Chintu ignores her. But it was inevitable that one day Chintu would explode. It happened one evening. In full glare of the other customers and the manager, Chintu shot at Bijayini, killing her on the spot. Some customers had seen them talking heatedly and Bijayini spitting on Chintu’s face in a fit of anger. In a flash Chintu took out a revolver and shot her. He and his friends immediately left the place.

The police came to the scene of crime and recorded the statements of some of the employees. Chintu was arrested, but released on bail immediately. The police filed a case but it was apparent they were merely going through the motion of legal proceedings. No reliable witness came forward to give evidence against Chintu. The manager flatly denied being present at the scene of crime. A couple of senior police officers were present in the night club that evening but feigned complete ignorance about the identity of the killer. For the manager and the big-wigs, Bijayini Das was a mere dime-a-dozen dancer, while Chintu Samantaray was a rising star, and a leader in the making. One day he will inherit the Paradip constituency and the crime world from his father. How can any one go against him? Only a dancer colleague of Bijayini, two young waiters who were desperately besotted with her, and an elderly couple came forward to give evidence against Chintu.

Advocate Sabhasachi Ray made mincemeat of them in cross-examination. The dancer was harassed so much that she started crying in the court.  The elderly couple were made to believe that they were colour blind and had impaired vision. He proved to the Court that the night club was only partially lighted, colourful lights were playing to the tune of the music and no one could clearly see anything. The poor young waiters were badgered with questions, humiliated and were forced to admit that they had made unwarranted advances to Bijayini in the past and were men of dubious character. Impressed by Sabyasachi’s reputation and swayed by his histrionics, the Judge forgot to pull him up for violating legal ethics and intimidating witnesses.

Sabyasachi Ray, fortified with a fat fee, the fattest of his career, staged a big drama in the court room, and presented an alternative theory about the murder: 

Yes, Bijayini died of a gun shot, but it was self-inflicted. Bijayini was three months pregnant. She pleaded with Chintu to marry her, and to accept the paternity of the child. Chintu denied that the child was his. He pointed out to another lady sitting by his side, “This is Ajanta. We got married in a Court this morning and as soon as we get out of the night club, we will drive away to Gopalpur for our honeymoon.” Bijayini was crestfallen. She lost her cool, took out the revolver from Chintu’s pocket and shot herself. In the semi-dark hall and in the midst of loud music and the hide and seek of throbbing colourful lights in tune with the dance, no witness could clearly see how Bijayini died. It is a case of suicide and not murder. 

The Judge got carried away by the eloquent and forceful arguments of Sabyasachi Ray.  The testimonies of the witnesses were shown to be unreliable. Chintu Samantaraywas acquitted. This victory added another feather to Sabyasachi Ray’s crown. 

The Bijayini Das case was the pinnacle of success for advocate Sabyasachi Ray. It established him as the best in the field beyond doubt, with no one coming anywhere close to him. A few members of a women’s organization demonstrated against him in front of his house. But he didn’t care and told everyone, ‘I am not here to contest in an election, I don’t need to be popular. I have done my professional job. I have proved to the court what is the truth.’ Sabyasachi Ray famously says, there is no place for emotion in legal profession. There is only hard cash and a tough heart. 

After victory in the Bijayini Das case, Sabyasachi Ray knew there were no new heights to scale. Yet he was obsessed. He craved for more cases, more victories, and more success. He started losing sleep in the night over the cases coming up next morning. He wanted to win each one of them.

People asked him whether he wanted to contest elections. Sabyasachi Ray flatly refused. There is no fun in winning an election and defeating a rival. It happens once in five years. But Sabhasachi Ray wants the taste of victory every day. He can’t live without it. Everyday he wants to vanquish his opponents, and announce to the whole world, “I am the best, the absolute best and no one can unseat me from that position.”

A month after the verdict in Bijayini Das case, a dramatic event changed the life of Sabyasachi Ray. His daughter Ananya, a student in Lady Sri Ram College in Delhi, had come home for summer vacation. She was fond of driving and loved to take her dad’s Honda City for a spin whenever she could. Around six on an April evening, she drove out of their house towards the market. The sky was cloudy but no one had a foreboding of the torrential rain that would hit the town.  Around half past six the sky suddenly opened up and in one hour it rained fifteen inches - an unprecedented downpour. Old timers said they had not seen anything like that in their life, meteorologists later explained it as a cloud-burst.

Near Rajmahal Square Ananya had to stop the car. Visibility had been reduced to just two meters. In the blinding rain she parked the car near a two-storied office building and ran towards its partially open doors. The staircase was dimly lit, wind was forcing the rain inside through the slightly open door. She moved closer to the staircase. It was scary, she had an eerie feeling. She couldn’t see any one in that small space, but felt as if someone was present. She thought she would go out to the car and wait inside, but frequent lightning made the car unsafe.

There was a big flash of lightning followed by a deafening thunder. The electricity went off, plunging the entrance into total darkness. Ananya shivered out of fear. Suddenly a hand crept up from under the staircase, covered her mouth and dragged her in. She struggled and screamed but the torrential rain outside drowned her scream.

The rain stopped after half an hour. Advocate Sabyasachi Ray was frantic when Ananya did not return. She had left her mobile phone in the car and his calls were not answered. He took out his old Maruti Esteem and drove around, looking for her. One hour later he found her in the building which happened to be the office of the State Textiles Corporation. Ananya was unconscious. Her dress was torn, there were deep marks all over her body. She was bleeding from many parts. Even a strong-hearted Sabyasachi thought he would puke at the sight. He sprinkled water on her face and rushed her to the hospital. The doctor confirmed rape and let her go home after administering first aid and advising Sabyasachi to file a complaint with the police.

Advocate Sabyasachi Ray went mad with anger.  Rape!  Advocate Sabyasachi Ray’s daughter getting raped in Bhubaneswar? What has this town come to? Who could dare do this? Only if he could lay his hands on the rapist he would wring his neck and feed it to the dogs. He telephoned the Police Commissioner who was a personal friend from his Rotary Club. The police swung into action, but there was no trace of the culprit. The building was supposedly empty at the time of the crime and there was no one in the street who would have witnessed the incident. 

The police was under heavy pressure to arrest someone, to prove that they are effective and Bhubaneswar town is safe for women. After some investigation they arrested Dibakar Swain, the watchman of the office building where Ananya was raped. Bhubaneswar town heaved a sigh of relief; police trumpeted it as a success story of early detection and arrest.

Advocate Sabyasachi Ray was impatient. He wanted to meet the accused and if possible, lay his hands on him and tear him to pieces. Police Commissioner advised him restraint. There was intense media focus on the case and any adverse publicity will spoil their cause. He arranged to include Sabyasachi Ray in the team of lawyers to represent the prosecution and Sabyasachi took over the case like a man possessed. This was going to be the most important case of his life. Forget Bijayini Das – she was a mere dancer, fit to be used and discarded by rich, spoilt brats like Chintu Samantaray. Ananya isSabyasachi Ray’s daughter, and he cannot forgive a man who dared to put a finger on her. Dibakar will be made to pay the price. He regretted that there is no death penalty for rape, but he promised himself that after Dibakar finishes serving his sentence, Sabyasachi will unleash his four Alsatian dogs on him, who will tear Dibakar to pieces, limb by limb, starting with the throat. Sabyasachi Ray shivered with anger, his fists curled and face contorted. He stopped taking any other case. He was consumed day and night by a feeling of insane rage and obsession for revenge.

The court room was packed with people and media.  The whole town was curious to see how Sabyasachi, the unparalleled genius of legal world, will get retribution for his daughter. Poor Dibakar, a frail, emaciated man in his forties, who looked like a sixty-year old, trembled in the court room. Sadhan Patnaik, Sabyasachi Ray’s arch rival in legal profession in Bhubaneswar, was his advocate. With copious tears, Dibakar had pleaded with Sadhan Patnaik that he was innocent, and that he had never committed a crime in his life, unless consuming country liquor or smoking charas was treated as a crime. He is a father of four children, two of them are grown-up daughters. Committing a rape was unthinkable for him. Sadhan assured him that if he was innocent, he would be acquitted.  Sadhan volunteered to take up the case free for Dibakar. It was time to settle a score with the great, invincible Sabyasachi Ray, the celebrity advocate, who was getting increasingly unpredictable because of his uncontrolled rage and frustration.

Sabyasachi Ray gave a sterling performance, one of the best of his career. He presented four witnesses who had seen Dibakar enter the building at ten a.m. and coming out at nine p.m. The entry in the attendance register matched this statement. The head of the office, Abinash, an admirer of Sabyasachi Ray and also a friend from the Rotary Club, testified that Dibakar was a man of questionable character, often suspected to be under the influence of liquor and probably some dangerous narcotic substances. Abinash testified that sometimes he had noticed a foul smell coming from Dibakar’s mouth while talking to him. For such a man committing a rape in a vacant office building is quite plausible. 

Abinash was known to be a man of colourful reputation, corrupt, flamboyant, a big spender of money and a lady-chaser.

Sadhan Patnaik tried his best to discredit the head of the office.

“Do you know Advocate Sabyasachi Ray personally?”

“Yes”

“How often do you meet each other?”

“Almost every month, at the Rotary Club.”

“Are you good friends?”

“Sort of.”

“So, you are giving this evidence to help him nail Dibakar? Has he asked you to do that?”

For a moment Abinash was taken aback, his mouth remained open.

“How can you say like that? I am a senior officer of the government and you are attacking my character?”

“Please answer the question. The Court is aware how senior you are and many in this room have a fair idea about your character.”

There was loud laughter in the court room. Abinash lost his cool, his face became red.

“Fellows like Dibakar should be hanged, he is a risk to the society, to every single woman in this town.”

“So you have already decided that he is the culprit and your evidence is doctored to prove that theory? Has my learned friend, the celebrity advocate Sabyasachi Ray asked you to do that?”

Again Abinash lost his temper.

“You think, I am an idiot, I have no brains, that any advocate can convince me of anything?”

“Please don’t argue with me. Just answer my question.”

Sadhan Patnaik looked at the Judge.

“Your Honour may kindly direct the witness to maintain the dignity of the court room.”

Sabyasachi Ray sprang to his feet.

“Your Honour! It is my learned friend who is lowering the dignity of this court room by imputing motives to the witness and suggesting that I have tutored him.”

The Judge ignored Sabyasachi Ray. He was rather enjoying the line of questioning by Sadhan. He directed the witness to give exact answers to the questions put by the lawyer of the accused.

“For how long have you known the accused taking alcohol, or, as you have mentioned ‘other narcotic substances’?”

“He has a long history of being an alcoholic and user of charas.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. I have only heard about it.”

“So, you are giving only hearsay evidence. How long have you been head of the office?”

“About three years.”

“Have you taken any disciplinary action against Dibakar?”

“No.”

“Have you even initiated any action against him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want the poor man to lose his job, because of any action I take against him.”

“Why are you against the poor man now? Because your friend has told you that  Dibakar has raped his daughter?”

“Everyone in the town knows that Dibakar has done it.”

“How do you know everyone in the town thinks Dibakar is the accused?”

“I have talked to many people.”

“All of them are your friends?”

“Yes.”

“And friends of the celebrity lawyer Sabyasachi Ray?”

“Most of them are also friends of Sabyasachi Ray.”

“So all of you have already decided that Dibakar is the accused and you have come to give evidence against him?

Abinash was silent.

“How do you know that Dibakar is a drunkard and a drug addict? Have you ever seen him drinking?”

“No, but I have heard that he drinks a lot.”

“How many times have you seen him smoking?”

“Never.”

“You told the court that you have sometimes found a foul smell coming out of Dibakar’s mouth.”

“Yes.”

“How many times have you found that smell?”

“Two or three times.”

“What kind of smell?”

“I don’t know what exactly is the smell. It may be charas.”

“Are you sure it is charas or is it only a cigarette?”

“No, no, it is charas.”

“How are you so sure? Do you smoke charas?”

“No, of course not.”

“Does any one in your family or any of your friends smoke charas?”

“No! How dare you suggest that?”

“Just answer my question. How do you know that the smell coming out of Dibakar’s mouth is that of charas?”

“I don’t know. I have only heard that he smokes charas. So I presume the smell is that of charas.”

“You are presuming a lot of things. You have never taken any action against Dibakar for consuming alcohol, you have never seen him smoking charas, just by hearsay you presume him to be a drunkard and a drug addict. Is it true?”

“I know he is a drunkard and a drug addict, because everybody knows it.”

“So now you say he has raped your friend’s daughter because everyone says that and possibly your friend has asked you to say that! Are you an educated person or an ignorant rustic?”

Advocate Sabyasachi Ray got up, agitated, “Your Honour, my learned friend is trying to intimidate the witness! This cannot be permitted.”

The Judge looked at Sadhan Patnaik, “Any more questions?”

“No your Honour, I have established him as an unreliable and a biased witness. His evidence is based on hearsay, not facts.”

It was apparent that everyone had presumed Dibakar to be guilty. The media had already crucified him, there was public outcry against him and the mighty Sabyasachi Ray was out to finish him off. The case would have been closed early but for the brilliance of Sadhan Patnaik whose cross-examination of the witnesses was thorough, methodical and incisive. The prosecution had presented four more witnesses, all working in the same office, who testified that Dibakar was a man of dubious character and prone to crime. But Sadhan Patnaik demolished their evidence with the same brilliance he had employed for Abinash.  Except for a reputation of being addicted to drinks and charas, there was nothing to suggest that Dibakar had committed a rape.

The case dragged on and the court got closed for summer vacation. Despite Sabyasachi Ray’s best efforts he could not get an early conviction against Dibakar. During the summer it was found that due to the unfortunate incident Ananya had got pregnant. Sabyasachi Ray and his wife Dipti were shocked beyond words. Relatives advised them to get an abortion, but the lawyer in Sabyasachi wanted to prove Dibakar’s guilt by a DNA test. Ananya was adamant – let a DNA test be done and Dibakar be punished. Somehow the news got leaked and the sympathy of the whole town was with the poor girl. Anger was growing by the day. If Dibakar was not in jail, he would have been lynched by the public.

Before the summer vacation, the defence had presented one witness, Dambaru, a peon working in the office where Dibakar was a watchman. Sadhan Patnaik wanted to tread carefully, because Dambaru’s reputation as a drunkard was as bad as Dibakar’s.

“What’s your name?”

“Dambarudhar Majhi, Sir.”

“Where do you work?”

“I am a peon in the Textile Corporation.”

“Is it the same office where the accused Dibakar Swain works?’

“Yes, Sir.”

“Were you with him on the evening of April 23rd when there was torrential rain in Bhubaneswar?’

“Yes Sir, we were together in the office.”

“What were you doing on a holiday?”

“I had been asked by my bosses to arrange some papers and registers. It could be done only on a holiday.”

“Was Dibakar with you when it was raining?”

“Yes Sir, he was sitting near the entrance since morning. I only asked him to come up and close the windows. The rain was sudden and heavy. A lot of water entered the office hall and papers got blown away in wind. So both of us got busy in closing the windows, and arranging the papers. Some of the window panes were broken and we were busy in closing those gaps with papers and file boards so that rain water doesn’t enter the office.”

“It rained for more than an hour. Did it take that much time for you to close the windows and arrange the papers?”

“No Sir.”

“What were you doing after you had closed the windows?”

An embarrassing smile spread over Dambaru’s face. Actually he and Dibakar had taken out a bottle of country liquor and had polished it off in that one hour. But he had not told it to anyone. With downcast eyes he replied,

“We got tired and went off to sleep. We were feeling a little cold because of the dampness and the cool air.”

“When did you wake up?”

“Around nine when we heard a lot of noise and some people woke us up.”

“What was the noise about?”

“People told us that a girl had been raped and her father had taken her to the hospital.”

“What did you do?”

“We panicked. Dibakar thought he will lose his job because he had left the entrance of the building open when he came up to help me. I panicked because I had called him up to help me in arranging the papers.”

Sadhan Patnaik knew that drinking liquor in the office was the real reason of their panic, but he did not probe it. Dambaru and Dibakar were reeking of alcohol when people found them in deep slumber in the hall of the office. Both had locked the building and run away to hide in a friend’s house. The police could meet Dibakar only the next day, sober and fresh as a lily.

During cross-examination Sabyasachi Ray attacked Dambaru with a vengeance. Any friend of Dibakar deserved to be mauled!

“Why were you in the office when the rains started pouring?”

“I couldn’t get out. The rain was so sudden that nobody could move out anywhere.”

“With so much rain and thunder outside, how could you sleep?”

Dambaru was tempted to tell Sabyasachi that if one finishes half a bottle of country liquor in about forty-five minutes, no noise can stop him from getting knocked out, but the fear of losing his job made him give a decent explanation.

“I am used to noise while sleeping. My house is small and with my old mother and five children there is no space inside, I sleep outside in the verandah of my house in Rasulgarh, on the Cuttack-Bhubaneswar main road. I hear noise of trucks and vehicles through out the night.”

“What were you and Dibakar doing after you arranged the papers?”

“We chatted for sometime and then went off to sleep.”

“Who fell asleep first, you or Dibakar?”

“Dibakar, Sir.”

“No, you are lying. It was you who went off to sleep first. Dibakar was still awake. Seeing you asleep, Dibakar went down and raped the victim, then came up to sleep in the hall.”

“Impossible Sir, it was he who dozed off first and fell asleep on the floor. He was still sleeping when I got up due to the noise made by the people. Then we woke him up.”

Sabyasachi Ray kept on grilling him, but Dambaru didn’t flinch. He insisted that he was telling the truth and Dibakar couldn’t have committed the rape.

Hearing in the case resumed after the reopening of the court. Sadhan Patnaik wanted to examine Ananya. The Judge was hesitant, but she volunteered to give evidence. Like everyone else she had made up her mind that Dibakar was guilty and her hatred for the man was so intense that she wanted to do everything possible to crucify him. She had not gone back to college after the incident. The trauma in the initial days was too severe. But a modern girl like her cannot sit quietly at home and allow the accused to get off lightly if she could convince the judge to award the maximum penalty.  Sadhan Patnaik examined her with caution, knowing the all-round sympathy  for her.

“Your name?”

“Ananya Ray.”

“What were you doing on the evening of April 23rd?”

“I was driving my dad’s car. I had to stop at Rajmahal Square because of poor visibility in torrential rain. I locked the car and ran to the nearest building, which was the office of the State Textile Corporation. That’s where that animal raped me.”

She pointed out Dibakar Swain in the accused’s stand.

“Wait a minute. How do you know it was him?”

“I have no doubt in my mind.”

“Because the police has arrested him?”

“Yes, and he is known to be a criminal.”

“Did you see him that evening at any time?”

“No. When I entered the building, the light in the staircase area was very dim.”

“Where was he?”

“Hiding under the staircase.”

“Why would he do that, when there was a chair meant for him to sit and guard the building?”

“How do I know? You should ask him. May be he was waiting for a victim like me!”

“Do you recollect, from the feel of the man who raped you if he had the same build as Dibakar?”

There was silence in the court room for a few seconds. Then Sabyasachi jumped up, his face red with anger, rushing towards Sadhan Patnaik.

“You scoundrel, what kind of a question is that?”

It appeared he was about to assault Sadhan Patnaik. Others restrained him. The Judge was severe on Sadhan Patnaik.

“Mr. Lawyer, I know you need to ask if the rapist had any resemblance to the accused. But be decent in asking the question.”

Sadhan Patnaik had got slightly rattled by the threat of a sudden physical attack from Sabyasachi Ray. He looked at Ananya.

“Madam, my apologies. Let me put the question in a different way.”

Ananya interjected.

“It’s ok. You ask anything you want, but I want the accused to be punished.”

“Yes, let the real culprit be punished, but I will prove that my client is not guilty. Did you have an occasion to see the face of the man who attacked you?”

“No, the light had gone out when he attacked me. It was pitch dark.”

“Was he a very strong man, a huge man, or frail like the accused, standing there?”

“The man put his hand on my mouth and in a minute or two I fainted out of fear. But I don’t think he was a huge man. His hands were thin. He was like the accused standing there. I think, it was the same man.”

“No, I think it was not the same man. I will prove it shortly.”

Ananya looked at him defiantly. Sadhan Patnaik continued,

“Forgive my asking this. Is it true that you are pregnant?”

Ananya had not expected this question. For the first time during the cross-examination she felt shy. She nodded her head.

“Yes.”

“Did it happen because of the incident that evening?”

Her eyes flashed with anger.

“Yes, how else?”

“No, I was just wondering. You study in Delhi?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have boy friends?”

“Yes, I have many friends, some of them are boys.”

“Are you physically intimate with any of them?”

There was a shriek from Ananya.

“What? What are you saying?”

Simultaneously, Sabyasachi Ray, the lawyer with the booming voice let out a deafening roar.

“Bastard! You bastard! You are insulting my daughter in the open court room? I will get your license cancelled. You cheap bastard.”

He rushed at Sadhan Patnaik and tried to give him a blow. Sadhan ducked. It took a full five minutes to calm down Sabyasachi Ray. There was pandemonium in the court. Before the judge could pull him up, Sadhan Patnaik apologized to him.

“Your honour, my apologies again. But I will prove to the court that there is a reason for my asking the question. If the court permits I will ask one more question which is critical, in order to prove my client’s innocence.”

“Please proceed, but be sure it is relevant.”

“Thank you, Your Honour! Now, madam, everyone has sympathy for your condition. Please tell us honestly in this court, because you are the only one who can do that, is your pregnancy solely due to the unfortunate incident of the evening of April 23rd?”

Ananya looked at him with burning eyes.

“Yes, I am one hundred per cent sure of that.”

Sadhan Patnaik bowed at her and turned to look at the Judge.

“In that case, Your Honour, my client is innocent. He is certainly not responsible for the crime he is accused of. Here is the certificate issued by the Nirakarpur Primary Health Centre eight years ago, when he got himself operated for vasectomy after his fourth child was born. Dibakar Swain is incapable of fathering a child.”

There was a hush of silence in the court. Sabyasachi Ray was the first to get up. His face was distorted with shock, disbelief and anger.

“What kind of a cheap trick is that? The certificate must be a fake.”

Sadhan Patnaik stood there, smiling. This was a rare victory against Sabyasachi Ray. It spread a glow on him like a slow fire on a winter evening. To his surprise, the court room erupted in protest and anger. The public was not prepared to accept his argument. Thanks to the media, Dibakar Swain had already been pronounced guilty by the public.

“He is lying. He is lying. That certificate must be a fake, tear it up. Give justice to the poor girl. She deserves it.”

The Judge found the audience in the court room getting increasingly unruly. He asked the police to restore order and take away Dibakar from the court. He invited the counsels and Ananya to come to his chamber for a discussion.

Sabyasachi was seething with anger.

“Your Honour, my learned friend has played a cheap trick. Such certificates can be obtained by paying a bribe. I am sure it is a fake.”

Sadhan Patnaik was still smiling. It appeared as if the smile will not leave his face for the next few days.

“Your Honour, we can produce the Register from where the certificate has been made. My client is innocent.”

Sabyasachi Ray attacked him.

“If a certificate can be faked, a register can also be faked. Don’t you have any legal ethics?”

Sadhan Patnaik shot back.

“Mr. Ray, you take care of your legal ethics, I will take care of mine. The whole Bhubaneswar town knows how much legal ethics you have. They don’t have to go to heaven to ask Bijayini Das about your legal ethics!”

“How about my poor daughter? Do you know what trauma she has gone through?”

“Yes, we all have sympathy for her. But being a legal genius that you claim to be, I don’t have to tell you that cases are won in court not by sympathy, but by cold facts and hard evidence.”

The Judge intervened.

“OK, enough. Gentlemen, you can settle your personal rivalry outside my room. I have no option except dismissing the case.”

Sabyasachi Ray panicked.

“Your Honour, wait a minute! I have no doubt that this vasectomy certificate is a fake. Let us wait for a DNA test of the baby to prove that Dibakar is its father. I have checked with some reputed doctors. They say that although a DNA test can be done in vitro, a hundred percent certainty can be ensured if the sample is taken after the baby is born. We are prepared to wait for five more months for that.”

The Judge looked at Sadhan Patnaik.

“Your Honour, I am sure even the DNA test will be negative, but I am not prepared to let my poor client rot in the jail for the next five months, waiting for a DNA test to be done. I will agree to the DNA test if my client is let out on bail. Otherwise, I will press for an outright acquittal.”

The Judge looked at Ananya.

“How about you? Are you prepared to go through this?”

“Yes, Your Honour, we have already decided that the child should come out and prove to the world that the villain Dibakar is an animal in human form.”

“But how about the child?”

Before Ananya could reply, Sabyasachi Ray shouted in anger.

“We will give it away to an orphanage. I am not going to keep that disgusting thing in my house. We have not gone for an abortion only to let the child help in proving the guilt of Dibakar.”

“Or disproving it” – interjected Sadhan Patnaik.

The Judge again looked at Ananya.

“How about you? Do you agree to this? After all, you are the mother.”

A shudder passed through Ananya. She caught hold of the chair in front of her to steady herself.

“I agree with whatever decision my parents take.”

The Judge passed an order granting bail to Dibakar and posting the case for 15th February.

People in Bhubaneswar were stunned at this dramatic turn of events. No one was prepared for it, since the whole town had assumed Dibakar to be guilty. Now they all waited anxiously for the baby. It will be a unique baby. The fate of poor Dibakar Swain will depend on its arrival – will it be the confinement of the jail or free, open air for him? 

Days rolled by. Ananya felt the pangs of a baby growing up inside her. By a strange quirk of nature, she started liking the idea of having a baby, nurturing it and watching it grow. When the baby gave its mild kicks from inside, she no longer cursed it; she started enjoying the kicks and gradually waited for them. Just knowing that a part of her was growing inside, was alive and kicking, made her feel happy. A few months back if someone had told her that she would soon be a mother and a part of her flesh and blood would come into the world screaming, after a nine months’ wait in the dark chamber of her womb, she wouldn’t have believed it. Nature was gradually preparing her to bring forth another spark of life into a world of light and splendor. Her emotional turnaround was dramatic, but she was too scared of her parents to show any such feeling. She was worried for her father. Advocate Sabyasachi Ray had became a shadow of his previous self. He had stopped taking new cases. His only obsession during his waking hours was to win Ananya’s case, humiliate Sadhan Patnaik and send Dibakar to a long imprisonment.

The day a male child was born to Ananya, Sabyasachi Ray and his wife Dipti almost fainted out of shock. It was a peculiar child – not ugly, but something was different about him. What worried Sabyasachi the most was, it had absolutely no resemblance to Dibakar. The child was of a dark complexion, with small curly hair, big round eyes, thick lips and the eyebrows joined together. Added to his unusual features was a peculiarity which horrified Ananya’s mother. On his right hand, next to the thumb, the child had a small appendage, something like an extra finger.

Ananya’s mother refused to touch him. Sabyasachi Ray got the doctor to collect the blood sample for a DNA test and the next day he wanted to send the child off to an orphanage. To his horror, Ananya refused to part with the child. Her maternal instincts took over and defied all reason, logic, and pleading of her parents. She threatened to leave home and run away with the child if they insisted on sending the child to the orphanage.  ?

         The DNA test was negative. The Judge acquitted Dibakar. Out of caution the police commissioner got the DNA matching done with the sample of Dambaru. That also turned to be negative. Sadhan Patnaik’s joy knew no bounds. He became the new hero in the legal fraternity. The Lions Club felicitated him for the doggedness and perseverance in getting justice for poor Dibakar. People of Bhubaneswar kept wondering about the real perpetrator of the crime. The police admitted they were clueless. So far they had put all their energy in trying to prove Dibakar’s guilt.

Advocate Sabyasachi Ray became a pitiable wreck. Never in his life had he encountered defeat and despair at the same time. His professional life was in doldrums and his personal life was a mess. He just couldn’t accept Ananya’s child. Its presence at home haunted him like a bad dream, constantly reminding him of his defeat in the court room. For petty reasons he snapped at his wife, at Ananya and at everyone in general. He stopped going to the court. He would often take out his car and drive around the town in a vacant state of mind.

On a late February afternoon, he left his house in his car. At Rajmahal square, he  stopped at the red light. He stared ahead, lost in thought. Suddenly there was a knock on the window on the left side of the car. He wanted to ignore it. Must be a beggar asking for alms! Absentmindedly he turned his head and looked at the window. The next moment blood drained out of his face. His eyes popped out, sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt as if someone was hammering inside his brain.

The dark man in tattered clothes, a dirty face with big round eyes, curly hair, joined eyebrows and thick lips smiled at him and raised his hands with a plastic bowl to ask for alms. 

With blurred eyes, Sabyasachi Ray noticed the extra little finger attached to the beggar’s thumb. His brilliant mind took only a few seconds to realize that this unkempt man with tattered clothes is the father of Ananya’s child. Suddenly his mind snapped, the thought of how this dirty man would have mauled his delicate daughter’s body on that rainy evening turned him crazy like a wounded tiger. His head started reeling. From deep within his heart he heard screams – a rising crescendo of piercing screams from Bijayini Das and many others whose souls were crying for justice, that was so craftily denied to them by the brilliance of Sabyasachi Ray and his ilk.

The genius lawyer lost his mind, opened the door and ran down the street towards Station Square tearing his hair, scratching his face and screaming at the top of his voice at an unforgiving God.

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 ninth collection of his short stories in Odiya will come out soon.

 


 


Viewers Comments


  • Ajaya Upadhyaya

    Genius: Another gripping story from the Master Storyteller, Dr Sarangi. Couldn’t just put it down midway. The ultimate justice is Divine Justice!

    Aug, 11, 2019
  • prabhat ku acharjya

    I write poems.in odia

    Aug, 10, 2019
  • AK

    Mrutyunjaya, It is a very gripping story. Well written. AK

    Aug, 10, 2019
  • Dr BC Nayak

    This time got exhausted with the paradoxically short (should have been categorised as a long )story "Genius",penned down by a genius, but couldn't leave it in between.Advocate Sabyasachi simply mesmerised me. Thanks a lot DrSarangi for making it really lively and lovely.

    Aug, 09, 2019

Leave a Reply