Literary Vibes - Edition XXIX
Dear Friends,
Welcome to the Twenty Ninth edition.
In the backdrop of the Independence Day celebrations and the euphoria that accompanies it every year, I recollect the sacrifice made by our freedom fighters - the hangings, jail terms, brutal beatings, hit of the bayonets, and the untold pain and sufferings. I ask myself every year, are we living in the India they had dreamt of? My heart breaks at the unrealised potential, the unfulfilled dreams. And i move on to have my tryst with the next Independence Day.
This time we are happy to welcome Shri Debjit Rath of New Delhi, a dear friend of mine from my school days, who writes terrific travelogues in his Facebook page. I have been requesting him to share them with LiteraryVibes and he has finally obliged. Let's hope he writes regularly for LiteraryVibes to dazzle us with more travelogues. The experience of exotic China by Ms. Kumud Raj continues to open up an interesting vision. We are indeed lucky to have such wonderful offerings in LiteraryVibes.
As promised in the last edition, I have written two pieces of Drabbles, exactly hundred words each, gunshots in the air, creating some ripples, forcing us to think about the characters and containing the seeds of many possibilities. Hope more and more writers will write Drabbles for the pages of LiteraryVibes. This time we also have interesting, extremely readable mini stories by Dr. B. C. Nayak. I am making a special mention of them since they are a deviation from the usual, traditional short stories we have been publishing in LiteraryVibes.
Wish you a fabulous reading during the weekend.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
UNANCHORED ANGELS (2)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
By the sea’s water-edge
parks a grey-white puff of cloud;
it stirs against the sunset; a flock
of seagulls! Nulikely, it rises on legs;
are they penguins setting off in a file?
No, clad in grey-white, hands gesturing,
legs shuffling, gait desultory, backs bowed,
a tired profile lumbers against a dimming sky.
They disappear into a monastery,
the caste away women of all ages,
widowed, some were hardly married.
They swarm to Puri from all quarters.
The dubious monasteries
at the Lord’s holy town
house their uprooted souls,
give shelter and food for a price.
It is extracted in cash, in kind,
no questions ever answered;
life drags along fifty shades
of grey in dismal dormitories.
Dawn pokes unkind fingers into eyes;
these early birds run to temple gates
unwashed, barefoot, empty stomach;
don’t pray but beg from early devotees.
Cash they pay to the monastery head,
food received as alms are gulped down,
hungry after the single bland meal of a day
at the sunset, the only guaranteed meal.
Post dinner, their withering eyes
light up, search into themselves
through long dreary nightmarish dark,
huddling into one another’s arms.
Beg, eat, sleep …beg, eat, sleep …
demons from starved flesh crawl
into their underbelly’s empty pits;
enchanted dark kelps creeping around.
They dwell lusting
after cushiony motherly love,
savouries and sweets of better days,
tender and bitter hours with a man.
Lurid talk a taboo, touch passes signals;
their lava carries unseen heat,
the docile thighs unravel volcanoes.
On fasting days they eat men raw.
Footnote – The first part of the poem (the same title) has appeared in Literary Vibes 26th issue. Readers are to connect and read.
THE LORD’S PRAYER
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Give us our love tonight, Lord,
on our platter of flesh and soul,
and align us along our
desire and devotion’s solstices.
Forgive our minor vices as we forgive
your peccadilloes, Krishna, and give us
courage to burn ourselves
in the fire, you ignite in us.
Banish us if we fail, O blue Lord,
to carry forward your grand design
and convert our brothel-bed
into a love shrine.
Let not prevarications, complacence,
procrastinate our guilt to come,
perpetuate in your name,
ambush us and you in one net.
Let thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
let us live and love
as you loved and lived;
we in your image and you ours.
Whip our flesh
with your passion’s lashes;
enslave us and our lust.
Swa..h…a…a..a.a.
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 FIRST NIGHT (PRUTHIBI: PRATHAMA RAATI)
HARAPRASAD DAS
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
It is expected of a first night
to be passed in wild-goose chase;
why should one be blamed,
or be apologetic…. ?
A few smart alecks
from the so called who’s who
of the show world
besides a few silk-clad socialites
may not appreciate the spontaneity
surrounding a first night,
of preparing the mind’s humus
for the mystery seeds of future.
The world is divided
and balanced that way –
a few remain oblivious of the magic,
that the first night weaves, its beauty
in digging into each other’s
intimate privacy, building bridges,
like the Milky Way bridging
the sky to earth at horizons.
What could be better
if the first night
causes the sprouting of a trust
for the lasting relationship?
He also serves
who only stands and stares.
If the first night passes serenely,
none need be sorry, be apologetic.
UNATTENABLE (APRAAPTA)
HARAPRASAD DAS
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
A worm running away
from the grasshopper’s grip,
a dew drop rolling down
the reluctant leaf-face,
a sprout raising its head
to pierce through seed’s prison shell
into a balmy cool night,
not into a harsh hot day;
they have their purposes.
A grass-blade
losing colour patiently
underneath a shoe lying abandoned,
or an ice cube cooling its heels
in a glass of scotch
on the rocks;
has its own axe to grind.
The vast cosmos squeezing itself
into size of space as the sparrow-beak,
a historian recording
ups and downs of civilizations,
in his work, and leaving it
for the posterity;
have their own herculean plans.
But, the destiny has funny rules -
the success, a slippery bird,
often flies out of the grip,
cheats us from achieving goals.
The worm, the dewdrop,
and the new nightly sprout;
the ice cube, or the grass blade;
the earth, and the historian;
may score their goals,
may also miss the bus;
but they teach us: fear of defat
should never scare us from a purpose.
(Both poems from poet’s MANTRAPATH)
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)”
WAVES OF TRANSPARENCY (PART III)
Sreekumar K
Discussions Continue
**************************
"In that case, we should first talk about ants, yes ants."
Jean paused for a while and fished out his mobile. He turned on an app and left it on their table, close to the water jug. His phone had voice incinerator. What they discuss would be heard only by them and no one could record it either.
He continued.
"Even if we put together all the neurons of all the ants on an anthill, its mass will come to only a small fraction of the human brain. But the complex anthill structured with amazing facilities that they build will put us to shame. From air-conditioned parlours to indoor farming, nothing is wanting on an anthill. Such a complex thought cannot be stored in the brain of a single ant. What it has is a little more than a neuron ganglia. But the anthill is a reality. The reason is that they have got total connectivity."
"You mean, like the Internet?" said Georges.
Jean laughed out loud.
"You don't have to go that far. Even our own brain is fragmented and I don't mean we are schizophreniacs or something. None of the hundred billions of neurons in our brain is connected with another. What is technically called the synaptic gap separates them from one another and this gap is filled with several types of neurotransmitters. Its function is the same as the pheromones produced by ants."
"Hey you lost me a minute ago," cried Yufi
"I can explain that. The neurotransmitters, dopamine and oxytocin for example, connect our neurons and let the electrical impulses pass through the gaps between the neurons, I mean across the synaptic gap. In fact, alcohol can fill the very same gap with fat and insulate them, one reason why your impulses reflections slow down when you are drunk. Now, Jean just said that we can consider the ant brains on an anthill as a single brain chopped into thousands and each ant head fitted with a piece. Pheromones produced by ants when they come closer functions as a connecter between them. The fragmentation is only a metaphor and the rest are similes," Georges smiled when he was done.
He looked at Yuphi who was still struggling to understand it and said, "The ants do give out some molecules of pheromones when they meet and that is how they communicate."
"Yes, exactly. Or at least that is what we thought till now. We thought it is a crude language. New data and some keen observation by Noam Chomsky made us think differently. Not forgetting Dr. V S Ramachandran here. Today, this is considered more as a means of communication and not as a language."
"O, God! It seems like the ants enjoyed super connectivity even before the humans appeared on the face of the earth! There is a Swahili tale about ants learning addition and multiplication. But this is even stranger," said Yufi who never lost a chance to jeer at science and technology.
"The next thing we have to talk about it the stars and their light. We think the stars do light up the whole universe, but that is not true. There are a good number of them burning bright, but most of the universe is still in darkness. The lit-up sky that we see is, in cosmological scales, actually just a lit-up neighbourhood in the wild. However, there is another light that engulfs the whole of the universe but we don't have eyes to see it," saying this Jean looked around to get some response from his attentive listeners.
"Do you mean love?" asked Yufi rather hesitantly.
"We are discussing science here, not fairy tales, sir."
There was a tinge of no so well hidden irritation when Jean said that. It was no more a secret that he had broken up with Patricia. Still, he didn't want anyone to hint at that even subtly.
If he had not cut in like that neither Georges nor Yufi would have glanced at Patricia. Both of them had the same question rising up in their minds. What would have caused their break up?
"It was way back in 1905 that a French man called Henry Poincare, known as the last polymath, hinted at the existence of such a phenomenon. Einstein too, in his own poetic way, suggested the same in 1916 when he found that his general theory of relativity was not getting anywhere. It was two noble prize winners who exposed this hide and seek game in 1933. But since they were not able to provide valid proofs their ideas too bogged down. They didn't get Nobel prize for that but for their discovery of Hall-Taylor Binary Pulsar
"Then began the greatest hunt in the history of science. All kinds of traps were set, each way too better than the previous but the evidence remained more and more elusive than ever. Till GEO-600 was put up in Hanover in 1995 there was no real hope at all. GEO-600 altered history. Thus 22 years ago we had a catch.
George could not suppress a yawn.
"What did they catch?" Yufi who was listening to all that as if it was an African fairy tale could not suppress his curiosity.
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.
PAIN
Dr (Major) B C Nayak
During our final year MBBS one of our class mates was operated for acute appendicitis.One day I visited him during evening hours and stayed there till 0930 hrs.When I was about to leave, he asked me to call the nurse to give him some injectable painkiller.I went to the duty room and discussed with the sister and she came with a syringe with 2ml medicines and injected intragluteally telling him that the injection was pethidine.
After 10 minutes when he was feeling sleepy I wished him goodnight and left for the hostel.
Next morning on enquiry from the nurse came to know that my friend had a sound sleep till 6am.I thanked the nurse for her co-operation.
You all may be thinking what was great in it ?
“The injection was not pethidine ,2ml of distilled water.”
This was my first placebo test on a friend.
And to me Pain is 95% psychological and 5% factual.
MY LAST INTERVIEW
Dr (Major) B C Nayak
It was in February, 1987.Interview at Bombay by the ministry of defense authorities for selection of Anesthetists and Emergency Physicians.On arrival at interview venue I was surprised to see a long cue of doctors , considered veterans in the above fields.Got a bit demoralised as my chance of selection was zero.
Interviewers called me when they were almost fed up of the candidates as I was 27th in the list out of 30 candidates .One of the interviewers asked me “Doctor, can you tell me where is xxxxxx ?” And I curtly replied ,”Sir, if I shout from Bombay you can hear that at xxxxxx.(name hidden due to security reasons)”
“In which all places have you served in Indian Army ?”
“Sorry Sir, I can’t tell the exact names because of security reasons. However, in 56 APO and 99 APO(army post offices).”
“OK, thanks doctor, you may go.”
With the least expectation of being selected I withdrew to a corner and sat quietly .After half an hour of the last candidate’s interview they declared the result,”We have selected three candidates and three reserves, No 1- Dr BC Nayak, No 2-yyyyyyy. and No 3- zzzzzzzz.”
Real surprise for me!Straightway pushed up to Airport to catch the next flight to Cochin.
WHO IS SUPREME, THE READER OR THE INTERPRETER ?
Dr (Major) B C Nayak
Once during Ramayan Katha the reader and the interpreter quarreled over the supremacy among themselves.
Reader who reads out is supreme or interpreter who explains to the audience is supreme ?Unless the reader reads it correctly the interpreter can’t explain.They both just waited for the opportunity to come.
Next session the reader started,”dasara masara petura ravanasyara
thopari”.
The interpreter couldn’t make out head or tail of it,neither the audience.
Then the interpreter told the reader, “OK, you are supreme,please start now’.And with a victorious smile he started,” dasa rama sarapetu,Ravanasya rathopari”.
And their quarrel ended there for ever!
ONLY MANDRAKE CAN DO IT
Dr (Major) B C Nayak
For a change I was free around 1130 hrs on that day and dropped in our urologist’s OP(outpatient) to have a glimpse of some humorous incidents for which he was famous.
An NRI patient from Dubai entered the OP and started,
“Morning doc, just landed from Dubai, straight to you for my
TUR(transurethral resection of prostate).Can we have it say around 1pm today so that the day after tomorrow I can fly back as I came here leaving behind very busy schedule there.”
Our urologist retorted”Look Mr…, I don’t do this type of computerised TUR, to my knowledge only one can do it,and he is Mandrake the Magician” …
IGNORANCE IS BLISS BUT NOT ALWAYS
Dr(Major) BC Nayak
Once in a supermarket while busy in shopping I saw a melee of youngsters manhandling another youngster.I happened to know the manhandlers and asked them why they were doing so.They told me “uncle, is this decent to wear T- shirts with this mark ?
I told them yes there is nothing indecent in it.The T- shirt he is wearing is very expensive and is a world famous brand,it means “French connection UK”,manufacturers of apparels.Without knowing the real meaning you all were manhandling him,please tell him sorry.
And the chaps did that , thanked me and vanished.
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
CORNWALL – THE PRISTINE COASTLINE
Debjit Rath
We arrived in London in Mid July, 2019. Like in previous years our mission was to spend the summer with our daughter, son in law and the grandson. We looked forward to a leisurely break and a respite from the harsh summer of Delhi. But what I and my wife least expected was a trip to Cornwall, a surprise gift from my daughter. Then started our most unforgettable date with the pristine nature.
Visiting England for the twelfth time, I never thought I knew so little about the diversity of culture of this ancient land. A weeklong stay in Cornwall was definitely a great learning experience - be it the knowledge that the Cornish language traces its origin to Brittonic South Western branch of Celtic language, the Cornish cuisine including the Cornish Pastry has distinct identity, the great legends of Giants and mermaids, the gory tales of Buccaneers and smugglers or the legend about King Arthur, born in Tintagel castle, have their roots in Cornwall.
We arrived at the Cornish countryside resort for a weeklong stay, after almost a five hour drive from. The view was spectacular. Surrounded by beautiful coastline, coves and some award-winning beaches for which North Cornwall is known, we could well anticipate an adventure packed holiday.
The Cornwall countryside presents a different experience with expansive hills and dales, the Wordsworthian landscape, unmatched coastline and beaches – which we traversed and explored through our seven-day tryst with the Cornish corridor. Hustyn Spa Resort at Wadebridge, our temporary abode was modest and carried a typical vintage look. We later came to know that the Resort is owned by an entrepreneur of Indian origin.
Entrance to our Resort.
The Resort surrounded by thick vegetation.
A sheep peeps from the farm enclosures.
Wild flowers on the road side.
Our quest to enjoy the unfathomable beauty of nature started soon after a short break at the Resort. Driving to the west for two and half hour we reached the Polzeath coastline, our first encounter with the rocky cliff descending regally into the azure Atlantic ocean. A long walk through the cattle farm took us to a point from which we could have a mrvelous view of the sea and the cliff.
Exhausted after a long trek as well as climbing up and down the cliffs, it was time for a break. We stopped for lunch at The Point Golf Club, which is located just above the Camel (River) estuary. The 18 hole Golf course provides a superb view of the Hayle Bay and Pentire point. After feasting on battered Cornish haddock, mushy peas, chunky chips and tartare sauce, we regained the spirit to move ahead with our mission.
The Polzeath Coastline.
The Point – 18 Course Golf Course.
With each passing hour, we drifted more and more into the spell cast by the enchanting beauty of Cornwall. The following day started with a one and half hour drive from Hustyn at Wadebridge in Cornwall and we reached Land’s End, the south western tip of England. The breathtaking beauty of the coastline and the beach, which we reached after a descent of 200 ft down the granite cliff was simply mesmerizing. Cornwall is known for its unique history and legend. From the Land’s End one can sight the island of Scilly. According to a legend the land between Land’s End and Scilly, known as Lyonesse was submerged in the sea. This land is believed to have been the abode of handsome people who built around 140 churches and a great cathedral or as some believe, a castle. Now half way between the Land’s End and island of Scilly is the Seven Stone Reef and the castle is believed to have stood on this. It was the sins and debauchery committed by the inhabitants of Lyonesse that invited the wrath of the sea and the kingdom was submerged under water. Till then it was a part of King Arthur’s kingdom. It is said that fishermen hear the sound of church bells from beneath the water and also sight spires and castles below the waves even now.
Trekking along the cliffs provides a unique experience and one can see groups of people trudging on the meandering trail in a sunny day. Besides stunning ocean views, dramatic and stiff granite cliffs, Land’s End is a popular venue for rock climbing. Besides the location has other significance. A post with multi directional arrows interestingly indicates the distance to land mass across the ocean – New York 3147 miles as well as distance to other lands like Isle of Scilly (28 miles) and John O’Groats in Scotland (874 miles). as a reminder that this is the end point in England. A restaurant displays a board - First and Last Gift and Refreshment House in England. After enjoying the sight and the environment to heart’s content we decided it to be the time to move on.
The rock heads stretching into the sea.
Unique trekking track along the coastline.
A seagull scanning the coastline for a catch.
Each cliff depicts a different beauty.
The end point – the ultimate refreshment house.
Beauty unlimited.
.
After a 4 mile drive from Lands End we reached the Minack Theatre, which is constructed above a gully and is carved out of a granite projection jutting into the sea. Minack is a derivation from the Cornish word Meynec, meaning a stony or rocky place. The macabre setting makes it one of the most spectacular theatre of the world and has a very interesting story behind it. It was started as a unique enterprise by a lady – Rowena Cade and family, who moved to the place after the first world war and built a house for £100. She developed the location into a setting for theatre and from the initial staging of Shakespearian theaters like Midsummer Night’s Dream and Tempest by a neighbourhood village group, it grew into a popular venue for staging numerous top rated theaters by artists from all over United Kingdom as well as United States of America. The day we visited the place was marked for staging Romeo and Juliet.
As one climbs down the gully, a breathtaking sight of the Parthcurno beach comes into view. The sandy beach enveloped by steep granite walls presents the illusion of a paradise on earth.
The approach path to the Minack Theatre.
The setting of Theatre carved on granite outcrop.
Below the Gully the sea cuts into granite rocks.
Sandy beach engulfed by rocky walls.
Newquay on the south western coast of Cornwall was our next destination. It is a land, where nature unfolds its beauty in myriad shades and for the more inquisitive minds opens a history of marauding buccaneers replete with stories of horror and mystery. We entered the Pirate’s Quest - a real life journey into the world of Pirates of bygone era. During the 17th and 18th century 6000 ships were sunk around the coast of Cornwall. The Pirate’s quest simulates the life as a pirate and the visitors are taken in as new recruits to the world of pirates under the ferocious Captain Blackbeard. It is an immersive walk-through experience of an hour-long voyage into the history of piracy. Transported to the era of 1700’s one learns about the real Caribbean pirates. The narrator spoke about the story of two brothers, who used tie a lantern on a donkey’s back and let it loose on the cliff in the night. The sailors, presuming to have sighted a settlement, head towards it. Soon their ships are wrecked on the rocky projections and the thugs jump to prey on them and plunder their wares.
Leaving aside the dark chapters of history, Newquay has its glorious side. Picturesque beaches with golden sand enclosed by steep and rocky cliffs and consistent waves, making it ideal for surfing. is known for fishing of pilchards, shoals of which were located around the harbour. The beaches on this Atlantic coast were among the best in the world for surfing. The Towan beach provides some exquisite views including the twin Cliffs connected by a footbridge. Fistral Beach, bounded by two promontories is one of the top surfing destinations of the world.
After a few hours at the Towan Beach we climbed up to the street level and made our way to the car park through the high street, which was busy with tourists scanning through Cornish merchandise. The coastal village of Newquay now has numerous Indian restaurants. Our pick for the dinner was Maharaja restaurant, set up by an entrepreneur from Kenya tracing his origin to Gujarat.
Towan Beach, Newquay.
Surfers’ Paradise
Cornish Delicacy on Sale.
Pirates Quest – Swashbuckling Adventure
Pirate’s Mannequin.
At the Pirate’s Quest.
Two Parts of a Villa on Twin Cliffs.
A seagull resting for a while.
Granite rock steeply rising from sea.
The Cornish Pastry – trademark cuisine from Cornwall.
Our next destination was Marazion, a seaside town in Cornwall and a trip to the unique tidal island – St. Michael’s Mount - in Mount Bay, Cornwall. The island has a rich history dating back to 8th Century. Even a local legend of Jack the Giant killer is associated with it. In king Arthur’s time there lived a giant named Cormoran, a hideous creature 18 feet tall and three yards round, in the St. Michael’s Mount. The fierce giant terrorized the inhabitants of the mainland. Jack, the young son of a farmer dug a big pit after swimming to the mount in the evening, and covered the pit with bracken, sticks and mud. At day break he enraged the giant by blowing a horn and as the giant ran towards Jack, he fell into the pit and Jack slashed his skull with an axe.
The island of St. Michael’s mount is a civil parish and is connected to the Marazion town by a causeway made of granite cobbles. The island which is basically a hillock has a castle cum monastery at the top. The climb to the top is a bit of a challenge, but considering the opportunity to glance at the fabulous beauty of the nature that surrounds it, the effort to reach the peak was worth it. On the slopes of the hillock a story telling event keeps the children amused with local legends.
An interesting feature of the place is the sea rising with high tide to submerge the cause way making it accessible only by boat. While we could walk to reach the Mount easily, we had to take to the motor boat for return to the main land. By then the causeway as well as the beach flanking the mainland was deep under water.
The cobbled causeway leading to the mount.
St. Michael’s Mount.
St. Michael’s Castle and Chapel.
View from the tidal island.
Story telling on the slopes of of the island.
The high tide slowly submerges the causeway
Eye catching etching on the glass panes of chapel.
The return trip had to be by boat.
The Eden Project in St.Austell of Cornwall region (England) is termed as the eighth wonder. An abandoned China clay mining site left a huge crater and the project converted it to a magnificent garden with plants of different regions. The world’s largest biomes house variety of plants of Mediterranean and tropical rain forest. It is as well an educational experience of building a sustainable future and an example of restoring and salvaging nature from man-made destruction.
World’s largest Biomes to restore nature.
The crater left after years of mining of China Clay.
Plants from Australia.
Kangaroo Paw in Western Australian Biome.
Waterfall in Rain Forest biome.
Sculpture depicting myth of Dionysus – the Greek God of vines.
A short drive from the Eden Project in Cornwall’s St. Austell took us to the Jamaica Inn in Bodmin. Jamaica Inn, an 18th century smuggler’s den was made famous by the author Daphne du Maurier’s novel by the same name. The pub, a center for the smugglers in this sea side region is replete with eerie stories of pirates, smugglers and ghosts. Besides the pub in its original form, it houses an exhibition displaying various artefacts and weapons relating to the smuggling of bygone era - another chapter of the brutal history of Britain. A notice of 1786 describes the rules for the Inn and the bed for the night priced at 1 shilling. The Inn is one of the haunted places of England and stories abound about ghosts infesting the Inn and the surrounding.
The entrance to the Inn and the bar.
The mannequin of a typical smuggler.
The notice describing the rules of the Inn
A jacket of noted smuggler displayed as exhibit.
Our last port of call in Cornwall was Trevose Head followed by Dozmary Pool in Bodmin moor. A trek on the treacherous cliff through the picturesque creeks with dancing waves slashing the steep rock walls, the fathomless sea cave with a collapsed roof, the stone age burial sites and a vintage light house were like flipping through the pages of a fairy tale. I remembered my college day Ballard ‘Inchcape Rock’ by Robert Southey and the notorious sandstone reefs.
The Dozmary pool was rather an insignificant pool of water made famous for the Excalibur, the mighty sword of King Arthur and the legend associated with it. According to the legend the sword was given to Arthur, the ‘true’ king of England by the lady of the lake, known as Dozmary Pool. The sword had magical power and after the king lay mortally wounded in his last battle, he asked faithful Sir Bedivere to thow the sword back into the lake, returning it to the lady of the lake.
After Dozmary Pool, it was time for us to return to our resort. The narration of our date with Cornwall will not be complete without a mention of peculiar and queer feature of this country. Almost in each of our trips we had to drive through single lane roads with steep rock on either side and every now and then we had to reverse the car to make way for the oncoming vehicles. It is said without this experience one cannot claim to have visited Cornwall.
The next morning, we were packing up to head back to London. Like any dream our date with Cornwall had to come to an end. As we boarded the car I carried with me the memory of one of the most memorable encounter with a dreamland called Cornwall.
A gorge viewed from our trekking trail at Trevose Head.
The sea waves lapping up the rocky shore.
The Dozmary Pool.
The Vintage Lighthouse.
The Single Lane Roads
A View of the sea.
Debjit Rath retired from Steel Authority of India Ltd. as Executive Director. He had joined SAIL as Management Trainee after completing his M.A. in Economics from Ravenshaw College. He had a short stint as Lecturer in Economics in Ravenshaw College before joining SAIL.
HIDE AND SEEK
Dilip Mohapatra
I don’t know if I am hiding from me
or looking around to find me
behind the door
or under the cover of
the gargantuan banyan tree
sometimes in the mirror
behind my reflections
while sometimes
in the shadows
beyond the eclipsed me
sometimes ensconced inside the haystack
my eyes staring back at me
or under the bed
silently crouching behind
the discarded cardboard cartons
filled with velvety sheets of
dusty darkness.
But then I have always preferred
to be a seeker
a discoverer
an explorer of the world around
but somehow neglected so far
to discover the world within
or walk through the lost labyrinths
yet to be excavated.
I wait quietly with bated breath
for any sign of movement
that could betray me to me
I wait to grow a pair of ears
that could hear all that I
would not let me hear
and to grow a pair of eyes
that could let me see what
I would not like me to see.
To deceive me and make me
see things topsy turvy
sometimes I walk on my head
while sometimes I slither
slowly sliding on the floor
to evade my gaze
and the game goes on
till I am caught by me
and I and me change places
and begin
once again.
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.
THE CRY OF MOTHER EARTH
Dr. Nikhil M Kurien
They are my offsprings,
Everything under my glare.
Made I man among them,
Superior, far above others.
Regretting I’am now, this cause
Everything he asked I gave.
Arrogant is this son,
Own affairs does not he mind,
Troubling my egoless children
To the point of extinct.
I’ve warned and coaxed.
My children’s house, tramples he,
And makes his own palaces.
Spewing poison onto my face,
He poisons his own food.
His wastes of destruction pollute,
Making his own offspring retard.
The lilies of the valley cry,
Pointing to the dried dead stumps
And place where life once flowed.
I’ve lived happily this far
And now have wishes no more,
Time is ripe to open my volcanoes,
But yet wait, if he shall return,
That prodigal son of mine.
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.
A TRIBUTE
Dr. Molly Joseph M
God !
have we sinned so much
to be caught alive to he buried....
how with hushed cries
suffocated, we succumbed
to death that came through
sand storm, land slide, flood
with harsh wind and rain..
God, have we sinned so much?
While we led our simple life
on fields and valleys,
they were smashing hills for
sky scrapers
their cities and Malls
oozing out our waters,
zooming up on our river beds
and paddy fields...
God, have we sinned so much?
how we suffer for the sins
committed at the other end...
our children had
just got inside, after
playing in the rain
revelling with umbrellas
that trumpheted with its
pitter patter...
how in kitchen mothers were
busy, blowing into the hearth
to keep it burning, to beat the cold
and prepare meals..
While at fields, stopping work
our men were discussing weather
so naive, at ease, unbothered..
seldom anticipating the fate
that was about to fall.
how it came, the mighty avalanche
smothering, leaving us traceless...
God, have we sinned so much?
pray they stop sinning
to save lives and nature
and spare their own kids
suffering that goes undeserved
as it is with us, the poor victims....
FREEDOM FREAKS OUT, ELUSIVE..
Dr. Molly Joseph M
Freedom freaks out,
elusive,
from those rescue camps
when they are taken back to their homes..
the gale and slide have gone
floods receded
leaving shattered debris behind..
those are no longer their homes
but mud sodden sand heaps
broken furniture, dishevelled walls and roofs..
how to begin to begin?
mud, mud every where
a musty canker floats..
What if the well had been cleaned...
supply retrieved...
Somewhere the flag is hoisted
declaring our hard earned freedom...
hope lurks through musty, misty scramble..
Will freedom dawn,
for a day free from threats
when you sleep unafraid
of being washed off
by flood or sand slide..
or fierce rain that kills.
Will freedom dawn
fair and clear
free from loss, not getting dislocated,
to grope for essentials bare
to eke out a living
to live a life of ease and peace.
Dr. Molly Joseph, (M.A., M.Phil., PGDTE, EFLU,Hyderabad) had her Doctorate in post war American poetry. She retired as the H.O.D., Department of English, St.Xavier's College, Aluva, Kerala, and now works as Professor, Communicative English at FISAT, Kerala. She is an active member of GIEWEC (Guild of English writers Editors and Critics) She writes travelogues, poems and short stories. She has published five books of poems - Aching Melodies, December Dews, and Autumn Leaves, Myna's Musings and Firefly Flickers and a translation of a Malayalam novel Hidumbi. She is a poet columnist in Spill Words, the international Online Journal.
She has been awarded Pratibha Samarppanam by Kerala State Pensioners Union, Kala Prathibha by Chithrasala Film Society, Kerala and Prathibha Puraskaram by Aksharasthree, Malayalam group of poets, Kerala, in 2018. Dr.Molly Joseph has been conferred Poiesis Award of Honour as one of the International Juries in the international award ceremonies conducted by Poiesis Online.com at Bangalore on May 20th, 2018. Her two new books were released at the reputed KISTRECH international Festival of Poetry in Kenya conducted at KISII University by the Deputy Ambassador of Israel His Excellency Eyal David. Dr. Molly Joseph has been honoured at various literary fest held at Guntur, Amaravathi, Mumbai and Chennai. Her latest books of 2018 are “Pokkuveyil Vettangal” (Malayalam Poems), The Bird With Wings of Fire (English), It Rains (English).
A SCORPION UNDER THE SKIN
Sumitra Mishra
“Ah! Excellent! Your hands are soft and sexy”, whispered Sudha to the massager who was smoothly and gently running her trained, skilled and experienced fingers on her face and neck. She was lying on a narrow bed in a semi-dark, air-conditioned, conical room in her friend’s beauty parlour “Sindoor”. She was wearing a half gown provided by the parlour, used for the safety of the customer’s costly attire. Soft instrumental music and the cool silence in the parlour created a cosy ambience that made Sudha sleepy. But she was consciously avoiding sleep by exercising her toes and knees while waiting patiently for the call of Prabodh .Her iphone was in her grasp, sober and mute in anticipation.
“Thanx, ma’m!”,responded Puja, the young girl giving her a Sahanaj Gold facial, her favourite at the moment.
“Is this cream in Sahanaj Gold package? It’s smell is so different.”, Sudha asked in a doubtful voice.
“No, ma’m, that Sahanaj Gold cream is out of date. So Didi asked me to use the Omega 3 pack. This is better. “
“But why? Samita knows I prefer the Sahanaj Gold pack! I have been using it for a decade or so. It suits my skin, you know, even gives it a glowing radiance! Can you please call Samita?” requested Sudha.
The girl got up softly and in no time Samita, her friend-cum-colleague was standing by her bed. She patted Sudha’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and calmly said,
“Don’t worry, Sudha. Sahanaj is now-a-days out dated. Her product has been under a lot of scrutiny because of many complaints. Believe your friend, Omega 3 is much better than Sahanaj, try it and you will agree with me.”Samita gave a brilliant smile and showed the product to her. The glossy packet carried the face of a beautiful, vibrant girl with her flowing straight hair flung into the air with joy and pride, while her face advertised the graduated glow of her facial skin.
Sudha was always suspicious of the merit of advertisements, which most of the time exaggerated the value of the products to allure and elude the consumers. She, however, implicitly trusted her friend’s judgement on beauty products as well as her opinion on practical matters of life. Her aesthetic taste and knowledge of interior decoration often startled her, but what impressed her most is her choice of her assistants and management of the fourteen odd workers in the parlour with such authentic authority that she never heard a whimper of complaint from these girls with whom she had become acquainted and popular over time. Her thought turned to the girl named Puja who was massaging her face so deftly for more than an hour using cleansing serums, scrubs, face packs and scented creams. As Puja covered her face with the final face pack and put two round pieces of cool cucumber on her eyes, she could not resist asking her,
“What about your new apartment, Puja? Did you get any suitable one?”
Puja replied grimly, “Don’t ask, Didi, I have searched all around for a room with in two thousand, but all these cheap accommodations do not provide private toilets! I can’t manage in a shared toilet or bath, not habituated. So I am still staying in the outhouse of Samita Didi. I am cooking lunch and dinner for her, so Didi has given me her outhouse free. Actually her driver was using it to stay at times, but since Kunal babu has learnt driving Didi is not hiring a driver. The room is small, but has a bed and an attach bathroom and toilet. “
“That’s so good for you! You save the house rent and transport expenses! Why has not Samita told me about this?”
Puja switched off the light and whispered, “Relax for ten minutes, this pack needs to dry! I will get your waxing material ready in the mean time.” She walked away in soft but strong, purposeful steps and washed her hands in the wash basin.
The gurgling sound of water in the wash basin and a song in Arman Mallick’s voice “Pal pal dil ke paas tum rehte ho” transported Sudha to the past, reminding her of the banks of Hoogly river in Kolkata, from where she had rescued Puja from a suicide attempt almost four years ago. It was a providential accident. She was standing on the banks of the river waiting for a boat to ferry her across to the other side to her in-laws’ residence. It was around 8p.m. in the evening. Due to heavy rainfall the week before, the river was in a spate, bawling like a mad woman. She heard a quick rustle of running steps behind her. As she looked back, a running woman crossed her and she could figure out her purpose from her trailing saree and dishevelled shape. Before the girl could jump into the river, Sudha ran and hold her back tightly in her arms. She cried inconsolably and wriggled to free herself. Sudha had not understood at that time what a gem of a girl she had chanced to save from being lost forever.
Puja’s story was the common tale of betrayed love but with a twist. It was not her lover who had betrayed her before or after marriage, but it was her own mother who had betrayed her trust. Puja had fallen in love with a man of lower caste, staying on rent in an apartment close to hers in a big building. The man, Pramod, was tall, handsome and fair with deep blue eyes and a soft, sibilant tone that could freeze the heart of any young girl. She fell for the man without knowing anything about him. When her family discovered her affair with a man of lower caste and lower status, she was asked to sacrifice her love for the honour of her family. She was too deeply in love to leave him. So she eloped with her lover and went to Bangalore. She found a job as a receptionist in a small computer shop located in a suburb of Bangalore. Her personality was attractive and voice soft spoken, her spoken English was better than expected because she was schooled in a convent. Pramod also procured a job as a security guard in a nearby shop. They rented a small apartment and lived happily like lovebirds perching gaily in their nest.
“Humhe tumse pyyar kitna, ye hum nehin jante”, suddenly the ring tone of her mobile came alive. She became anxious, as she knew that Prabodh was calling and how important it was to respond to him. But her eyes were packed! She called Puja and asked her to switch on the receive button of her mobile. What should she say to Prabodh? She certainly can’t confess that she has helped her daughter to elope with her Muslim lover. Prabodh would kill her. But what other path she had? Life had become a jinx for her clobbered between the strong wills of the two most important persons of her life, her husband and her daughter. She thought for a moment and asked Puja to switch off the mobile.
“Silence is golden, when in doubt or dismay”, thought Sudha. She felt as if a scorpion was moving under her skin, a current of fear and repulsion threatened her being. Why does life become so complex at times? Why should the young girls fall in love beyond their caste or class? Why should the parents be obsessed with social stigma, taboo and honour instead of the children’s welfare? How can she blame Puja’s parents while she herself does not know what is going to happen to her own daughter!
She felt a stream of sweat trickling down her forehead towards her ears. Fear? Oh, no, the AC has stopped functioning. Puja told her that this is the time for regular power cut and their backup generator was out of order. She asked Puja to get a hand fan and fan her so that the face pack may dry. While Puja fanned her, Samita shouted at the girls who had started chattering. They were all wearing pink striped uniform gown, with their hair matted into a cosy bun. Samita loved to see everyone in her parlour disciplined and everything in order. She stacked all the beauty products, gowns, towels neatly stacked in separate cupboards all coloured in different colours. Sudha was not much of a disciplined person, so she could not but admire Samita’s parlour its cosy comfort. She preferred to hide herself in the parlour whenever she wanted to escape the frustrations of her life. In the soothing ambience of the parlour, and amid the smart and friendly girls, she felt peaceful. While her mind was framing answers for Prabodh’s questions, she recollected Puja’s story of horror narrated to her that fateful night, when she had saved her life.
After almost three years of her elopement, Puja had received a call from her mother on her office phone. She was utterly surprised as to how her mother landed upon that telephone number, which she never shared with anyone, knowing that her parents must have informed the police. She was their only child, they loved her, pampered her,spoiled her with too much attention. Then she recollected that she had a met one of her school friends from Kolkata in a mall. She had been so overwhelmed with emotion to see someone from her own city, speaking in her mother tongue Bengali that she had immediately gone to a tea stall with her and shared her whereabouts in the city forgetting that she was in hiding .Though she had shared the location and the name of the shop where she was working without divulging any name or phone number,her mom had discovered the phone number. She remembered that her father was expert in using internet and scouring information. It must have been through the Google search engine. Over the phone,that hateful day, her mother cried and cried inconsolably. She told her that her father had become so sick after she left the house that he had suffered from a mild heart attack and had been paralyzed in the left side. She also said that they had forgiven her and her father was waiting to see her before his end. Puja was so shaken to hear the news of her father’s sickness that she could not feel the tinge of drama in her mother’s voice. She thought after all they were her parents, they must have forgiven her. She convinced Pramod to come with her to Kolkata and meet her parents. Hardly had she imagined that not an anguished mother and a paralyzed father were waiting for her, but a vengeful witch and a cruel dragon were waiting for them to fall into their trap. When they reached home, she was surprised to find both her parents in good shape excepting their mental anguish. Somehow she apprehended danger and wanted to return after a few days. But the Dusherra puja was on the offing , so her mother requested her to spend only a week more for the pujas. She was happy to see her parents in good health, but their behaviour was disturbing. Her mother spoke too much of irrelevant events instead of showing interest in her life, where as her father did not speak much, either to her or her husband Pramod.
The temptation of being in Kolkata during Dusshera overtook her decision to return to Bangalore. It was a time for fun and festivity. Almost all homes in the city were crowded with guests. Fish, sweets, new clothes, lots of fun and frolic flowed freely. Puja indulged in the festive fervour and hopped around the city visiting the decorated puja pandals.The city was overcrowded and noisy with music and chanting of Chandi blaring all day from all sides. Amid the festive fervour, while Kolkattans were busy worshipping Goddess Durga, evil Mahishashura jumped on Puja shattering her dreams of a happy home. Her parents conspired to crush the fly that had spoilt their broth. While she was moving around the city with old friends, enjoying the music and dance shows, Pramod was killed by hired goons and she was given the impression that he had met with a fatal accident. But the police inquiry revealed the truth and both her parents were taken to police custody. Puja blamed herself for Pramod’s death as well as her parent’s derangement. She became so despondent that she wanted to end her life, which seemed anchorless to her without them.
Sudha’s mind was roaming on those words of Puja and her inconsolable frame, wriggling in her arms to throw herself into the river. She had overpowered Puja with her physical and mental force and taken her to her in-law’s house rescuing her from the torrents of a mad river and loony mind. She brought Puja with her to Bhubaneswar intending to keep her in her home as a help and friend to his daughter. But Prabodh vehemently opposed the idea and asked her to throw Puja any where she likes apart from his house. So she took Puja to Samita, who willingly sheltered her, gave her a job, training and purpose to live. But is she happy? Is not she going to marry again?
At this point someone’s soft touch on her face jolted her back to the present. As Puja started unmasking the face pack from her face, she asked:
“Puja, are your parents still in jail?”
While carefully wiping her face with a cotton pad Puja replied,
“No, Didi, the police could not provide enough evidence of the crime, so they were released. But my father died of a heart attack and my ma is now in an old age-home, suffering from Alzheimer’s diseases.”
“Have you gone to visit her ever?”
“Yes, I was called by police when she was put into the old-age home in a very sorry state. My uncle was conspiring to claim the house and take possession of it. I intervened. But I didn’t want to return to that ghostly house, so I took the help of a lawyer and rented the apartment. The rent goes to the old-age home in the name of my mother for her sustenance.”
“Well done! At least you did your bit!”
“But Didi, tell me, everyone is saying children are selfish! What about the parents? Aren’t they also selfish? Cruel?”
Sudha had no answer for her.
Suddenly her phone came alive again with her husband’s ringtone. She felt as if the scorpion under her skin was no more wriggling but biting her. She remembered Prabodh had threatened her that he will commit suicide if their daughter Pragyan marries her colleague, a software engineer but of Muslim community. She got up so agitatedly that the gown slipped off her body, she stood almost naked in front of Puja who was preparing her waxing dish.
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.
DIVINE EYES
Sharanya B
For years, I wondered
If they really existed, if they were
The mind's play, a fancy creation
Divine eyes, they were there in me
I thought they heard
But they had listened
I thought I went to them
But they had always come with me
I thought they just left me, ignored
But they'd only gone deep, submerged
I know it now, since this moment
Divine eyes, today you came from me,
No, you aren't my mind's copy
You've left me speechless,
Your divinity now,
Turning these words of mine into poetry,
I thought you only saw
But you had actually felt.
Then I thought you were gone forever, but today I know, divine eyes,
You had never left.
ALTHOUGH
Sharanya B
The call ends.
Long minutes of chatter falls into silence.
Silence continues on my end,
But not on her side though,
She's the bride to be,
Could hear the celebrations as background noise through the phone
But she was kind enough to call me amongst her busy schedule, although
It was the typical bride's chatter,
Though my silence as her once-best friend, slightly atypical...
The colour of the saree, the size of the ornaments,
The bridesmaid's dresses and the day of mehendi...
The long long narration didn't seem so boring, though...
I knew I'd be absent
But in my imagination, I was very much present, the most actively so...
I see myself, all around her
In every event she describes,
Although at times, I think to
myself, in reality it could've been
So much more nice...
But how is it possible now, since
the distance of land,
Was not what seperated us,
But rather something more insurmountable,
The distance of the mind...
I wish her all the best and
End the conversation, although
Hoping I'd never left the friendship behind...
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.
HALO
Mehwish Ummer
‘Why do l miss him?’
She still doesn't have an answer.
As most of her childhood days,
Were coloured with his grimness.
Neither did he harm her,
Nor did he pamper her.
Always been a stranger,
Whose very presence was like cold fear.
'Why people regarded him so much? '
She used to wonder.
When the voice of his footsteps,
Up surged her heartbeats.
'Why can't he be the same to me? '
Was the question that disturbed her mind.
Whenever she saw him smiling,
As the most amiable person around others.
And suddenly when one day he disappeared,
To a world from no one ever returned,
She felt a halo was left shining overhead,
For the first time like an armament.
Wherever she went,
The halo became her identity.
Whenever she was lost,
The halo was her escort.
And whenever darkness appeared in her life,
She could feel the halo burning in despair.
Forming an enchanted casket of protection,
Rebounding all the spells that were cast upon her.
His absence became the strongest source of presence.
Giving answers to her greatest childhood grievance.
Not all of them are like my father,
Not every child is fortunate to have one like my father.
Mehwish Ummer is an English teacher for high school students. She loves reading and writing is one of her passion.
COLOURS OF LIFE
Sruthy S.Menon
Truth,
It has only one shade
And lies have shades in variant colours
of your choice.
Even when you ‘re aware of
that every lie has its own consequences
Remember,
shades of grey can't ever be
in perfect blending with other colours.
And life in reality
Is of grey and white.
Embrace -
your destiny
at crossroads of fabricated truths
leading to a trail of solitary retreat
and abstain from the shades of lies.
SRUTHY.S.MENON is an Assistant Professor of English Literature at Swamy Saswathikanda college, Poothotta , Kerala. She is a postgraduate (2019) in MA English from St.Teresas College,Ernakulam. Her poems and articles have been published in “Deccan Chronicle”. She has also published a few of her poems in anthologies such as “Amaranthine: My Poetic Abode”, a collection of English poems and quotes compiled and edited by Divya Rawat and in an Anthology titled “ Nostalgia: Story of Past” edited by Khushi Verma. Her recent publications are in an anthology compiled by Miss Suman Mishra titled “ Crimson, the Genius Poesy” and in an anthology titled “ Wildflowers Rising” compiled by Aarthi Sampath , presented by Reasons and Laughter. She has also contributed her quotes in the book titled “1000 Women Quotes” compiled by D.Krishna Prasad.
She is the recipient of several literary and non- literary competitions including art and painting as inspired by her mother, winner of Kerala Lalitha Kala Akademy.Her poetry reveals the strikingly realistic and fictional nature of writing on the themes of love, rejuvenation of life in contrast with death, portraying human emotions as a juxtaposition of lightness and darkness , the use of alliteration on natural elements of nature etc. She is blogger at Mirakee Writers community . She welcomes readers feedback at Instagram (username ) @alluring_poetess.
THE WEDNESDAY CLUB
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Four middle-aged men – friends from their high school days – meet every Wednesday evening to play cards and have fun with drinks and snacks, sharing juicy gossips. Only one of them - Bishu - is a teetotaler. A simple, straight-forward man he loves to spend the day poring over files in the office and the evenings at home. His world suddenly fills with excitement when he accepts a bet from Ghanshyam, his rich and colorful friend from the Wednsday Club. He assures his three club-mates that given a hundred thousand rupees by Ghanahyamhe will spend it in a single day enjoying life and showing them he is not as worthless as they think. The two conditions with the bet are stiff – he cannot make any purchase, nor can he give away money in charity, he has to spend it in eating, drinking, partying or enjoying life in any way he likes. And if he is unable to spend it in twenty four hours he has to return two hundred thousand rupees to Ghanshyam. He comes home, his pocket filled with a hundred thousand rupees, and his mind bubbling with excitement. His wife and daughter accept the challenge and draw up a big plan. A roller-coaster ride of food, fun and fantasy waits for the family in the morning ………………….
“Hey, you got to have a big heart to enjoy life. What’s the point in giving big lectures, if you don’t have guts?”
Ghanshyam said that loudly, looking pointedly at me. Bidhu broke into a boisterous laughter. I knew it was their usual conspiracy to make fun of me.
I shouted at them,
“Are you challenging me? You think I don’t know how to enjoy life?”
Ramesh also decided to chip in,
“Yes, we know what enjoying life means to you - taking your wife and kids to a movie in Ravi talkies and then going to Venus Inn to eat rice and chicken curry. Week after week, month after month! Abey, Bishu, learn how to enjoy life from others. How long will you keep on licking the same old bowl for the dried up honey?”
The three of them started rolling in laughter. Their greatest joy in life is to pull my legs. Ghanshyam has tons of money. He is a hugely successful civil contractor and he knows practically everyone in town. Bidhu works as a Drawing teacher in Unit-Six High School, his wife is a clerk in a bank. Their combined income is sizeable. Ramesh works in Bhubaneswar Development Authority, and makes a killing from bribes. All three of them enjoy drinking, but I am a teetotaler. Bidhu and Ramesh join some of their friends for drinks three to four times a week. Ghana loves to take a peg or two everyday, sometimes alone, but mostly with friends and clients.
We are friends since our school days, having studied in the same school thirty three years back. For more than twenty years we have been meeting every Wednesday evening at the Moonlight Lodge to drink, gossip and play cards. Ramesh was the builder of the lodge and the owner is a friend of his. So every Wednesday he ensures that the same room is kept reserved for us. In due course we have started calling our weekly session the Wednesday Club.
Ghanshyam often goes out of the town to meet his clients, but always comes back on Wednesday morning so that our schedule never gets disrupted. We reach there by seven and leave after eleven. The three of them drink whisky, I take coca cola. We play cards and as the drinks get stronger they become more open and free, to gossip, discuss politics, movies and what not. But invariably their favorite topic is about my useless, incipient life, and how to improve it.
Actually, I deserve to be the butt of their jokes. Everyone, in my family and outside it, knows me to be a good-for-nothing country bumpkin. I was a good student in school, but never took interest in anything other than studies. And I have remained like that throughout my life, an innocent simpleton. When the ladies meet in some party or gathering, it is their usual practice to have an informal competition to narrate how useless and inept their husbands are. In that competition my wife Nandita is an undisputed champion. The day she declared to all of her friends how I am an innocent nincompoop, that I totally lack initiative and our two children Shyamali and Siddharth couldn’t have seen the light of the day but for her naked aggression, she was declared the champion for all times. The issue of championship was settled once for all!
Despite having a rather useless husband, Nandita has a very sweet nature and never complains. As for me, I am happy to hand over my pay packet to her at the end of the month and get busy with my office work day after day, year after year. Except shuttling between office and home and my once-a-week trip to the Wednesday Club, I know practically nothing about the world around me.
But, that evening when Ghana, Bidhu and Ramesh challenged me again, it hurt me deeply. There is a limit to how much insults one can take. I screamed at them,
“Hey, don’t challenge me like that. If you do that I might go for some drastic action!”
“Is it? What drastic action?”
“I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something sensational.”
“Sensational, eh? Will you go and dance with the tigers at the zoo?”
“Bishu, don’t! The tigers might die of suffocation, when you dirty your pants!”
Another round of deafening laughter! The four pegs of whisky must have hadtheir effect on those jokers. Bidhu continued,
“If you want to know how to enjoy life ask Ghana.”
Ramesh tried to make my learning process easy and spoke to Ghana.
“Ghana, where do you stay when you go on tour?”
“Five star!”
“Where do you eat?”
“Five star!”
“Where do you drink?”
“Five star!”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Five star!”?
“Who do you sleep with?”
“Five star!”
“I said, what nonsense? How can you sleep with a five star hotel?”
The three of them ridiculed my ignorance. Ghana explained,
“Arrey idiot, five star is the ultimate beauty, like a film star. Four star is a bit less
than five star. Three star is good, two star is not so good, and one star is just
ordinary”
He kept smiling, the kind of smile that comes with tons of ill-gotten wealth and all
the pleasures it can buy. I was getting really irritated.
“Get lost, you dishonest swine. I know where you get all that money to throw around. If I had that kind of black money I could also show the three of you how to enjoy life.”
Ghana made a face at me like a diarrheal monkey.
“See the guts of the bloody clerk. He is challenging us!”
“I am not a bloody clerk! I have become an under-secretary. Don’t forget that, you inebriated fool!”
Ghana looked at me,
“Under Secretary or underwear, tell us again what is it you can do with money?”
“I can do all that you can do, except drink alcohol.”
“Challenge?”
“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes.”
A thin, crooked smile spread over Ghana’s smooth face.
“OK, Bishu, let’s have a bet. Come home with me. I will give you one lakh rupees in cash. You spend it in twenty four hours and show us how you can enjoy life.”
A collective gasp! And then a hush fell over The Wednesday Club. Bidhu broke the silence with a whistle.
“One lakh, in cash! You mean a hundred thousand rupees! Bishu, you just won a lottery. Go and buy a new scooter, a washing machine and get your old TV and refrigerator replaced. Wow! What luck!”
I felt elated. With one lakh rupees I can also buy so many sarees for Nandita, dresses for Shyamali and Sarthak and some jewellery for the mother and daughter! Ghana nixed the thought.
“Wait a minute, Listen to my two conditions.”
I was impatient.
“What conditions?”
“My first condition is, Bishu will have the money to spend, but he can’t buy anything.”
I felt terribly annoyed.
“If I can’t buy anything, do you want me to set fire to the bundle of notes and claim that I have used the money?’
“No, you can spend it on eating, drinking, partying, seeing movies, whatever. But you can’t buy anything nor can you give it away.”
I thought for a moment. It didn’t look so difficult to spend a lakh rupees in eating and feeding others, in seeing movies, visiting the zoo and enjoying other amusements with family and friends.
“OK, I accept.”
Ghana smiled again, one of those oily, sinister smiles that are used by diabolic villains in movies.
“Before you accept, listen to my second condition.”
My patience was running out.
“O.k, o.k, what’s the second condition?”
“If, for some reason, you are unable to spend the whole amount in twenty four hours, you have to pay two lakh rupees to me.”
My mouth fell open. Two lakh! If one lakh was mind-boggling, two lakh is absolutely maddening!
“Are you crazy? Where can I get two lakh rupees?”
“That I don’t know. You may beg, borrow or steal. But I will take two lakh rupees from you. May be, I will give you a month’s time to arrange the amount. But if you want to get one lakh rupees and enjoy life for twenty four hours, you have to accept both these conditions.”
I hesitated. Doubt assailed my mind, but the temptation of one lakh rupees in cash and the prospect of spending it on food, partying and picnicking overpowered me. Butmost of all, I wanted to show to these three monkeys that I know how to enjoy life!
“Ok I accept.”
“Fine, the time starts at seven o’ clock tomorrow morning”
“I agree. I will spend the money and make you rub your nose on this table as a mark of defeat at the Wednesday Club”
Bidhu and Ramesh had their doubts.
“Let Bishu come and give us a detailed account on Friday morning. We can’t wait till next Wednesday.”
Ghana emitted a sarcastic laugh.
“No, not Friday morning. Bishu will be too tired enjoying tomorrow night, let him come here on Friday evening. We will take the account from him.”
They all agreed.
I came home close to midnight, my pocket bulging with one lakh rupees in cash
that Ghana had given.
Nandita opened the door, annoyance writ large on her face.
“What has happened to you? Why are you so late? Have you started drinking, like your friends? What shame! What will the children think, that their father is a drunkard?”
I didn’t utter a word. I just kept smiling.
“Oh my God! Oh dear mother! What has happened to you? Are you really drunk? Have you finally fallen for drinks like your friends? Why are you smiling like a Hindi film villain?”
I kept on smiling, took out the bundle of notes and put it on the tea-table. Nandita
almost fainted. She started sweating.
“Where did you get all this money? You are not the type who embezzles money from the office. So how come all this money is here?”
I held her hand, made her sit down on the sofa and narrated the entire incident to
her. Disbelief, wonder and excitement played on her face in quick succession. And then she blurted out,
“Wow! A hundred thousand rupees! That is awesome! Yes, we will spend the amount. We will have breakfast at Oberoi and dinner at the Mayfair. We will throw a party in the evening and invite all our friends to it. Let us all go to Nandan Kanan, the zoo, and Neco Park, the Amusement Center. A hundred thousand is nothing! We will spend it just like that!”
She snapped her finger to indicate how easy it was to spend a hundred thousand
rupees. That really relieved me from my anxiety. So it’s not a big deal after all. I don’t have to worry!
Nandita shook our fifteen year old daughter Shyamali and twelve year old son Siddharth, to wake them up and break the exciting news. Siddharth got up, looked here and there in confusion and went back to sleep. Shyamali saw the bundle of notes and muttered, ‘must be counterfeit’ and tried to sleep. Nandita shook her again, “Shyamali, these are real notes, wake up and see!” Shyamali woke up and her eyes widened in excitement. She snatched the bundle from her mother and started running from the bedroom to the living room and from living room to the bed room, back and forth. Finally when she sat down, Nandita told her about the deal. Shyamali dismissed with a snap of her finger, like any adolescent will do.
“What does Ghana uncle think? He thinks we can’t spend a hundred thousand rupees? Arrey, hundred thousand is nothing! We will spend it in a jiffy! We will throw the biggest party of the year in Mayfair, we will go visit all the big places, we will paint the city red! Hundred thousand, that is nothing, just nothing! Don’t worry Papa, we will spend it, come what may!”
Her enthusiasm was infectious and was making us elated beyond words. I felt relieved.
“Papa, Mummy, come here. Let’s sit down and make a list of all that we want to
do tomorrow, where to go, what to spend on and who to invite to the evening
party.”
I was tired. I wanted to sleep.
“You and your Mummy prepare the list. I want to sleep. I will see the list in the
morning.”
Nandita woke me up at seven thirty in the morning.
“Get up. Ghana babu is sitting in the living room and wants to remind you of the
countdown that started at seven. He has already said twice, ‘Let the lazy bum
sleep, good for me, I will get my two lakh rupees, without any sweat!’”
I had forgotten about the deal. I got up with a start and went to the living room. Shyamali was chatting with Ghanshyam.
“Uncle, Papa and Sidhharth are useless. They are still sleeping. Mummy and I have finished our bath and are ready to go to Hotel Oberoi for breakfast! You should also come, uncle. Let’s enjoy a good breakfast!”
Ghana shook his head.
“No Shyamali, I have to go to the work site at eight. You people enjoy. Tell your Papa to get up and be brisk. Otherwise he will have to cough up two lakh rupees to me.”
He waved at me, and pointed at his watch to remind me about the countdown and
left.
Siddharth refused to bunk his school, ‘No way, we have the inter-class football match today and we want to defeat the ninth grade boys. I have to play today. You guys go and enjoy your breakfast and lunch. I will join you for dinner.’
Nandita asked him to invite his friends for dinner so that they would get a chance
to have dinner in a five-star hotel. Siddharth laughed in contempt.
“Mummy, they all eat at five star hotels regularly. We are the only ones who go to Venus Inn to eat rice and chicken curry!”
With that insult hurled at me, Siddharth left for school.
Quickly I got ready and the three of us left in my two wheeler scooter for Hotel Oberoi to have breakfast.
Over breakfast we discussed the plan for the evening dinner. We made a
list of invitees. Shyamali said she would invite nine of her friends, Nandita wanted all her fifteen kitty-party friends to come along with their husbands.
I readily agreed with Nandita’s suggestions. I asked her to invite all our relativeswith their families. We made a quick calculation, After counting everyone, the total number of guests came to around sixty. We didn’t have any idea about the price of dinner at the Mayfair. I suggested to Nandita and Shyamali that we should go to Hotel Mayfair after breakfast to find out the rate. Both of them laughed at the idea of going to Mayfair on my old, ramshackle scooter. Shyamali suggested we should check the rates over telephone. ‘That’s more stylish Papa’. Nandita also agreed.
“You go to the reception and speak to the chaps at Mayfair. We will have some more fruits and desserts and join you.”
The girl at Mayfair’s reception told me the dinner will cost one thousand rupees per head, with taxes extra. For sixty persons it will come to around seventy thousand rupees. I returned to the breakfast table, helped myself to one more muffin and coffee. We made a quick calculation. The buffet breakfast was to cost us eighteen hundred rupees. Shyamali said,
“Papa, hire a taxi for us to roam around the whole day. We will go to Nandan Kanan zoo.”
Nandita protested.
“I can’t go to the zoo. If I roam around the whole day, who will arrange for the party in the evening? Who will invite the guests? Your papa doesn’t know a single person, except his office people and the three drunks from the Wednesday Club!”
We kept on racking our brain how to spend the remaining twenty eight thousand rupees. I had a suggestion.
“Let me offer drinks along with food at dinner tonight. Money will vanish like a whiff of air, if we have to pay for the drinks.”
Both mother and daughter pounced on me,
“No way. If you are going to have drinks we will not invite our friends. Decent people don’t go to dinner with the drunk!”
I was shocked by their reaction.
“Ok, ok. No drinks. May be Ghana, Bidhu and Ramesh will be interested to have a special drinks session tonight. I will arrange for them separately. That will be another six-seven thousand rupees. What to do with the rest?”
Suddenly it didn’t seem so easy to spend the money. Our initial excitement was gradually webbing. And then Shyamali jumped up.
“Papa, idea!”
“What’s it? Come on, quick!”
“Why don’t Mama and I go to Bombay by flight and come back by the evening? It will be our maiden flight experience and the money will be spent.”
I asked Nandita,
“What do you think of the idea? You want to do that?”
“I am not sure. I have had a sleepless night. Suppose with the height my head starts reeling? You won’t be there. I am scared.”
“Come on mummy, so many people travel everyday by air. Have you heard anybody’s head reeling? Come on, be a sport, mummy. Let’s go. We won’t get a chance like this again to enjoy a free flight.”
“No, I won’t go by air without your Papa. Forget it.”
“Ok, if you don’t go it’s fine, but at least let me go. I want to have the experience. Papa, please. I won’t get out of the aircraft. I will go and come back in the same flight. Please Papa, please. I will just sleep off and return in five to six hours. There will be A.C. in the flight, isn’t it Papa?”
“Yes, there is A.C. inside the aircraft. The temperature is controlled inside the cabin.”
“Then it is settled. Let us go to the Indian Airlines counter to buy the ticket.”
Three of us got unto the scooter and reached the Airlines office. I wanted to be sure that the flight to Bombay is direct and the same aircraft returns in the evening.
We reached the Airlines office at ten-thirty.
“What is the Bhubaneswar-Bombay flight schedule?” I asked.
“It leaves Bhubaneswar at noon, reaches Bombay at one fifty. After a forty minutes stop it returns via Raipur and arrives here at ten minutes past six.”
Shyamali was getting impatient. She blurted out,?
“What’s the fare?”
“It’s twenty two thousand rupees for a return trip.”
“Great, papa, let’s buy.”
I had one more question.
“Can someone go and return by the same flight?”
The man at the counter didn’t understand the question.
“Sorry, say that again?”
I repeated the question.
“Yes, it is possible, but why would somebody do that?”
“Our daughter wants to have her maiden experience of air travel”, I replied in a grand manner.
The man’s mouth fell open. He looked at us as if the family members of Mukesh Ambani or Bill Gates were standing before him. Finally he collected his wits,
“Ok with me. Are you going to pay in cash or credit card?”
“Cash, but tell me, Does someone have to get out of the aircraft at Bombay or Raipur?”
“Not at Raipur, where the halt is only for thirty minutes. But at Bombay, all the passengers have to get out for the cleaning of the aircraft and they will have to undergo security check again before re-boarding.”
The moment Nandita heard this, she refused to let Shyamali go alone. Shyamalialso got scared and the idea was dropped. I felt relieved. Although it was Ghanshyam’s money, I didn’t like the idea of wasting it through a meaningless air trip.
Shyamali, however, insisted that we hire a taxi for the day. I agreed, but having never before hired a taxi, I asked the man at the Airlines Counter if he knew a travel agent who can give us a taxi for the whole day. The man was positively rude.
“This is not a taxi service, go and ask at the market!”
The capital market was across the road. We drove the scooter and located a taxi stand in the third lane. The man asked us to pay a deposit of thousand rupees and settle the balance amount at the end of the day. He hollered at a driver and asked him to take us around.
We got on to the scooter and the taxi followed us. After fifty meters, the driver honked. We stopped. He came close and smiled.
“What’s the point in hiring a taxi if the three of you still squeeze onto a scooter?’
We realized what priceless donkeys we have been. Shyamali started laughing uncontrollably and Nandita joined her. I suspect the lack of sleep and the heavy breakfast had got to their heads. They sped away in the taxi and I drove my scooter at my usual snail’s pace.
When I reached home, it was close to eleven. Nandita had started inviting people for the evening party. Shyamali had gone off to sleep. Nandita finished the phone calls and we again started making calculations. We realized, our latest estimate amounted to around seventy four thousand rupees. We still had twenty six thousand to go. While talking to me Nandita started dozing and soon she also fell asleep on the living room sofa.
I suddenly remembered about the drink session and dialed Ghanshyam’s number.
He was very happy and readily accepted.
“Let me book a room in Hotel Meridien for the evening. It will cost five thousand rupees!”
“So what? It is your money, how do I care?”?
Ghana laughed in a light-hearted banter.
“So, which brand of whisky you are going to offer tonight, you lakhpati?”
“Royal Challenge is what you drink every Wednesday. So it is unlimited pegs of Royal Challenge for the three musketeers tonight.”
‘What? With one lakh in pocket you can think of only Royal Challenge, you idiot?”
“What else do you want? How do I know what other brands are there?”
“Haven’t you heard of Chivas Regal or Black Label?’
“Which one is better?”
“Chivas Regal is better, but Johnny Walker’s Black label is costlier.”
I was eager to spend away the entire one lakh tonight itself.
“Then you guys should have Black Label. Let’s not be intimidated by cost.”
Before ending the talk, Ghanshyam hesitated a bit.
“Do you want the five thousand rupees room rent to go waste? Don’t you want to
have something colourful in the night?”
For a moment I didn’t understand what he was implying. Then it dawned on me. My hands started shaking and the throat went dry. Still, pretending not to understand, I asked,
“What do you mean? Colourful?”
Ghana chuckled at the other end, sensing my discomfiture.
“You know what I mean. Don’t you want to have a honeymoon?”
“What honeymoon? How can I have another honeymoon after seventeen years of marriage?”
“Arrey idiot, it is the same kind of honeymoon I enjoy when I go on tour. Look, every time one sleeps with a girl for the first time, it is a honeymoon with her. Should I arrange a honeymoon for you tonight? I know the best girls in town. Iwill get you a discount. Although their usual rate is twenty thousand rupees per night, on my request they will agree for fifteen thousand. I use them all the time for my clients.”
I looked at Nandita. She was in deep sleep. The shaking of my hands had now started spreading to the whole body. My voice choked. The temptation to taste the forbidden fruit was overbearing. I wanted to prove to my three tormentors that I am not a nincompoop and I know how to enjoy life. And added to that was the immediate provocation that I would be able to use up the hundred thousand rupees if I spend fifteen thousand rupees on a “girl”. A girl? I got a shock! How can I think like that? Am I going crazy? Yet, some stranger inside me blurted out,
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Do whatever you want.”
I disconnected the phone abruptly.
My eyes were drawn towards Nandita. Under the fan her hair was blowing gently, making her look like a sleeping angel. My sweet wife of seventeen years had behaved in the most coquettish manner this morning while having breakfast. Her love and attachment towards the husband with one lakh rupees in the pocket was boundless. So many times she put her hand on my hand in an absent-minded manner. Her foot was nudging mine every now and then.
There was an air of eager expectancy about her this morning. As if, after a long time, when we are alone, left to hold our hands, our eyes meeting and trying to look into each other’s soul, she will open her book of unending stories today. She will repeat the same old stories she used to regale me with, during the early days of our marriage, when days used to slip into nights and nights rolled unto days without our knowing it, and time had stood still in an intimate embrace of togetherness.
Those stories were endless – how a handsome boy of eighteen used to stand everyday near her seat in the college bus and speak volumes of sweet nothings through his eyes, how the boys in the street used to follow her when she walked to the bus stop, with her college books clasped to her bosom, and how one day a boy coming from the opposite side on a bicycle, got so distracted that the front wheel of the bicycle slipped onto the street side drain and the fellow fell down with a deafening thud! And how one day her friend Manju demanded that Nandita marry her elder brother and she started addressing her as Bhabhi, till Nandita squeezed her cheeks relentlessly and made her cry! And how the young Bengali salesman in the bangle shop opposite the college froze one day, his eyes fixed on her face, unblinking, while trying a pair of bangles on her hand! So many stories, priceless nuggets from a horde of sweet memories indelibly printed on her mind. Two cute dimples on her cheeks used to make her look ravishing those days, when she laughed narrating these stories.
Today after so many years, Nandita had again got immersed in that kind of sweet excitement, and promised a world of fathomless love and commitment. In the afternoon light of the living room many of those endearing dreams played hide and seek on her face and made her look a perfect picture of quiet serenity. For a moment I forgot the world of money, riches and wagers. I marveled at the beauty of sweet domesticity, the joy of fulfillment of a happy family.
My eyelids were heavy. In no time I dragged myself to the bedroom and went off to sleep. I woke up, with a start, at a quarter past two. It was time to go for lunch and splurge on Ghanshyam’s money. I tried to wake up Shyamali. She mumbled, “Please Papa. Let me sleep. I am not hungry”. Nandita didn’t even open her eyes. She just turned on the sofa and slept off again
I made a cup of tea for myself and went to the living room. I was getting worried.I felt that time was slipping by quickly and we were nowhere near the possibility of spending the whole amount. I wanted to get up, go out in the taxi, find any kind of enjoyment where one could splurge. I got annoyed with Nandita and Shyamali for sleeping the whole day when they had so much money to spend. I wanted to remind them of their excitement last night when they had declared that one lakh rupees can be spent at the snap of a finger. I remembered Ghana’s offer of the honeymoon, but dismissed it as an impractical solution, given the boundaries of my domesticated morality.
At four o clock, we went out in the taxi to have snacks. Nandita and Shyamali had not recovered from the once-in-a-lifetime buffet breakfast in a five-star hotel, so they went for golgoppey, kulfi and lassi. My mind was heavy with the worry of the unspent amount. I kept regretting that I wasted the whole day without spending money on some activities
I had read somewhere that all great pleasures of life are either immoral, illegal or fattening. I was getting increasingly depressed about my life, which lay wasted by the standards of a pleasure-seeking world. How is it I never learnt how to gamble, how to find pleasure in drinks and drugs, how is it that I don’t have any friends other than Ghana, Bidhu and Ramesh, and how come there are so many of my college mates in Bhubaneswar, but I don’t know where to find them. And why have I spent all my Sunday afternoons sleeping at home, when practically everybody goes out and gossips, eats, drinks and makes merry!
Nandita’s voice shook me out of my reverie. She was asking me about the plan of action. She suggested we should go to the temple and donate fifteen thousand rupees in the name of God. The idea appealed to me, but I didn’t know if I could tell any convincing lies to the Wednesday Club and get away with it. She asked me if I wanted to invite some more friends for the drinking session. We realized I don’t know any other friends who take drinks. I couldn’t bring myself to asking our relatives if they care to have drinks. Coming from me it will look preposterous. They all know me to be a strict teetotaler.
By evening I was a nervous wreck. Time was running out. Siddharth came back from the school depressed. His class had lost in the football match. When Shyamali asked him if he had invited any of his friends, he said, “Oh, shit! I forgot. Everyone was so sad, we kept on discussing the game and I completely forgot. Should I try now?” I told him not to insult anyone by inviting him just one hour before the dinner. I was getting a little angry with myself, with the family and the world at large. I left for Hotel Meridien in my scooter. The taxi stayed back with Nandita to bring the kids and any other relatives who wanted to come with her to the dinner.
I reached Hotel Meridien at six fifteen. Ghana, Bidhu and Ramesh were already in Room 306. They had started their drinks without waiting for the host, “to save time and maximize the expenses!” At least that’s what Bidhu told me. By eight, they were fully drunk, floating in five pegs of Black Label whiskey drowned in quick succession. I took four glasses of Coca-Cola. The whiskey cost three hundred rupees per peg. With snacks and tips the bill came to seven thousand rupees.
Suddenly Ghana blurted out, voice slurping with the effect of drinks,
“So, Bishu, hope you will be able to spend the entire one lakh rupees.”
I started listing out the expenses. Ghana raised his hand.
“No, we will take the account tomorrow evening. Just keep fifteen thousand rupees for the night.” Bidhu and Ramesh were curious.
“Night? What is Bishu going to do in the night?”
Ghana flashed a mysterious smile.
“Tonight Bishu is going to have a honeymoon. With Mandakini, the loveliest star of Bhubaneswar.”
Bidhu and Ramesh were amused. Bidhu said,
“Honeymoon? By this useless Bishu? What will he do in honeymoon? He knows nothing!”
Ramesh offered an alternative suggestion.
“Ghana, Can I take Bishu’s place? At least then we will realize money’s worth. And Mandakini won’t go home unsatisfied! Please don’t waste Mandakini on Bishu.”
I was infuriated, my blood boiled. No matter how mild, no man can tolerate a challenge to his manliness!
“Bloody dogs! What do you think of me? I will show you!”
The three drunks laughed uncontrollably. Bidhu made an obscene gesture.
“Whatever you have, you show to Mandakini. We will hear the details from you tomorrow evening.”
Ramesh added fuel to the fire.
“Yeah, the details, if there is any!”
We left for Mayfair in Ghana’s car. On the way, they kept on pulling my legs,
insulting me, doubting my virility. In fact, after sometime I regretted that I chose to come with them. Knowing their state of drunkenness, I should have come by my scooter. The whisky was adding venom to their bite. My feeble attempts at protest were brushed aside by more insults and spirited taunts.
We reached Mayfair. ?The dinner was a huge success. For many of our relatives it was their first experience of a dinner at Mayfair. Some of Nandita’s friends teased her, how come Bishwanath babu is hosting a party at a five-star hotel? Has he finally started making money on the sides? Nandita shut them up – her husband has never ever taken a bribe in his life - this was his promotion party.
Around eleven, Ghana got a call on his mobile. He came to me and whispered, “Mandakini has reached. Are you ready?” With an obscene gesture he flashed a vicious, infuriating smile.
For a few seconds, I hesitated one last time. Then from the corner of my eyes I saw Bidhu and Ramesh converging on us. I wanted to be spared another round of taunting from them. I made up my mind and asked Ghana to tell Nandita that the three of them wanted to have few more rounds of drinks after dinner, and if it gets too late we will stay back in the hotel for the night.
Ghana smiled again, an oily, inebriated smile, nodded to Bidhu and Ramesh who had come near us and told me,
“You take care of Mandakini, I will convince Nandita about the drinks.”
Bidhu and Ramesh, the drunk monkeys, winked at me and whispered hoarsely,
“Please, please, take care of Mandakini. Don’t let the Wednesday Club down. It’s our honour which is in your hands, Bishu. If you turn out to be deficient, and the news comes out, our face will be blackened. People will think we are a bunch of gays or hinjadas sticking together. Our wives won’t let us come near you!”
I gritted my teeth with an audible clatter.
“I won’t let you down, you bloody dogs, go to hell!”
They scampered away, like bloody dogs heading for hell.
I saw from a distance Ghana talking to Nandita. She smiled and looked at me,
nodding vigorously. Satisfied, Ghana came to me and patted me on the back.
“All set. She said, yes, yes, make him spend on your drinks. Don’t show any mercy to him. Buy the costliest drinks. I don’t want even one rupee from the bundle of notes coming back home!”
After the guests left, I got into Ghana’s car. I had avoided Nandita, Shyamali and
Siddharth throughout the evening. I didn’t want to see even from a distance whether she waved at me, sending me on a trip that was to crumble the edifice of trust and love which had endured the past seventeen years of our marriage. I sat in the car and closed my eyes. Strangely, it was not Nandita’s face, but the drunk, grinning and taunting faces of Ghana, Bidhu and Ramesh which flashed in my mind. I vaguely realized Ghana telling me,
“Pay fifteen thousand rupees to Mandakini and let her go by six in the morning. Usually her driver and car wait in the parking lot of the hotel in the night. Sometimes people get vicious and violent. So she keeps the car there.”
I shuddered at the thought of anyone being vicious and violent with a woman. But then, somewhere out in the world there must be animals like that in human form.
At the door of room 306 Ghana shook hands with me and gently pushed me inside, as if I was a newly-wed bride going to meet my husband in the honeymoon suite. The door of 306 closed behind me, opening a world of sin and betrayal to the sacred bond of my marriage.
For a moment I thought I would turn back, but my eyes got captivated by the petite, demure girl waiting for me on the bed. In the full light of the room, her face was dazzling like a moon. She was the loveliest girl I had ever seen anywhere, in pictures, painting, movies or in real life. I admired Ghana’s taste and a light pang of jealousy stabbed me. The lucky chap has been enjoying his life all these years with sizzlers like Mandakini, when people like me are busy plodding through files, correcting commas and filling in fullstops!
Mandakini giggled, in a soft, seductive way, sending tremors through my body.
“Sir, will you come or should I go there to hold your hand and lead you here? Why are you so shy, like a newly wed bride? Don’t you have any experience? Or, are you thinking of madam?”
She laughed, a little too openly and loudly. Part of her perfect beauty peeled off, like the cheap paint on the wall of a government house.
I woke up from my reverie with a start. Madam! Nandita? What will she be doing now? Suddenly her sweet, serene face flashed before me, particularly the soft hair blowing on her face this afternoon, when she was sleeping on the sofa, floating in a world of dreams. My eyes were fixed on Mandakini, but the mind had frozen on the face of Nandita.
Mandakini walked towards me, smiling.
“Sir, looks like this is indeed your first time. And you are so sweetly shy! But if I have to do everything, how will you realize your money’s worth? And that too it is fifteen thousand rupees. Girls like me don’t come cheap!”
I got a mild shock! My God, fifteen thousand rupees! Yes, it’s not a small sum! For me, it is worth two hundred thousand rupees! I looked at her. She was maddeningly beautiful. I lifted her chin, as if in my palm I will capture her dazzling beauty like a bowl of moonlight. There was a small black mole under her right ear. I touched it, to know if it is real or part of her make-up.
Suddenly I remembered, Nandita also has a black mole on the right side of her neck. When Shyamali was a baby, she often used to scrap it with her nails, trying to root it out. What will Shyamali be doing now? She must have gone off to sleep! She and Nandita had a sleepless night, and were looking tired in the evening. What dreams my sweet daughter must be having?
Mandakini was getting impatient.
“Sir, where are you lost? Is your mind back with Madam again?”
I exploded in anger.
“Why are you bringing Madam into this?”
She laughed, a derisive, dismissive laughter.
“Sir, your face shows it! Your guilt and hesitation are seeping through the façade of an unconvincing lust! People like you are the most difficult to handle. At home when you sleep with your aging wife, your body aches for the beauty of the slut. And at the hotel when you are with us, your heart pines for the company of your chaste wife. You waste your life in this perennial confusion, enjoying neither. Come sir, don’t waste time. Finish the job and I will go home to sleep till late in the morning. You can also go home. My experience says you are not the hotel type. Without the safety of your wife’s bed you will be tossing restlessly on the bed here.”
With the mention of the empty space near Nandita’s bed, my mind again went back to her. Will she be waiting for me, half asleep and half awake, hoping against hope that I would return in the night, to take my place by her side, like I have done every night in the last seventeen years?
Suddenly my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. My body shuddering, I started sobbing uncontrollably. Mandakini was stunned. She didn’t understand what was happening. Then, like a woman possessed, she broke into a loud, derisive laughter. I took out the bundle of fifteen thousand rupees from my pocket and thrust it at her.
“I am sorry. Please take this and go home.”
Mandakini stopped laughing and exploded like a cloud bursting in a summer sky.
“Sir, do you think I am a beggar standing here to collect alms from you? What a disgusting person you are! If you don’t have guts, why did you engage me? This is the biggest insult in my professional life. If you have to cry like a useless weakling, go home, bury your face in your wife’s shoulder and cry out your heart. Don’t waste my time here.”
With that, she took the bundle of notes from my hand and threw it on the ground, spat on it, and stormed out of the room.
I washed my face in the bathroom, came to the lobby of the hotel and paid for the
room. I somehow managed to drive my scooter and reached home after midnight. Nandita opened the door. She had not gone to sleep, waiting for me to return. Did she know, with her sixth sense, that her husband would return to her arms, a picture of dejection and failure, and yet with the realization that here, in this small home there is the assurance of total trust, unconditional love and abiding faith! I looked at her lovely, sweet face and remembered, how, less than half an hour back I was about to cross over to a world of sin and despair. I gathered my loving wife in a tight embrace and for the second time that night, broke into sobs.
As it often happens in marriages, Nandita joined me in crying, in an act of unconditional sharing. Between sobs she consoled me,
“Don’t worry, I will sell off some of the jewellery I have, and we will return the two lakh rupees to Ghana babu. We will honour your bet. I will not let you down. Please don’t cry. What will the kids think when they see you crying?”
I spent the night in Nandita’s arms, a sense of love and reassurance putting me to sound sleep.
Next evening when we met at the Moonlight Lodge, in an extraordinary meeting of the Wednesday Club, the tension was palpable. From my pale, mirthless face, Bidhu and Ramesh could guess how miserable I was feeling having failed in my mission. Ghana smiled at me and chastised me,
“Bishu, you useless rascal, you made me lose my face with Mandakini. I had sent her to so many of my clients, but something like this had never happened before. She called me in the morning and scolded me in such rude language that I was left speechless.”
Bidhu and Ramesh took off, with gusto, as if they were waiting for this cue. For the next few minutes, they kept on battering me like a washerman mercilessly beating dirty clothes on the washing stone. Gradually their language and tone became unbearably obscene, attacking my lack of manliness and virility. In a colorful language they started fantasizing on what they would have done to Mandakini, how they would have enjoyed each part of her body, if they were in my place. My heart was sinking like a rudderless boat, desperately crying for the session to be over.
Suddenly, out of the blue, Ghana exploded in a big, thunderous shout. I looked up. Bidhu and Ramesh stopped on their tracks, puzzled. Ghana’s gaze swept over them in maniacal anger,
“Arrey Bidhu, Ramesh, are you two jokers or animals? Don’t you have a modicum of shame? Given the chance and the money, you two will turn the whole town into a whorehouse! What else can be expected from shameless rascals like you?”
Ghana paused for a moment and took off again.
“Have you ever thought how great Bishu is! He has held so many sensitive positions in the government, dealing with files which are like goldmines. Has he ever soiled his hand with even one rupee of bribe? It is easy for a person to remain honest when he has no opportunity to take bribes. Only those who maintain their integrity despite great temptations are the real heroes.”
Ghana’s voice became soft with a bit of nostalgia.
“Four of us know each other from our high school days. Remember how the teachers used to dote on Bishu, openly declaring that he is any teacher’s pride! He has maintained his character even to-day. When he leaves his home in his ordinary dress, driving an old scooter, people on the streets make way for him, neighbours bend their head and greet him with respect and say to each other, ‘see, here is an honest man in a sea of corruption. It is because of people like him that there is still some sanity in our system.’”
With a sadness that was uncharacteristic of him, Ghana continued,
“And look at me. When I come out of my house, in my dazzling clothes and drive away in my sleek Hyundai Accent, people point at me and shout, look at the bloody dishonest contractor, riding his white car with his black money. God knows how much he has amassed by cheating innocent people and the corrupt government!”
He looked at me in a soft kind of way,
“I knew, Bishu will not be able to spend one lakh rupees in twenty four hours. How could he? A chap who has never taken drinks or drugs in his life, has never gambled, or strayed from his marriage, where will he go to find takers for his largesse? The poor chap didn’t even know the name of a decent brand of whisky. If some one gives me a lakh of rupees and asks me to spend it, I know which whisky to splurge on, where to go for gambling and how many girls like Mandakini can be brought to a hotel room for a single night’s enjoyment!
I have no intention to collect two lakh rupees from Bishu. I never wanted to. All I wanted was to prove that no one is above temptation. That, in everyone’s mind, like the dark side of the moon, there is a slimy chest where venomous reptiles are slithering against brittle walls of tenuous morality, waiting to come out to bite even the saintliest person and fill him with the poison of temptation and sin. That even the Bishus of the world can jump into a whirlpool of temptation and get sucked by the sweet venom of sin.
Ever since I know him, I have always been consumed by a desire that one day, even just for a day, Bishu will get into my world and live a life of lies, sins and fraud and people will say, look, even the best among us is not infallible! In return, I will get into his skin and lead an honest, uncomplicated life and just for a day, I will become the toast of the town, an object of respect and awe.
Today Bishu has again let me down. He has proved yet again, he cannot descend into my world, even for a day, nor I can climb onto his, ever in my life. This is the biggest regret which consumes me like a slow fire. You guys will never understand it.”
Tears welling up in his eyes, Ghanashyam stormed out of the room, banging the door behind him. For that evening, the Wednesday Club became quiet, like the hearts of the three of us silently trying to fathom the deep anguish of Ghana’s words.
STREET LIFE
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
We, four friends from the college, in our fifties, were walking back after an evening darshan in the Kashi Viswanath Temple in Varanasi. There, leaning on the closed shutters of a shop abutting a pavement in Godoliya, we saw a man wrapped in a blanket looking vacantly at the passersby. The face looked familiar. We stopped to peer at him. Yes, it was Niranjan, our old class mate! Stoned? Dazed? Crazed? We asked him what he was doing there, leaning against the shutters of a shop! He grinned sheepishly and said, "Just experiencing the street life of the holy city!"
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
The small girl came to me at the party and said, "when will I have my Birthday party"? I asked, "why do you want a party"? She smiled sweetly at me, "so that I will get a lot of gifts". I told her "come with me, I will buy you lots of toys and dresses". She again smiled, "but uncle, I also want a cake, candles and balloons". I promised her all that. But then, she walked away dismissing the whole idea, "Nah, I also want a crowd to sing Happy Birthday to me! You seem to be so alone"!
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.
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