Literary Vibes - Edition XCVI (27-Nov-2020)
(Title - Perennial Love - Picture courtesy Latha Prem Sakhya)
Dear Readers,
I have great pleasure in offering you the 96th edition of LiteraryVibes with beautiful poems and wonderful short stories. The award-winning story by our newest author Dr. Rema Krishnakumar, Senior Consultant Gastroenterologist at Moulana Hospital, Perinthalmanna, Malappuram, Kerala, is a real joy to read. Despite the call of her arduous profession she has cultivated the creative hobby of writing poems and short stories which bring lots of pleasure to her readers. We welcome her to the family of LiteraryVibes, as also Mr. Ramesh Babu, whose powerful story 'Grizzly Nights', translated from Malayalam by Mr. Sreekumar, is bound to dazzle the readers. We wish Dr. Rema and Mr. Ramesh Babu tremendous success in their literary endeavours.
By the time this edition is published, the fury of cyclonic rains would have abated in Chennai and Puducherry. Having lived in Chennai for more than a decade I am no stranger to cyclones in that beautiful, historic city. I remember how on a dark night in November 1984, when we were staying at Fore Shore Estate barely two hundred meters from the sea, the rattling windows, shaking doors and the howling winds created panic in our minds. It was as if any moment the doors and windows in our first floor ill-maintained government apartment would give in and we will be swept away by the ravaging wind. During the night the sea overflew, mixed with incessant rains and more than three feet water entered into the ground floor houses. Next morning we were greeted with the sight of boats ferrying the inhabitants to the nearby Santhome market to buy essentials from the few shops open in the adverse weather. That was probably the worst cyclone we have seen, and we have our share of other exotic experiences like the frequent Delhi earthquakes and the incessant Mumbai rains. Last year we escaped the fury of Fani in Odisha, having left for the U.S. a month earlier to spend time with our children. Life has been varied and rich with experiences and we are grateful to God for that.
Four days back when I read about Utqiagvik, the Alaskan town where the sun set for two months last week, plunging the town to a long night, my initial reaction was Ah, so nice and romantic ! To have the lights, the cosy comforts of quilts and warm clothes! I know life would be tough for the inhabitants, but I am sure God who gives them a harsh winter also blesses them with the tenacity and resilience to bear it.
I remembered my first snow fall night in U.S. as a student in 1993. The bright sky, the white snow steadily falling like soft cotton flakes, and the trees, cars, houses gradually getting a white coating - it was a heavenly sight. I was all alone on the street around nine in the evening, and danced with joy. It snowed the whole night and next morning there were ten inches of snow on the rooftops and the roads. The nearby hills had been coated white with a few brown patches still standing defiantly, but I knew it was just a matter of time before the hills would be all white. We lived in State College, Pennsylvania, for five years, experiencing winter of minus seven degrees temperature (with wind chill factor). And enjoyed it thoroughly. The first snow, the first skid on the road, the first fall and the painful bump on the bottom are etched in my memory.
Also etched in my memory from those days is my driving by meadows and farms slowly and enjoying the eerie silence, the white reflection of the sun on snow, the horses grazing on sparse patches of grass and cows lifting their heads to look at me with innocent eyes. On one of those blissful moments I suddenly remembered Robert Frost's poem which every educated Indian is familiar with, thanks to Pandit Nehru's association with "The woods are lovely, dark and deep...." I had memorised the poem in my college days. I recited it, standing by a snow laden farm on a grey winter evening, and although I had read the poem many times earlier, standing there and reciting it gave it a new meaning. Even now I have goosebumps when I remember it. Let me reproduce the poem for old time's sake:
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village, though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The coldest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
There are many more memories of snow which return to bring joy to me in the evening of my life. The one which always brings a smile is the quiet snowy afternoon I spent in the library at Penn State reading a book I was looking for almost three decades and had given up the hope of finding. I had read the Odia translation at the age of 13 as a High School student and the heart was aching to read the English version of my favourite novella - Letter From an Unknown Woman by Stefan Zweig. I just couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it in the stacks at the massive Library. Now of course the short book is available in Internet, along with an old Black and White movie of the same name. I think only the blessed ones get a chance to read such pieces of incredible beauty.
Do enjoy the 96th edition of LiteraryVibes.
Please forward the link http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/358 to all your friends and contacts with a reminder that all the previous 95 editions of LV are available at http://www.positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care, get under the quilt and enjoy the LiteraryVibes. That will keep you at home and safe.
Keep smiling, till we meet again next week.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents:
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
BREAD IS NOT MADE OF DREAMS
02) Haraprasad Das
BARTER (VINIMAYA)
03) Geetha Nair G
SMALL MERCIES
04) Dilip Mohapatra
SAY CHEESE
05) Sreekumar K
NOBODY DIES
06) Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda
OUR HERITAGE - Kedarnath Jyotirlinga
OUR HERITAGE - Rameswar Jyotirlinga
07) Prof. Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo
GOD'S WILL
08) Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
JUST A THOUGHT
09) Lathaprem Sakhya
KANAKA'S MUSINGS 16: INDEPENDENCE
10) Madhumathi. H
SOULMATE
DISTANCES DISSOLVE...
11) Dr. Molly Joseph
HUNGER
12) Dr. Aniamma Kuriakose (Joseph)
A SEA WITHIN A POOL (1981)
13) Sangeeta Gupta
I OFTEN HEAR
YOU CROSSED MY PATH
14) Dr. Rema Krishnakumar
IF ONLY THE BELL WOULD RING …
15) Ramesh Babu
GRIZZLY NIGHTS
16) Hema Ravi
BLISSFUL MOMENTS...(MICRO POEMS)
17) N Meera Raghavendra Rao
NO STOPPING TO PRAY
THE GHOST WRITER
18) Abani Udgata
FACES
19) Mihir Kumar Mishra
LISTEN, MY DEAR
20) Pradeep Rath
RIVER SUKTA
REMINISCENCES
21) Ashok Kumar Ray
SINGAPORE
22) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
GANDHIJI'S FOURTH MONKEY
The night is a black veil,
your eyes, will-o’-the-wisp.
A lonely note wanders through
the slumbering paddy fields.
Orchards goose pimple in the dark.
A song rises from
the drifting melancholy of a man
rowing the boat of his absent mind.
The moonbeams are strewn
on your honey-skin:
cowries on dark sand.
My shawl smells of earth.
Intimacy sticks to our soiled palms.
We anchor in eternity, breathe in
the aroma of sweat and spit,
swallow our unmoored longings.
With our last savings,
we buy a dream,
but go hungry.
The thought of food
nakedly mushrooms
in our blood.
Crumbs of rice-cakes
rule our destiny.
(A prizewinning poem, written about thirty years back)
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
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
You watch the downpour
from behind your curtains,
worry for your paper boat
you launched from the back garden?
You hear a distant call
in the dark rainy night,
“Come into my arms,
let us sing a song.”
You jump
at your own shadow,
rumbles in the sky rattle you,
a sudden hissing cobra;
you offer a timid prayer
to the lord
to save your paper boat
from the vagaries of weather.
Afraid of prying eyes
nitpicking on your secrets,
you have hidden them away
tying in a piece of red muslin,
you feel jittery;
neither can you laugh
with an easy mind,
nor can you cry in relief;
you can’t ask for a thing
with confidence,
nor can give a thing away
with a free hand.
The past is a riddle
sitting among the crinkles
of your eyebrows, also
in the pallor of your face;
the cipher to the riddle
put away in mind’s depths,
for fear of getting devoured
by white ants, the moralists.
You are afraid to guess -
how does the paper boat,
that you launched from back garden,
is faring in the squally weather?
Lo, the boat has safely docked
at a magical port
of unparalleled prosperity;
the merchant of the boat
has gone to the market
to barter ivory
for an exquisite scarf for you,
lovely as the blue sky.
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)”
This was our evening ritual. I would throw my files on the table, take off the absurd white bands around my neck and, still dressed in black blouse and white sari, sink into my favourite armchair. Karumi who would have come by 3 o’clock, cleaned the house and made my dinner, would bring me my tea in another five minutes
Then, she would sit on the floor, leaning against the divan and sip her tumbler of tea. It had taken a month for her to sit in my presence, let alone drink tea with me. Karumi had started working for me as a domestic help three years back. Quiet,energetic and efficient, she was a very good help indeed. Slowly I had drawn her out; I am a successful lawyer, after all.
Her story was a fairly common one. I would like to call it A Very Indian Story.. She could not remember her father who had deserted his family early. Her mother worked as a sweeper in an office. She had an elder brother and a younger sister. She remembered evenings, playing hopscotch outside their one-room tenement. There had been a champak tree growing by the roadside that spread its heady fragrance into the night. She had stopped going to school when she was ten; she was judged old enough to start working. So she entered domestic service.
At twenty three, she had been married off. Her mother had paid her groom a hefty sum all borrowed from desi Shylocks who thrived on the flesh and blood of such unfortunate humans. Pappu was a cleaner in a local bus. Ten months later, she bore him a son. It was a traumatic delivery. The doctor declared that she could bear no more children. Her husband ranted awhile at this but soon found comfort in fertile places. Life went on. Pappu earned enough to feed and clothe his wife and son but his earnings hardly ever reached home. They swelled the coffers of the local liquor shops. His wife slaved in three houses to bring up their son. Manish was just ten years old, a bright, chirpy little fellow who was always at play. Needless to say, she lived for him.
That evening, there were fresh bruises on her face and neck ; Pappu had beaten and abused her the previous night. That was nothing new, of course. As usual, Manish had slipped out into the goat pen behind the house to escape his father’s wrath… . She went silent. Then her face brightened. “Again he won’t hit me or abuse me.” My expression betrayed nothing as she continued, describing how she had attacked him, smashing his head against the wall and attempting to pull out his tongue. I listened earnestly to her narration. Flights of fantasy, of course. But I did not bat an eyelid.
I too had them- such fantasies! They centered on my child who was forever in limbo. I was separated from my husband. He had left me because I was infertile. Another very Indian story. I had disliked the bondage of marriage but longed for a child. How often I played with him, this dream child, bathed him, fed him, sang him to sleep! This sad woman was entitled to her fantasies. Perhaps it helped her to go forward. Perhaps it kept her sane. I knew of course that she wouldn't dare to raise a finger against him. He was much bigger than her, for one thing. And, more pertinently, she was a good Indian wife. Several times, I had urged her to leave him; to come away with Manish. I had offered her a safe place where they could live in peace. Karumi’s reply was often just a gesture; she would lift the mangalasutra that lay like a glittering snake around her thin neck. It translated as - how can I leave him? I am tied to him for life... .
Mother and son had become a part of my life. I did not want to give them up to anyone.
But I lost them to my brother and I was happy about it.
It happened this way.
One evening, when I reached home, the place was silent. She was not to be seen.
The key to the front door was still secure under the pot of golden gerbera. A few minutes later, she whirled up the path and burst into the room. She was terribly agitated. Manish had been taken away by his father. She was getting Manish’s lunch ready but the moment he reached home from school, Pappu had bundled him into an auto. He had brushed aside her desperate questions harshly saying they would be back in a few days. A few days! Pappu was up to something; this was no pleasure trip. She was positive about that. She broke down.
I calmed her down. I promised her I would find Manish.
But the next day, Pappu called her to say they were at a place of pilgrimage and everything was fine. Of course, the woman’s mind was still not at rest. Two days later, Karumi rang me while I was in the court. She said Pappu had asked her to go with him to a hospital in the neighbouring town as Manish was admitted there. Their vehicle had overturned; he had hurt his back. Nothing to cry about, he added. Manish would be discharged in a few days.
Karumi sees the hospital. It is huge and gleaming. But Pappu takes her into another building behind it. That too is a hospital. With thudding heart, Karumi goes into the room. Her son lies on his side, still and pale on the bed. There are tubes strapped to his body. She cries out his name and he opens his eyes. "Ma, where were you ?" he asks, softly, weakly.They weep together, the mother and child.
Pappu gives her some money, tells her he will be back soon and leaves.
It is the next day. The nurses are changing the dressing on Manish's back. He is in great pain. It is then that Karumi sees the long, diagonal line running down her son's little back. It takes her three more days to comprehend what has happened to her child... .
She tells the nurses that she needs to go home for a few hours. Pappu is at home. He is drunk as usual ; the empty bottle by his side bears the label of an expensive whiskey. He is half asleep. He doesn’t see her.
Karumi picks up the bottle, breaks it against the wall and pierces his face with it. When he rises in agony, she jabs him again and again in the small of the back. He collapses; she washes her hands and leaves.
I had just made my tea when Karumi entered my house. I gave her my cup.of tea. She spoke; she was very calm.This was no comforting fantasy. I had to act fast.
I drove to the hospital, a stone-like Karumi by my side. I got Manish discharged; I had to flaunt my Bar Association card and use some coercion.
Then, the three of us in a CRV took the hill road to my brother's place. It was the Manager 's bungalow in the heart of a tea-estate. My brother, his wife and an army of helpers were waiting for us.
I left them there, in very safe hands and got back the next day. There was so much to see to… .
Pappu survived. He had to spend all the money he had got out of the sale of his son’s kidney to pay his own medical expenses.
That case was one of the triumphs of my career. Pappu’s wife was let off; there were no eyewitnesses. The broken bottle had been, mercifully, handled by several shocked and ignorant neighbours; so her fingerprints posed no problem
Mother and son are doing well in their new little home in the hills. She works in my brother’s house.The nightmare is fading like the bruises on her face and bare neck.
Manish is doing well at school. He is a healthy and happy boy. I pretend he is my son. It is a pleasing fantasy.
One must be grateful for small mercies..
(The Drabble 'VINDICATION' by Latha Prem Sakhya was in LV XXXII of 6th September 2019)
(This story had appeared in an earlier edition of LiteraryVibes)
Geetha Nair G. is an award-winning author of two collections of poetry: Shored Fragments and Drawing Flame. Her work has been reviewed favourably in The Journal of the Poetry Society (India) and other notable literary periodicals. Her most recent publication is a collection of short stories titled Wine, Woman and Wrong. All the thirty three stories in this collection were written for,and first appeared in Literary Vibes.
Geetha Nair G. is a former Associate Professor of English, All Saints’ College, Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala.
I always wondered
why in almost all my photos
I find my smiles missing and
playing truant to the camera.
Maybe while in the cradle
someone shook the rattle
to draw my attention and
someone made faces while
making strange clucking sounds
with his tongue and his palate to incite
that toothless
and priceless curve on my tiny lips
but as the flash goes off
all he gets is an inverted smile
for unknown to him
my diapers have gone weightier
and wetter.
And then when the teacher
herds us to the school quadrangle
and lines us up in cascades
for creating the first ever
memorabilia on celluloid
we wait expectantly for the boogeyman
who hides behind a huge contraption
balanced on a tripod
under a black cloak and keeps
adjusting the protruding lens
and at the final moment
barks the command to be steady and
tells us to look into the lens to see the
birds that may fly out
and most of us focus on it hard
with eyes agape in wonder
but the birds never come
and our expressions invariably glum.
Then comes the
proverbial post wedding photo
in the confines of a local studio
that uses a romantic backdrop
with a painted window with a bough
of pink and red bougainvillea
running from top right corner
to the bottom left corner diagonally
and on one side a decorative pillar
with a porcelain vase
and a bouquet of gaudy plastic flowers.
The photographer switches on
the flood lights under the white umbrellas
and takes position to begin his count down
tells you to tilt your head
a bit towards your bride and then
almost hops to you in quick steps
and nudges your bride's chin
to lift it up a bit
much to your chagrin
and finally just before clicking the shutter
closes his left eye
and you think it was a wink
and then surprisingly your smile vanishes.
Now that the latest fad is posing for a selfie
I learn the trick from my daughter
to get the right angle
and choose the right background
and stretch my hand as far as it would go
and rotate it in small arcs to and fro
like the turret of a gun
trying to seek the target and finally lock on
and just before I click
even though I practice
several versions of my smile
cannot really decide which one to freeze
a toothy one or a suggestive one
with just a semblance
and in my indecisiveness and
self consciousness the
smile goes missing as ever.
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
It had been a week but I hadn’t decided whether to visit the family not. Even if I visited them I would not go alone, Ramani or George would come with me.
Of course, the day of the funeral was the best day to go, but we all came to know about it too late. It was not exactly a rainy evening but it was still drizzling.
Now, a week later, I doubted if there is any point in going. I was not that close to him either. In fact, we were only acquaintances who met regularly at the city poetry club every month.
He was an electrical engineer, retired from the KSEB. I had a certain dislike for all those who worked for that department. But my tirade against his poetry had nothing do with it. Sasikumar had asked me one day whether I had known him for long. I hadn’t. In fact, I met him only after I joined the poetry club a month ago.
Both George and Ramani agreed to come with me. Sasikumar also felt that someone should visit the family at least now.
My car had been sent for service. So, I borrowed Sasikumar’s car. I am not used to driving auto gears, auto transmission to use the right term. But somehow I was managing.
“His daughter also writes,” said George.
“Yeah, she is a better poet than him. I met her at the Mathrubhumi Literary Fest. She recited one of her poems. Three collections already, she is only 23,” added Ramani.
“Twenty-three. His only daughter? But he was pretty old, right?” I wondered.
“.No, he married quite late and they got a daughter ever much later. The newspaper said he was only 66. That is young nowadays. My grandfather is turning ninety-four this month,” said Ramani.
“Did you like his poems. I could never enjoy his poems when I read them or heard them.” I turned back to see what their faces might tell me. I was willing to face it.
It was no secret that I used to change the poetry sessions into a cockfight whenever he was there. Not that I didn’t go hard on the other poets. I had earned a bad name in that too. But, he was my chief pleasure.
Even a few days before his death he had read out, rather recited, one of his poems in the monthly poetry meet. It was titled FLOW. I found it very pretentious. I was not sure whether he did live as he advocated in his poems. But they never do.
How many of the Great British Romantics really thought about the colonies? All of them were criminally insensitive. Even Rudyard Kipling referred to us as ‘the white man’s burdern’. I don’t allow my nephew to watch The Jungle Book. I hated his poem IF, but of course for other reasons.
“I had asked him to bring out a collection several times. He said no one would buy. That is also true. I am left with only four more copies of my short story collection. I printed 300 copies and sold only seventy. The rest were given to friends as gifts,” said Geroge.
True. I also got two or three copies of his book, ‘Both Ways Uphill’. Not a bad work. But who cares! Poetry sells more. Ramani had brought out four collections and won several prestigious awards. She gets invited to almost all the literary fests in India. She is fishing for some fellowship now. I found her poetry highly obscure.
The car left the city and went into the suburbs. Thiruvananthapuram is no big city. It is only a big town. Fifteen kilometers in any direction and you see pastoral life. Rural life.
There were paddy fields on either side hedged in by very tall coconut trees. A stream ran along our road and then disappeared under it at a culvert and came out from the other side. This would be where he used to go for walks with his daughter. Beautiful countryside. None of these appeared much in his poetry.
“He had had two surgeries earlier and so this does not come as a shock to his family. My neighbour used to work with him. One thing he said about him is that this man was clean. Not corrupt in any way. He has two flats in the city, but it is absolutely his own money. Ironically, for the same reason, no one in his office liked him,” said Geroge.
“I expect him to be so. He was a soft mannered person but very strong-willed too,” I said.
At the very next junction, as Sasikumar had instructed us, we turned into a narrow road. Not a residential area. Just like a typical Kerala Village. It was easy to find the house. A poster showing his picture put up by the neigbours was still there.
His daughter was in the garden, straightening up some flower pots that the visitors had upset. She greeted us politely and asked us to walk in.
We went in and sat down. No one knew what to say. So, I asked the daughter what she was doing. She had taken a PG in zoology and was preparing for JRF. I told him that she was known among us as a writer.
Her mother was rather quiet, dark patches were still around her eyes. She spoke in a soft tone and asked us who each of us were.
“He used to tell me about you all. He was very particular about attending the monthly meeting. He would postpone anything but not this.”
She repeated our names and asked what we were doing. Ramani said she was a Homeopath, George said he taught at the University, She called me by name and asked me how my business was doing. She said her husband used to talk a lot about me.
Then again there was nothing to talk about. His daughter, Susmitha, brought us tea and snacks.
While sipping the hot tea, I felt a searing pain somewhere inside as if the hot tea had found its way into some deep crevices of my being.
I coughed and excused myself and went out. I went on coughing outside in the garden.
The garden looked quite old, mostly exotic plants, rare ones.
I stood there a while longer and wondered why I was so hard on him as a poet. He was just an old man finding some solace and comfort in the applause he sought and got. Most people enjoyed his poems. They were quite metrical though the rhyming was laboured.
But there was no real reason to take on him so regularly at every meeting.
Anyway, now it is all over. I walked towards where the funeral pyre had been. Rituals were over and there was a young happy coconut tree, its baby fronds wet in the rain and swaying in the wind.
I stood there and apologized.
No, there was no excuse for what I had done. I walked back.
I went back in and finished the tea rather carefully. We asked a few questions about where he used to work. He had worked a long time at Idukki and the family also stayed there for long. Susmitha went to school there.
George stared at me signaling that it was time to go. As if on cue, we all got up and moved towards the front porch.
His wife asked me to stay.
She went in and brought out a folder full of poems.
“He was planning to bring this out. He wished to ask you to write the introduction. Will you have the time, sir?”
I took it from him as if it was her newborn baby. My heart skipped a beat.
“He has set aside some money to get it published. We would like to do that.”
“Oh! Did he really say I should write the introduction.”
“Yes, he wanted to surprise you, he once told us.”
I found it hard to walk properly. My legs had gone numb and week. I didn’t have the courage to look at the others.
We said goodbye to the family and got into the car. I asked George to drive.
I looked at the folder.
It did pulsate.
I was relieved when Ramani took it from me.
(This story had appeared in an earlier edition of LiteraryVibes)
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.
OUR HERITAGE - Kedarnath Jyotirlinga
(Kedarnath temple in 1880s Kedarnath Jyotirlinga Kedarnath Temple as it exists now)
Kedarnath located in the Rudraprayag district of Uttarakhand, is one of the most paramount divine locations for worshipers of Shiva - a magnificent heritage. Situated in a breathtaking location, near the source of Mandakini River and at the height of 3,584 meters, Kedarnath temple celebrates the greatness of Lord Shiva. Kedarnath temple is one of the 12 Jyotirlingams and is also the most important temple among the Panch Kedars (group of 5 Shiva temples in Garhwal Himalayas). It is also one of the significant temples of the sacred Chota Char Dham Yatra in Uttarakhand, raising the glory of the place to further heights. The air appears to be reverberating with the name of Lord Shiva amid the mighty snow-clad peaks, enchanting meadows and forests of the lower mountain range of Himalayas.
Though we visited Kedarnath in mid June 2012, we could reinforce our divine faith to Kedarnath Jyothirlinga only a year later after cloud burst and flood of June 2013 which devastated Kedarnath town and the nearby areas but Jyothirlinga remained intact. The temple complex, surrounding areas, and Kedarnath town suffered extensive damage, but the temple structure did not suffer any "major" damage, apart from a few cracks on one side of the four walls which was caused by the flowing debris from the higher mountains. A large rock among the debris acted as a barrier, protecting the temple from the flood. The surrounding premises and other buildings in the market area were heavily damaged.
The name "Kedarnath" means "the lord of the field" is derived from the Sanskrit words kedara ("field") and natha ("lord"). The text Kashi Kedara Mahatmya states that it is so called because "the crop of liberation" grows here. Kedarnath, located about 3,583 meter (11,755 feet) above sea level near Chorabari glacier, the head of river Mandakini, a tributary of Ganga, and is flanked by snow-capped peaks, most prominently Kedarnath mountain, is a town in the hilly regions on the Garhwal of the Himalayan range. Due to extreme weather conditions, the temple is open to the general public only between the months of April (Akshaya Tritriya day) and November (Kartik Purnima, the autumn full moon day). During the winter months, the vigraha (deity) from Kedarnath temple is carried down to Ukhimath and where the deity is worshiped for the next six months. Kedarnath is seen as a homogenous form of Lord Shiva, the 'Lord of Kedar Khand', the historical name of the region.
The presiding image of Kedarnath in the form of lingam is of irregular shape with a pedestal 3.6 m (12 ft) in circumference and 3.6 m (12 ft) in height. There is a small pillared hall in front of the temple that has image of Parvathi. There are five temples around namely Badari-kear, Madhya Maheswara, Tunganatha, Rudranatha and Kallesvara. The first hall inside Kedarnath Temple contains statues of the five Pandava brothers, Lord Krishna, Nandi, the vehicle of Shiva and Virabhadra, one of the guards of Shiva. Statue of Draupadi and other deities are also installed in the main hall. An unusual feature of the temple is the head of a man carved in the triangular stone fascia. Such a head is seen carved in another temple nearby constructed on the site where the marriage of Shiva and Parvati was held. Adi Shankara was believed to have revived this temple, along with Badrinath and other temples of Uttarakhand; he is believed to have attained Mahasamadhi at Kedaranath. Behind the temple is the sam?dhi mandir of Adi Sankara. According to the hagiographies based on Madhava's Sankshepa-shankara-vijaya, the 8th century philosopher, Adi Shankara died at Kedaranatha (Kedarnath); although other hagiographies based on Anandagiri's Prachina-Shankara-Vijaya indicated that he died at Kanchipuram (Tamil Nadu).
The head priest (Raval) of the Kedarnath temple belongs to the Veerashaiva community from Karnataka. However, unlike in Badrinath temple, the Raval of Kedarnath temple does not perform the pujas which are carried out on his instructions by Raval's assistants. The Raval moves with the deity to Ukhimath during the winter season. There are five main priests for the temple, and they become head priests for one year by rotation. According to a tradition recorded by the English mountaineer Eric Shipton (1926), "many hundreds of years ago", the Kedarnath temple did not have a local priest: the priest of the Badrinath temple used to hold services at both the temples, travelling between the two places daily..
A triangular shaped lingam is worshiped in Garbhagriha of the temple. Surrounding Kedarnath, there are many symbols of the Pandavas. Raja Pandu died at Pandukeshwar. The natives here perform a dance called "Pandav Nritya". The mountain top where the Pandavas went to Swarga, is known as "Swargarohini", which is located off Badrinath. When Dharmar?ja was leaving for Swarga, one of his fingers fell on the earth. At that place, Dharmar?ja installed a Shiva Linga, which is the size of the thumb. To gain Mashisharupa, Shankara and Bheema fought with maces. Bheema was struck with remorse. He started to massage Lord Shankara’s body with ghee. In memory of this event, even today, this triangular Shiva Jyotirlinga is massaged with ghee. Water and Bel leaves are used for worship.
Legends
It is one of the 275 Paadal Petra Sthalams, expounded in Tevaram. According to a theological account, the god Shiva agreed to dwell here at the request of Nara-Narayana. After the Kurukshetra war, the Pandava brothers, came here to meet Shiva on the advice of the sage Vyasa, because they wanted to seek forgiveness for killing their kin during the war. According to Hindu legends, the temple was initially built by Pandavas. Burdened with the guilt of killing their relatives, Pandavas sought Lord Shiva to absolve them of their sins by doing penance in Kedarnath. It is believed that Pandavas pleased Shiva. However, Shiva didn't want to release them from their wrong doings so easily and disguised himself as a bull to roam among the cattle in Garhwal Himalayas. On being recognised by Pandavas, Shiva tried to disappear and dived by sinking his head-first into the ground. One of the brothers grabbed his tail, forcing him to appear before them and forgive them. An interesting legend connects it with King Bhima, one of the Pandava princes. While he was traveling, he saw some strange things on earth. He thought it was a bull and tried to pull it. The front part went to Nepal and became Pasupathinath temple, and the latter half of the bull stayed in Kedarnath, as a Suyambu Lingam. Bhim tried to catch him and could only get hold of the hump. Other body parts of Shiva (in the form of bull), came up at different places. Hump of the bull was found in Kedarnath, navel emerged at Madhya-Maheshwar, two forelegs appeared at Tunganath, face in Rudranath, and hair came up at Kalpeshwar. Together these five sacred places are called Panch Kedar. It is believed that originally Pandavas built the temple of Kedarnath; the present temple was established by Adi Shankaracharya who restored and revived the glory of the shrine.
However, the Mahabharata, which gives the account of the Pandavas and the Kurukshetra war, does not mention any place called Kedarnath. One of the earliest references to Kedarnath occurs in the Skanda Purana (7th-8th century), which contains a story describing the origin of the Ganges river. The text names Kedara (Kedarnath) as the place where Shiva released the holy water from his matted hair. Kedarnath is mentioned in Kritya- kalpataru written by the Gahadavala minister Bhatta Lakshmidhara.
Temple administration: The temple was administered under the Uttar Pradesh Act 16 of 1939 and 1948 known as Shri Badrinath and Shri Kedarnath Mandir Act which was amended in 2002. There are seventeen members in the board; three selected by the Uttaranchal Legislative Assembly, one member each by the Zilla Parishads of Garhwa, Tehri, Chamoli and Uttarkashi, and ten members nominated by the state government. On the religious side, there is a Rawalji (chief priest) and three other priests: Nayab Rawal, Acharya / Dharmadhikari and Vedpathi. The administrative structure of the temple consists of a chief executive officer who executes the orders from the state government. A deputy chief executive officer, two OSDs, an executive officer, an account officer, a temple officer and a publicity officer assist the chief executive officer.
Kedarnath Disaster 2013: The Kedarnath valley, along with other parts of Uttarakhand, was hit with unprecedented flash floods on 16 and 17 June 2013. On 16 June, at about 7:30 p.m. a landslide and mudslides occurred near Kedarnath temple with loud thunder and huge quantity of water started gushing from Chorabari Tal or Gandhi Tal down Mandakini river at about 8:30 p.m. washing everything away in its path. On 17 June 2013 at about 6:40 a.m. in the morning waters again started gushing at a huge speed from river Swaraswati and Chorabari Tal bringing along with its flow huge quantity of silt, rocks, and boulders. A huge rock got stuck behind Kedarnath Temple and protected it from the ravages of the flood. The flood water gushed on both the sides of the temple destroying everything in their path. Even eyewitness observed that one large rock got carried to the rear side of Kedarnath temple, thus causing obstruction to the debris, diverting the flow of river and debris to the sides of the temple avoiding damage. Thus in the middle of pilgrimage season, torrential rains, cloud bursts resulting flash floods nearly destroyed the town of Kedarnath. The town was the worst affected area by the floods. Thousands of people were killed and thousands of others (mostly pilgrims) were reported missing or stranded. Although the surrounding area and compound of the Kedarnath temple were destroyed, the temple itself survived.
Another theory for the temple not being destroyed is because of its construction. Although the temple withstood the severity of the floods, the complex and surrounding area were destroyed, resulting in the death of hundreds of pilgrims and locals. Shops and hotels in Kedarnath were destroyed and all roads were damaged. People took shelter inside the temple for several hours, until the army airlifted them to safer places. The Kedarnath shrine remained closed for a year for clearing the debris and undertaking renovations. Nehru Institute of Mountaineering (NIM) was given the responsibility of rebuilding Kedarnath. Although the institute did not have the expertise in urban planning or construction, they mastered in high altitude training. Under the leadership of veteran mountaineer, Colonel Ajay Kothiyal, NIM rigorously worked for a year and the temple was opened to pilgrims. The experts engaged by the Archaeological Survey of India to examine the condition of the foundation arrived at the conclusion that there was no danger to the temple. The IIT Madras experts visited the temple thrice for the purpose. Non-destructive testing instruments that do not disturb the structure of the temple were used by the IIT-team for assessing the structural strength of the structure, foundation, and walls. They have submitted their interim report that the temple is stable and there was no major danger. The rescue operation resulted in more than 100,000 people being airlifted with the help of mainly the Private Helicopter Operators who began the rescue mission voluntarily. The Army and Air Force helicopters arrived much after the Private Helicopter Operators had already begun the massive air-rescue mission. Dare-devil helicopter pilots, mostly ex-Indian Air Force and Ex-Army Aviation officers flew relentlessly. Capt. Unni Krishnan from Prabhatam Aviation and Capt. Bhatnagar from Premair were few such outstanding pilots who landed at the Kedarnath shrine right-ridge at dusk hours - 1910hrs (almost 35 minutes after 'sunset') to pick-up the 'last' batch of survivors for the day. The NDRF represented by a commandant and another junior officer arrived at Kedarnath 'right-ridge' unprepared with a malfunctioning satellite phone. They, later next-day, however, brought in more men and supplies. The first Indian Army officer to arrive at the Kedarnath shrine 'right-ridge' was a Captain from the Assam Rifles regiment. He single-handedly displayed exemplary courage in rescuing many survivors by climbing up steep slopes along the Rambara ridge-line. His cool demeanour and stable poise, even under such intense and perilous circumstances is proof of the impeccable training and discipline imbibed. The Indian Army later launched a massive rescue effort with thousands of its brave-heart men and vital equipment. The Indo-Tibetan Border Police and the reserve battalions of the Uttarakhand Police displayed outstanding courage in the rescue mission
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Temple architecture: The temple of Kedarnath is one of the most iconic marks of expert Indian engineers at its best. It has survived for a very long duration of time through adverse climate changes and even high altitude conditions. The exterior of the temple is made out of massive chunks of grey stones which are extremely strong and was utilized keeping in mind the high altitude conditions and even glacier formations. Surprisingly the temple structure was made without using any sort of mortar which is an achievement in itself and they are just placed in such a way that they lock into each other successfully. The temple complex can be approached after climbing up a couple of stairs leading up to the entrance and on a pedestal. The architectural style used here is the typical north Indian temple style and truly stands as a testimony to the fact that this place was bounds and leaps ahead of its time.
The steep climb stretching to 14 km from Gauri Kund brims has abundant beauty of nature, the paved and steep path gifts the pilgrims the fantastic views of snowy-peaks, alpine meadows and delightful forests of rhododendrons. A large stone statue of Nandi Bull stares at the shrine, guarding it, sitting right opposite it.There is one Garbha Griha which houses the primary idol in pyramid shaped rock of Shivalinga. [Garbhagriha of Kedarnath temple: Garbhagriha is the sanctum sanctorum (The Latin phrase sanctum sanctorum is a biblical term: "Holy of Holies") which generally refers to the innermost sanctum of a Hindu temple where resides the primary deity. Literally the word in Sanskrit means "womb chamber". Garbhagriha and a mother's womb are both identical, with a great nurturing life force, though dark illuminates the whole universe by its positive aura, enjoy the subtleness, of the darkness in solitude.] The idols of Lord Krishna, Pandavas, Draupadi and Kunti find a space in the Mandapa section of the shrine. The temple has withstood natural calamities like avalanches, earthquakes and floods for over thousand years and still stands as strong and elegant as it must have originally been.
The famous festivals in the temple are Maha Shivaratri and Navaratri celebrations. With the onset of winters, the portals of the temple are closed on the 1st day of Karthik (Oct/Nov) amid elaborate rituals, and a moveable idol of Shiva is shifted to Omkareshwar temple in Ukhimath . The Shiva idol is welcomed back and the temple is opened again after 6 months in the Vaisakh (Apr/May) period of Hindu calendar.
How one can reach Kedarnath from Gaurikund? If you want to visit Kedarnath Temple then Gaurikund is the last destination that is accessible from major destinations of Uttarakhand. The temple is accessible from major destinations of Uttarakhand, the road towards Kedarnath temple stretches till Gauri Kund from where one needs to take a 14 km trek towards Kedarnath temple. Ponies and palanquins (doli) are easily available; one can also avail helicopter services during peak summer season. The hard journey till the great shrine of Shiva is well compensated with the spiritual atmosphere which is created by the unruffled, tranquil and splendid beauty of the nature. The majestic Kedarnath peak (6,940 meters) stands behind the temple along with other peaks, forming a perfect setting for the holy land of the supreme deity. The conical-shaped Shiva lingam in the Kedarnath temple is a unique feature of the temple among all Shiva shrines. A new route to Kedarnath temple has been constructed by Nehru Institute of Mountaineering (NIM ). Various teams are working to maintain the best suitable path to Kedarnath. The new route via Rambara and Linchauli is a major trek route to reach Kedarnath. Rambara was completely washed away in 2013 flash floods. Now the newly constructed bridge is to landmark Rambara. Kedarnath trek route: 4 km distance from Gaurikund to Jangle Chatti /Bhairon Chatti; 3 km distance from Jangle/Bhairon Chatti to Bheembali; 4 km distance from Bheembali to Linchauli; 4 km distance from Linchauli to K. Base Camp ; and 1 km distance from K. Base Camp to Kedarnath Temple The last timing for upcoming trekkers is evening 5PM and last time for downcoming tekkers is evening 6.30 PM. While here, you may also trek 3 km ahead from the main temple to visit the beautiful lake, Chorabari Tal. Trekking 4 km ahead, you can see beautiful Himalayan peaks being reflected in the crystal clear waters of Vasuki Tal.
Gaurikund is the starting point and as per a legend, Goddess Parvati (also known as Gauri) meditated over here in order to marry Lord Shiva. It consists of natural thermal springs and offer refreshing bath to pilgrims before they embark for the holy darshan of Kedareshwar (the Lord of Kedar, Shiva). There is also an ancient Gauri Devi temple here honouring the goddess. Half Kilometre from Gauri Kund is the temple of Sirkata (headless) Ganesha. According to Skanda Purana, this was the place where Shiva beheaded Ganesha and then attached the head of an elephant on his headless body.
Fed by Chorabari glacier, the serene and pristine Chorabari Lake can be reached after undertaking a trek of less than 4 km from the Kedarnath town. It is also known as Gandhi Sarovar as some of the ashes of Mahatma Gandhi were immersed in its waters. On the way, there is a waterfall which one needs to cross.
In the temple complex, to the south side, there is another ancient and important temple. It is dedicated to Bhairav Nath, who is believed to be the one who guards the temple compound when the shrine is closed in the winter season.
Located at 3,135 meters, the crystal clear blue-water lake of Vasuki is about 8 km from Kedarnath. It is quite a difficult trek and involves going across glaciers, but the walk among the untouched Himalayas is worth every bit of effort.
OUR HERITAGE - Rameswar Jyotirlinga
Rameswaram temple Rameswaram Jyotirlinga
Ramanathaswamy Temple is dedicated to the Lord Shiva located on Rameswaram island in Tamil Nadu and is famous holiest place for two reasons viz (i) it is one of 12 Jyotirlingas and (ii) it is one of char dhams (four divine sites) the other three dhams being Badrinath, Puri and Dwarka. The origin of dhams is traced to Adi Sankara. The Advaita school of Hinduism established by Sankaracharya explains the origin of char dham. Adi Sankar created Hindu monastic institutions across India, The four monasteries lie across the four corners. Their attendant temples are (a) in the North Badrinath Temple at Badrinath, (b) in the East Jagannath Temple at Puri, (c)in the West Dwarakadheesh Temple at Dwarka and (d) Ramanathaswamy Temple at Rameswaram in the South. The journey across the four cardinal points in India is considered sacred by Hindus who aspire to visit these temples once in their lifetime. Though ideologically the temples are divided between the sects of Hinduism, namely Saivism and Vaishnavism, the Char Dham pilgrimage is all Hindu affairs. Traditionally the trip starts at the eastern end from Puri, proceeding in clockwise direction in a manner typically followed for circumambulation in Hindu temples.
Legends
There are few legends in support of Ramanathaswamy as one of the Jyotirlingas. The presiding deity, the Lingam of Ramanathaswamy (Shiva), is believed to have been established and worshiped by Rama, an avatar of the Lord Vishnu. One of the popular beliefs is that Lord Ram established and worshiped Lord Shiva before he undertook the fight in Sri Lanka to rescue Sita. It is also believed that Ravana being the best Brahmin came as priest to establish the Shiva lingam.
According to another legend, after killing Ravana Lord Rama returned with Sita to India first landing on the shores of Rameswaram. Ravana is believed as a great grandson of Brahma, and also is a son of Brahmin. According to ancient Holy Scriptures because of killing a Brahmin, Rama got a sin called Brahmahathi dhosha (sin of killing a Brahmin). As advised by Saint Agashthya Rama decided to install a Shiva lingam on the shore of Rameswaram and perform the rituals mentioned by saint to wash off the Brahmahathi dosha,. The auspicious time for performing the rituals was fixed, Rama sent Hanuman to The Mount Kailas to fetch a Shiva Lingam. The time moved on, the auspicious time for the installation of lingam was getting nearer, but Hanuman could not reach. In the mean time Sita made a Shiva Lingam out of the sand with her hand, as the fixed time reached, as per saint Agashthiya’s advice Rama performed the rituals with the said sand lingam built by Sita. Pooja could be performed within the stipulated time. After the completion of the rituals Hanuman returned from Kailash with two Lingams and was disappointed that the ceremony was already complete. In anger, he tried to uproot the sand Lingam with his tail, but he couldn’t succeed, He fell in the ground with his tail broken. The place he fell in the ground is called as Hanuma kund, the idol named “Abhaya Anjaneya” was installed there. Rama pacified Hanuman and installed a Lingam brought from Kailas to the left of Ramalinga, and ordered that all pujas to be first performed for this Lingam, called Vishwalinga. This priority in puja is followed till today. The second lingam brought by Hanuman installed near the Hanuman Temple inside the temple and referred by the name “Athma lingam”. Thus, the temple and the island of Rameswaram have acquired this name because Lord Rama worshipped Lord Shiva there.
History
The temple is one of the most famous pilgrimage sites with several historical references. If we explore little deep in the sands of time of the history of Rameswaram Temple we reach the epic Ramayana written by the sage Valmiki, There is controversy regarding the age of Ramayana.. Scientific dating of Ramayana by scholars revealed that Rama came to Rameswaram and worshipped Shiva (Ramanathasamy) by 7292 BC. But there is no clear evidence which deciphers the exact timing of the Rama’s arrival at Rameswaram and the establishment of Shiva lingam by him. By the help of notes found in some Vedas and puranas (ancient religious books) one can note that Rameswaram was named as “Gandhamadhanam” in the ancient time. With the help of historical evidences it is known that Rameswaram was ruled under the various dynasties viz. (i) Pandya kingdom ( till the 9th century CE); (ii) Chola kingdom (1012 to 1040 CE); (iii) Jaffna kingdom (1153 – 1186 CE); (iv) Pandya kingdom (1253 – 1268 CE); (v) Vijayanagara kingdom (Madurai Nayaks) (13th –17th century) and (vi) Sethupathis. Historical evidences indicated that various types of right hand conches and pearls (white, black and brown) used to be exported to different countries like China, Arab, Java, Sumitra, Egypt, Rome etc. during the period of Pandya and Chola kingdoms. Then Rameswaram acted as an important harbour. Cholas and Pandyas contributed in the development of Rameswaram temple. The Sethupathi kings were the major contributors in the construction of Rameswaram Temple. The Maratha kings who ruled Thanjavur established resthousesthroughout Mayiladuthurai and Rameswaram between 1745 and 1837 CE and donated them to the temple. Moolavar (Ramanathaswamy) sannathi Arvatha Varthini Ambal sannathi; Kasi Vishwanathar Sannathi; and Visalatchi Sannathi were constructed during this period. In 1404 CE Harihara – II of Vijayanagara dynasty inaugurated the works of second corridor and in 16thcentury its eastern part was built by Thirumalai Sethupathi. Later Udaiyaan Sethupathi with the help of Srilankan (Tamil) king Pararajasekara Aryasakravarthy in 1414 CE renovated the Ramanathaswamy temple by obtaining granite stones from Srilankan mountains in Thirikonamalai. The great Nandhi statue of 17 feet height and 12 feet width in front of lord Shiva was built by Chinna Udaiyaan Kattathevar. The front pavilion of the Ambaal sannathi was built by Ravi Vijaya Regunatha Sethupathi. The 78 feet height west gate tower and the outer walls were built by 1434 CE with the help of donations from a devotee. In the year 1722 Vijaya Regunatha Sethupathi laid the foundation stone for the outermost third corridor which was later carried out by Chellamuthu Vijaya Regunatha Sethupathi and completed by 1772 in the rule of Muthuramalinga Vijaya Regunatha Sethupathi.
Till the 10th century Rameswaram temple was in a small thatched shed and maintained under a saint. The structural constructions of the temple as we see now, mainly evolved between 12th and 16th century. There are many sannathis (small temples) inside the Ramathaswamy temple. Main 5 sannathis namely (a) Naleswarar ; (b) Neeleswarar (c) Kavayeswarar ; (d) Bapa Paksheshwarar and (e) Punya Thaaneswarar were constructed by Paranthaka Chola and Raja Raja Chola during 10th and 11th centuries. Srilankan king Parakramabahu built some sannathis inside the temple and the first corridor during the end of 12thcentury. Between 1897 and 1904, the Alar family of Devakottai completed the imposing eastern tower of nine tiers 126 feet in height. Between 1907 and 1925 they renovated the sanctum sanctorum and the inner most corridor by replacing the lime stones by black granite with adequate light and ventilation provision and arranged for the Kumbabishekam in 1925. On four occasions Kumbabishekam took place (27th February 1947, 5th February 1975, 5th February 2001 and 5th February 2007.
Architecturally famous third corridor: Rameswaram temple, spread over an area of 15 acres, has lofty gopurams, massive walls and a colossal Nandi. Rameswaram also has 4000 feet long pillared corridor the longest in the world. This temple is excellent model of Dravidian architecture. Inner wall paintings are fabulous. The carved granite pillars are mounted on a raised platform. The unique aspect about this corridor is that the rock is not indigenous to the island and it was brought in from elsewhere in Tamil Nadu across the sea. The Eastern Rajagopuram tower has a height of 126 feet with nine levels. The image of Nandi is about 18 feet tall and 22 feet in length.
The outer wing of the corridor from East to West is 690 feet, north to South 435 feet. In case of inner wing the East to West length is 649 feet and North to South 395 feet. The corridor’s height is 22feet and 7 ½ inches and there are 1212 pillars.
Architectural marvels on the walls and pillars of temple corridors
Twenty Two Wells: Ramanathswamy Temple has twenty two Theerthams (wells) recognized with distinct properties like different taste, temperature, salinity and have curative properties as well. Devotees take bath by drawing water from the wells before they proceed to have Ramanathswamy dashan. It is said that these wells were made by Rama by firing arrows in the sand. The wells are as follows (1) Mahalakshmi Theertham, (2) Savithri Theertham, (3) Gayathri Theertham, (4) Saraswathi Theertham, (5) Sethu Madhava Theertham, (6)GandhamadanaTheertham, (7) kavatcha Theertham, (8) Gavaya Theertham, (9) Nala Theertham, (10) Neela Theertham, (11) Sanku Theertham, (12) Sakkara Theertham, (13) Brahmahathi Vimochana Theertham, (14) Sooriya Theertham, (15)Chandra Theertham, (16) Ganga Theertham, (17) Yamuna Theertham, (18)Gaya Theertham, (19)Siva Theertham, (20) Sadyamirtha Theertham, (21) Sarva Theertham and (22) Kodi Theertham.
Two wells inside Rameswaram temple
Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda is a retired Civil Servant and former Judge in the Central Administrative Tribunal. He belongs to the 1972 batch of IAS in Tamil Nadu Cadre where he held many important assignments including long spells heading the departments of Education, Agriculture and Rural Development. He retired from the Government of India as Secretary, Ministry of Heavy Industries and Public Enterprises in 2008 and worked in CAT Principal Bench in Delhi for the next five years. He is the Founder MD of OMFED. He had earned an excellent reputation as an efficient and result oriented officer during his illustrious career in civil service.
Dr. Panda lives in Bhubaneswar. A Ph. D. in Economics, he spends his time in scholarly pursuits, particularly in the fields of Spiritualism and Indian Cultural Heritage. He is a regular contributor to the Odia magazine Saswata Bharat and the English paper Economic and Political Daily.
GOD'S WILL
Prof. Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo
In the morning hours one of my faculty members just joined her duties after performing all the rituals of her late father in law. Today was the 14th day of his sorrowful demise . We had a chat for a few minutes. She was looking very tired and exhausted. The evergreen smile was missing and the glow had faded from her face. She told, " I am going Sir, let me have a few hours sleep. For last one month I had hardly slept." But Alas; destiny had something else for her. Who knew in the afternoon she had to again proceed to Berhampur to face another tragedy?
To my utter surprise I got a phone call from her at about 4pm. "Sir. All of them, one after another, left me. Now I am proceeding to Berhampur to attend the funeral of my mother-in-law".
Before bidding farewell she narrated the condition of her mother-in-law, who had been bedridden, mobile on wheel chair, very much choosey, only allowing selected persons to touch her. To add insult to injury she was too much overweight. She also had dementia (loss of memory). Sometimes forgetting her husband wad dead , she used to call out to him to watch TV, to take a cup of tea or reminded him to take his medicines, so on and so forth. Next moment she would cry for him , "Why did you become so selfish , left me alone here? Take me soon so that I can take care of you".
For her a paid skilled nurse had been arranged . She was to be moved to Berhampur next day when she breathed her last. I was very much shocked to see the game of God.
I could not believe myself. I thought most probably God was testing my colleague's patience. I was also in doubt if she could have found time to take rest in that afternoon, for which I had given her permission.
Four days back one of her uncles, who was very close to her and looked after her as his own daughter from her very childhood, had passed away.
She had a terrible experience, attending to another uncle in the COVID ward and the horrible experience of attending his funeral in the cremation ground with COVID protocols. One who has experienced this can only know the true value of human life and how brutally the persons after death are treated. She had to tolerate that horrid situation.
PERHAPS FOR THIS REASON GAUTAM BUDDHA HAD RENOUNCED THE WORLD.
And this was not the end of her story. To start with, her series of tragedies began about one month back when after a prolonged illness her father had breathed his last. Following that
within a short span of one month she had lost five of her close relatives.
She thinks that since they are contemporary in age their attachment must have been very intimate. They must have planned since long to go on a voyage in search of peace. So together they might have booked their tickets for the final journey, might be in different spacecrafts.
We pray and hope, their stay in their Heavenly Abode will be smooth and peaceful.
This journey together contradicts our age old belief, "You have come alone and will go alone."
When she was narrating her experience she almost broke down.
I simply patted her back and told, "My child! It is God 's will. Accept it and respect it. God never does wrong. Probably He has more joyous, beautiful and bright pleasurable future to offer you".
MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.
Prof Gangadhar Sahoo is a well-known Gynaecologist. He is a columnist and an astute Academician. He was the Professor and HOD of O&G Department of VSS MEDICAL COLLEGE, Burla.He is at present occupying the prestigious post of DEAN, IMS & SUM HOSPITAL, BHUBANESWAR and the National Vice President of ISOPARB (INDIAN SOCIETY OF PERINATOLOGY AND REPRODUCTIVE BIOLOGY). He has been awarded the BEST TEACHER AWARD of VSS MEDICAL COLLEGE,BURLA in 2013. He has contributed CHAPTERS in 13 books and more than 100 Scientific Articles in State, National and International Journals of high repute. He is a National Faculty in National Level and delivered more than 200 Lectures in Scientific Conventions.He was adjudged the BEST NATIONAL SPEAKER in ISOPARB NATIONAL CONVENTION in 2016..
I am the ocean
Let me remain quiet
Whatever may be
The condition,
Tsunami or cyclone
Is not my concern.
Never judge me
By the violent waves,
Underneath,
I am in deep meditation.
May the rivers
Not affect my behavior
With mud or sweet water
I am happy and contented
With my inherent character.
Look deep inside
Peeping into my heart
Beyond the turmoil;
I am in eternal peace
Despite the confusion.
I am soft and tender
Ready to accept
Everyone into my hold
Whoever wishes to surrender.
Don’t go by my immensity
I can easily reside
Inside any heart,
As small as that of an ant.
To some, I may look
To be the entire universe
But for people who love
I am just a thought.
"Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura passed out from BITS, Pilani as a Mechanical Engineer and is serving in a PSU, Oil Marketing Company for last 3 decades. He has done his MBA in Marketing from IGNOU and subsequently the PhD from Sagaur Central University in Marketing. In spite of his official engagements, he writes both in Odia and English and follows his passion in singing and music. He has already published three books on collections of poems in Odia i.e. “Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” & “Niraba Pathika”, and two books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” and “The Mystic is in Love “. His poems have been published in many national/ international magazines and in on-line publications. He has also published a non-fiction titled “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. His books are available both in Amazon & Flipkart.". Dr Behura welcomes readers' feedback on his email - bkbehura@gmail.com
KANAKA'S MUSINGS 16: INDEPENDENCE
She lived on the other side of the hill. There was a small stream that separated their hill from Kanaka's. She was almost 80 years old, a tall, gaunt woman. She had a dazzling smile too. She would go out in the morning with her sickle to cut grass for her cows as well as for her neighbours. including Kanaka's father's. By 10 o' clock the grass would be brought down to the shallowest part of the stream where it would be put to wash. Kanaka would hang out in the verandah looking out for ammumma ( grandma). As soon as she saw her she would dash to the kitchen tell her amma and waltz down the hillside to the stream. Ammumma would greet her with a dazzling smile that wreathed her face with wrinkles. She too loved this loving girl with her long tresses plaited into two who found time in spite of her studies and work in her father's farm, for people like her. When even her own grandchildren or for that matter her own hardly spared time to listen to her. There were days she wondered whether she had a voice of her own. And in despair she would speak aloud all her sorrows ending with a prayer. "My Lord take me soon to your abode. I am tired".
Even her paattie ( granny) used to say that prayer even though Kanaka and her siblings were always swarming around her. The three girls slept in the same room with pattie after she became too weak to move around. That was an arrangement Kanaka's mother had made. So that at least one would be there constantly to attend to paattie's needs. When they went to college it was Padma, their maid's duty, to tend to the needs of their pattie who had now become withdrawn. Paattie who was a repertoire of stories who could spin yarn after yarn keeping the children enthralled. But now in her 90- ies her mind had started wandering. She talked to herself a lot and to somebody invisible to whom she would be in serious conversation. Almost one sided it was! Paattie would be narrating and then a pause as if she were listening and then continue with an answer or a question.
Once Kanaka who was reading a book on her bed got up and asked Pattie to whom she was speaking.
" Mackalae (little one) I am talking to your thaatha "
( grandfather) and she pointed towards the open window. Kanaka went and looked out, only the nandiarvattom, in full bloom, was nodding her head in the breeze. Puzzled she told her
"No one is out there Paattie."
" Yes, both of them are there, your thaatha and Bennet."
Bennet was her eldest son who had died in his twenties which made her a prey to depression, her amma had told her. Kanaka also understood now, why Paattie never allowed them to shut the window. She adamantly believed both her husband and her son were outside and would come to visit her any time so she waited expectantly looking out through the window.
Kanaka would shake her head as she did not have the heart to dissuade her from her belief that kept her going on. What a change! Paattie who was so sprightly, always busy collecting mangoes, chashew fruits, jackfruit and making delicious eatables for them. Or chewing her beetle while they sat at her feet waiting for her to finish it and resume the story she was narrating. Amma used to say that she could go to her office with peace of mind because she had Paattie to look after her children though they had maids to work in the kitchen and for outside work. Paattie who was so independent in everything, was now like a child in her dependency. Sometimes she would be chuckling to herself or sit gloomily, brooding over something or other or indulging in endless monologues to those invisible listeners. It pained her. Paattie was her main stay. Her father used to say she was the exact replica of Paattie and she was proud of the fact that she resembled a lady whom she adored.
Maybe this withdrawal of Paattie into a world of her own had made Kanaka to look around her at other old women in her neighbourhood and that was how she found ammumma One day while returning from college. Ammumma was cutting grass with her sickle. Seeing Kanaka she gave a dazzling smile .That was magical.
Kanaka fell for her.
"Ammumma where are you staying?" she had asked.
She pointed to the house on the hill top. That was the house of 'palmama' who had a small tea shop in the junction and who was also her father's farm help.
"I am his mother",
"I have never seen you before".
"I have come back to my eldest son. I was staying with my youngest and when Mani came to visit me I came over".
"I don' t come to this side, I cut grass from the otherside of the hill but there is no grass there now. Here it is thick and lushy because of the fields and the stream so from yesterday onwards I decided to cut from here." That is how they started their friendship. She hated to sit idle at home, she had been working all her life that was why she had come to gather grass for her son's cows. Soon she was cutting grass for them too.
Kanaka was full of admiration for her. She was independent, earned her living, by cutting grass for the cattle. A woman of resolution who knew what she wanted from life. Though her life had been a tough one with their income coming from farming she was proud of the fact that she had supplemented the family income by converting paddy into rice and walking a long distance of six miles to the main market to sell. She would carry the sack of rice on her head, she had nothing to be disgruntled. Whatever she said had a touch of positivity. When her sons grew into hefty farm hands and took wives her load decreased and she had to attend only to her husband who had become frail and weak. When he passed away she spent her days in her home. As all her sons stayed within walking distance she would go to each one in turn especially at the time of harvest. Now she was too weak for heavy jobs so helped them with cutting grass for their cows. Kanaka was reminded of Wordsworth's poem "The Leech Gatherer or Resolution and Independence" whenever she met her. She was rather an inspiration for Kanaka who learned from her to live an enriched life with whatever life granted her.
Ammumma would tell her to sit on the bank while she washed the grass. But Kanaka would splash into the stream and imitate ammumma and help her wash off all the mud from the grass. And ammumma in return would regale her with her own stories. It soon became a routine on saturdays and sundays. Just like Kanaka found time to be with ammumma, she too waited impatiently for the bubbly young girl who patiently listened to her chatter. It was a pleasure because she could re- live her exciting past. It made her extremely happy. Here was someone who loved her and made her happy. These happy weekends lasted until Kanaka left to join as a junior lecturer far away from her homeland.
Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.
Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony
On days she fasts
He becomes hunger
At feasts
He is her fever
A blocked nose
Banning the aroma
From Kindling her taste buds
When she looks for sunshine
He is the downpour
At her moonlit terrace
He is the absent breeze
Her beloved enemy
Mischievous shadow
Hide and seek players
Poles apart are them
Yet
Tears shed
Storms faced
Never alone...
Always
Under
The umbrella of love
Shouldering in turbulent moments
Each other's
Ventilated home...
Mollycoddling
Mutual quilts
Gifting warmth
Fighting
In such endearment
Laughing
Crying
And
Gazing
Together
Sipping silences
Observing life
Absorbing love
As
Amalgamated souls.
A curtain of soft mist
Swaying gently
Hiding the vast emerald art
With every step forward
The curtain moves back, drawn wider...
Carefully feeling the tea leaves
Not to break the dewdrop kisses
She collected the scents of lush green
To inhale, a brand new air
Winding roads, blushing blossoms
Purple petals, golden smiles, milky falls
Untrodden paths, unfamiliar trails...
Upon the scaffolding of mist
She climbs nonchalantly
Trying to pull a faraway sunshine
And fill her woods with Komorebi
To light her solitude...
She kept walking
Around the pristine paradise
Tattooing art on her soul
Her blood, tasting the colors beyond red
He paints relentlessly
And hides when she walks into the gallery
Perfumed by silence...
The roads are plenty, to reach Him
Yet, she loved the waiting
Smirked at the calendar, the universe had...
Curtains keep swaying
The unseen is a succulent mystery
Yet art binds the hearts, dissolving the distance...
Madhumathi is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry(English and Tamil), Photography, and Music, Madhumathi believes writing is a soulful journey of weaving one's emotions and thoughts, having a kaleidoscopic view of life through poetry. She experiences Metamorphosis through writing. Nature is her eternal muse and elixir. Poetry, to Madhumathi, is a way of life, and loves to leave heartprints behind in gratitude, through her words. She strongly believes in the therapeutic power of words, that plant love, hope, and enable a deep healing. Madhumathi loves to spread mental health awareness through writing, breaking the stigma, and takes part in related activities, too.
Madhumathi's poems are published with the Poetry Society India in their AIPC anthologies 2015, 16, and 17, the multilingual anthology 'Poetic Prism' 2015(Tamil and English), Chennai Poets' Circle's 'Efflorescence' 2018, 2019, India Poetry Circle's 'Madras Hues Myriad Views'(2019) celebrating the spirit and glory of Madras, in the UGC approved e-journal Muse India, in IWJ-International Writers' Journal (2020), and e- zines Our Poetry Archive(OPA), and Storizen.
Blog for Madhumathi's Poems :https://multicoloredmoon.wordpress.com/, http://mazhaimozhimounam.blogspot.com/?m=1
I often hear
what you could never say
I understand the unsaid
I walk into your silence
I love the layers of your thoughts
which are hidden thoughtfully
from me with so much care
love is beautiful when expressed
oh It is magical when not expressed
your lit up eyes say more than you can
words don't come to your rescue
they are only mine
and when you touch my soul
in your thoughts
almost immediately
my soul is moist with morning dew
I smile to myself then
your secrets are revealed after all
I often hear
what you could never say
I understand the unsaid
I walk into your silence.
You crossed my path
when I was in a dark tunnel,
alien surroundings
your compassion
touched my core
I gathered courage to
accept the crisis
reflect and
slow down and see
what I never saw
learned to surrender myself
to the storm that is life
go by the flow
empty myself completely
start a fresh bit by bit
nothing made sense to me
in the beginning
I was lost to the world
but my soul started growing
silently you made me feel
you were still holding my hand
I transcended
I took the leap of faith
it seems so real
not a dream
my soul mate
you are light
you crossed my path
when I was in a dark tunnel.
Sangeeta Gupta, a highly acclaimed poet, artist and film maker, also served as a top bureaucrat as an IRS Officer, recently retired as chief commissioner of income tax. She also worked as Advisor (finance & administration) to Lalit Kala Akademi, National Akademi of visual arts.
She has to her credit 35solo exhibitions of paintings, 20 published books, has directed, scripted and shot 7 documentary films.
She is a bilingual poet and has twelve anthologies of poems in Hindi and three in English to her credit. Weaves of Time, Ekam, Song of Silence are collection of poems in English. Pratinaad,Mussavir ka Khayal (2018 ) and Roshani ka Safar (2019) are her books of poems and drawings/paintings.
Song of the Cosmos is her creative biography.
9 of her poetry collections are translated in Greek,German, Mandarin, English ,Urdu, Bangla and Dogri. She is based in Delhi,India.
The incessant ringing shook her from her reverie. The days seemed to be packed into intervals between these reminders summoning her help. Muttering under her breath, Priya made her way to the next room.The emaciated hands, the drawn face that gazed at her and the faintly antiseptic smell that pervaded the room unnerved her.
Incomprehensible sounds spurted from his lips. As her trained ears deciphered it as water, he raised his left thumb slowly to his lips in a gesture of thirst as if to augment his request. She poured a few sips into the open mouth and slowly retreated. Priya gazed at her father in law in exasperation tinged with sadness and concern .
The strident notes of the bell intruded into her daily routine every now and then. It followed her everywhere, to the kitchen ,
living room, through her siesta at noon, right to when she planned a leisurely bath. Changing diapers, feeding, giving medicines, day after day, week after week .
She missed her work, the peals of laughter and the eager faces of her students. There was just this monotonous household routine interspersed with the ringing of the bell …..
She had been unwell now for the past two days . Fever, headache and a tinge of cough. All of a sudden, a leaden tiredness swept over her. She managed to make a phone call to Rajeev. The next few hours passed in a trice. After a series of tests and a nasal swab, she was diagnosed with the malady of the season and swept away into a private Covid 19 treatment facility.
“ Rajeev, what about you and dad ? “
“Tested negative, we will manage dear “. Rajeev appeared overwhelmed by the turn of events .
The first few days were a blur. Doctors and nurses in PPE kits came to check on her, daily medications were administered and the oxygen saturation measured.
“ Sister, how much longer ?” The query came out a trifle hoarse and breathless.
Indecipherable nods filtered across the nurse’s mask and she politely left the room.
Kaleidoscopic images flashed across her closed eyes. Her earliest childhood memories in a remote village in Andhra Pradesh….The jingling bells of the cattle walking by on the mud road adjacent to her house….The loud insistent ringing of the school bell as she rushed panting to her classes.The welcome ringing of the cycle bell… the ice cream vendor with a variety of flavours. Much later, the bell that summoned her to the dinner table in the cold hostile interiors of her uncle’s house, a constant reminder that her parents were no more. A few years down the line, the tinkling of the temple bells in the distance as Rajeev and she were united in wedlock in a simple function, the gentle benevolent smile of his dad remaining etched in her memory.
Still later, the school bell ringing again, this time in a different school, in a different state, in a different capacity as a teacher. Of late, the periodic harsh notes of the bell constantly reminding her that dad needed care and attention, filling her with exasperation, helplessness and despair. She just wanted the bell to stop ringing but quietude eluded her .
As Covid slowly released it’s tentacles, Priya gazed all around. The distinctive hospital odours and the utilitarian furnishing of the room added to her sudden discomfiture.
“ Priya, make yourself at home. You are my daughter, not my son’s wife. Never hesitate to voice even your smallest concern.” She remembered dad’s kind words in the early years of her marriage .
Hours on end spent in the garden helping him to trim bushes and plant his favourite lilies. The years slipped by. The saplings in the garden grew into trees bearing flowers and fruits, but Rajeev and she slowly realised that no little hand would clasp theirs in the journey of life. Her brothers in law married and their brides and children added life and numbers to the mansion. After her mother in law, a considerable force to reckon with, passed away, the families drifted apart. One morning , she found dad lying motionless, face contorted and body paralysed.
“ Home nurses are costly and what if they strangle us for money and jewels ?” Rajeev sounded strangely impervious to her professional dreams.
She left her job and devoted herself to dad’s care. Rajeev seemed relieved for the moment .
Father’s rapidly declining health was a concern in the early years . Of late, it hardly seemed to matter. Everyone had moved on. The ringing of the bell became more frequent ….
All of a sudden, the room seemed to blur and she couldn’t hold back her tears. Dad had been so good to her. Had she really reciprocated ? Beyond material comforts, he needed understanding . Someone to be indulgent to him and talk to him a while . Every year, Santhosh and Anil , Rajeev’s brothers, would arrive from the USA with loads of gifts. Dad would look at them and nod faintly and they would politely nod back and leave the room. Priya would discretely join them and air her complaints in a bid to rally their support.
Wiping away her tears, she resolved to improve things . After all, a kind man in the twilight of his life deserved all care.
The weeks passed. When Rajeev told her things were fine at home, she hardly believed him. She knew he would hardly lift a finger to do the household chores leave alone take care of his dad.
Back home after discharge, she rushed to dad’s room. One look at the empty cot and the bell placed neatly next to it, she clutched Rajeev’s hand .
“Dad …..”It was both a question and a wail.
“ We took a decision, Priya. He had been placed in “Karunya” , the old age home in town the past three weeks since I couldn’t manage him with my schedule and you in hospital. They charge a fortune but deliver state of the art care. Santhosh and Anil have opined that he continues there and that they will take care of the expenses . Aren’t you feeling relieved dear ? You could even consider taking up a job now “ said Rajeev.
A strange emptiness swept over her . She kept gazing at the bell just hoping it would ring again.
(This short story has won a prize in the state level IMA literary competitions this year.)
Dr. Rema Krishnakumar is working as a Senior Consultant Gastroenterologist at Moulana Hospital, Perinthalmanna, Malappuram District. After completing MBBS and MD in Pediatrics from Calicut Medical College, completed DM Gastroenterology from Madras Medical College and have been a Practising Gastroenterologist for past 11years..
Had secured prizes in Poetry and short story in state Intermedicos competitions during undergraduate days and thereafter after a long period of dormancy her PG and Superspeciality days, rekindling her interests in the past couple of years and write off and on...Indian Medical Association, Perinthalmanna has a newsletter, a modest one and have the good fortune of doing its editorial work, past year.
(Translated from Malayalam by Sreekumar K)
"Enough dad, enough stories for tonight. I am feeling so sleepy. Let the bear too go to bed."
His daughter pressed her head on his left shoulder and laid her left hand on his chest. She tripped happily into her sleep in no time.
Very lightly, he patted her back with his left hand and watched her eyeballs chasing her dreams veiled by her eyelids.
Beyond the sleepless tea groves, a bear flung a grunt into the air.
Or, was it a growl he ejaculated?
He cocked his ears to listen to the noises from outside his house. Then he dived into himself and discerned a nameless shape lurking deep in there. His mind wanted to christen it a bear but he was sure it was no animal on its nocturnal stalking routine in deep forests.
Shrouded in primordial darkness and reeking a putrid stench, a shapeless form entered his mind too and permeated it, a shocking sensation. Its eyes were deeper than 'the dark backward and abysm of time' and possessed an unpredictability as to what they might fall on and what the animal might pounce on. It looked beautiful and weird at once,
He identified it and called it a bear. The name smacked of a genetic relation.
During his school days, when he was doggedly pursuing his studies, a bear lumbered in along the dreary pathways of unbearable boredom. Before he could ward it off, it took him on a ride down the wild path to the grippingly seductive and deeply enchanting beauty of a brave new world. .
The golden valleys, silky meadows in eternal goosebumps, subtle oozes coming from deep within and a blue veined planet flaunting an uneven landscape.
As he watched it like a windhover up in the sky, he knew he was about to swoop down on his classmate Rajani's imagined nudity.
The bear which had vanished in a landslide of thoughts, scampered back only now, its distant roar making its presence felt wey before it could be spied.
He roused himself up and tried to get off the bed.
"Dad!"
Disturbed in her sleep, his daughter, slid closer to him as if he was her vanishing dream. Her bearhug restricted all his movements. As usual, she dragged her left leg onto his thighs, and slid deeper into sleep.
First he moved her luxurious hair aside, softly yanked her away from his chest with his sturdy right hand and then placed her head carefully on the pillow. He drew the woolen blanket over her anklet-adorned feet and her bangled slender hands. Then, very quietly like a timid burglar, he planted a kiss on her forehead.
Before he switched off the light, he bade good night to his wife's photograph on the night stand. The fragrance wafting from the jasmine which his daughter had offered to her mother in the photograph hung in the air like chill in the air.
"Good morning, dad!"
"Morning! If there is no school, you have no problem getting up early, right?"
She was showering jasmine flowers on the picture on the nightstand.
"Dad, your tea is here!"
He lost his cool when he saw on the nightstand a cup of tea his daughter had prepared for him.
"Haven't I told you several times not to light the gas stove? Couldn't you wait till Janu Amma came?"
"Dad, today is her off day. She won't be coming."
Looking forward to enjoying the inactivity of the holiday, he took the cup of tea and went to the front of the house. His daughter's friends in the flower pots tossed their heads at him, acknowledging his presence.
She herself came out to collect flowers from the jasmine shrubs.
He tried to stop her.
"Hey, why do you want to do that? Isn't it better to leave them on the plant?"
"I want to make a big big garlands for my mother today."
Heaving a sigh, he thought of how his wife came into his life with the fragrance of jasmine flowers around her and how, accompanied by flowers, she took her last journey and hid herself behind a framed picture.
He got up from the front of the chair in the courtyard.
"Come, come in. So, Janu amma will not turn up today. We need to cook our own breakfast. Come and help me."
He started kneading the dough and asked his daughter to chop the vegetables.
Intrigued by how she takes after her mother in hurrying with the kitchen chores, he went back to his memories.
"Dad, your eyes are twinkling. You thought about my mom, right?"
He made her huddle close to him.
"Now that you have learnt to do all this, you should do it on your own. You should sleep alone too."
Her face fell. She marched out of the kitchen, stamping her feet.
He laid the table for breakfast and went to take his bath. Even when he came back, his daughter had not had her breakfast. He looked for her and found her in the bedroom. He felt heartbroken to see her in tears.
" Hey, what happened?"
Lifting her face in his hands, he looked behind her and found blood stains on the bed cover.
She looked like a burnt cat.
He wished Janu amma had turned up.
After giving her supper, and putting her to sleep in another room, he went to his bedroom and looked pleadingly at his wife's picture.
The tea plantations were getting drenched in moonlight then.
He switched off the light.
He was awakened by the warmth of a cheek on his left cheek, and an endearing coldness of a rather slender arm on his chest.
"Dad, I am scared to sleep alone. Grizzly bears in my nightmares scare me."
He let her lie close to him and patted her on her back till she was sound asleep.
His ears picked up the wild roar of a grizzly bear on its nocturnal routines beyond the tea groves.
He got up with a shudder, opened the windows and listened.
Now the roars were loud and clear.
He kissed the little girl, locked the door and came out.
He was determined to hunt down the bear in the dark.
When her dad's warmth was not there anymore, the little girl woke up and looked for him all over the house.
She wondered what stood beyond the firmly closed doors. At dawn, several people came and consoled her that her father would come back.
Before they returned they insisted that she should lock the doors.
It puzzled her since it was the bears in her nightmares that she was scared of.
Within the safety of the locked doors, the little girl waited for her father.
Ramesh Babu, the grandson of Vadappuram P.K. Bava (founder of the first trade union in Kerala), is a prominent writer of flash fiction and short stories. He has brought out two collections of short stories too. ‘Sayanthanathinte Padavukal,’ a documentary which he wrote won the national award for the best social welfare film. At present he is with Janayugam, a Malayalam daily.
Hunger,
the pulling force
through
aeons and ages..
the primitive
zest to exist,
survive
the tumults
of time..
here I
stand at
midpoint
of the present
equidistant
from the
fading past
and
vague, flickering
future..
minute by minute
crumbles...
the mundane
repeats of
hunger,
satiation
struggle..
God!
what all faces!
the young
Migori tribal
teenage mother
with a
baby in womb,
two other kids
clinging to her..
hungry
birdmouths
clamouring
for food...
the pallid
faces of
the fleeing
exiles
barefoot,
braving
heat and
cold
in search
of a safe
world
shimmering
on shores
so vague...
all to appease
hunger..
for basic
sustenance...
while the
problem of
plenty
heaps up
as waste
on the other side
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).
BLISSFUL MOMENTS...(MICRO POEMS)
star from the heart
emerges
dazzling brightness
...
live streaming
sunrise
on horizon
...
fleeting glance
elevates
heart longs for more
......
sun kissed palms
gentle wind
sashays in
.....
Hema Ravi is a freelance trainer for IELTS and Communicative English. Her poetic publications include haiku, tanka, free verse and metrical verses. Her write ups have been published in the Hindu, New Indian Express, Femina, Woman's Era, and several online and print journals; a few haiku and form poems have been prize winners. She is a permanent contributor to the 'Destine Literare' (Canada). She is the author of ‘Everyday English,’ ‘Write Right Handwriting Series1,2,3,’ co-author of Sing Along Indian Rhymes’ and ‘Everyday Hindi.’ Her "Everyday English with Hema," a series of English lessons are broadcast by the Kalpakkam Community Radio.
Ravi N is a Retired IT Professional (CMC Limted/Tata Consultancy Services ,Chennai). During his professional career spanning 35 odd years he had handled IT Projects of national Importance like Indian Railways Passenger Reservation system, Finger Print Criminal Tracking System (Chennai Police),IT Infrastructure Manangement for Nationalized Banks etc. Post retirement in December 2015, he has been spending time pursuing interests close to his heart-Indian Culture and Spirituality, listening to Indian and Western Classical Music, besides taking up Photography as a hobby. He revels in nature walks, bird watching and nature photography.
He loves to share his knowledge and experience with others.
Dr. Aniamma Kuriakose (Joseph)
Why do you long, my heart,
For things visionary and unreal?
Why do you dream, my feeler,
For a will-o’-the wisp?
I never knew you hid
A sea of desires in you
How could I never know
A fathomless ocean, concealed?
A sea within a pool, a current
Strong beneath the stagnant tranquillity
How could I feel, act, react
Enough to feel the pricks on my soul?
Your vagaries marvel me,
Too delicate not to feel hurt
Had I but a heart shallow
Too numbed to be moved!
Aniamma Joseph is a bilingual writer. She writes short stories, poems, articles, plays etc. in English and Malayalam. She started writing in her school classes, continued with College Magazines, Dailies and a few magazines. She has written and published two novels in Malayalam Ee Thuruthil Njan Thaniye—1985 and 2018 and Ardhavrutham--1996; one book of essays in Malayalam Sthree Chintakal: Vykthi, Kudumbam, Samuham--2016; a Non-fiction (translation in English) Winning Lessons from Failures(to be published); a Novel (translation in English )Seven Nights of Panchali(2019); a book of poems in English(Hailstones in My Palms--2019).
In 1985, she won Kesari Award from a leading Publisher DC Books, Kottayam for her first novel Ee Thuruthil Njan Thaniye. She worked in the departments of English in Catholicate College, Pathanamthitta; B.K.College Amalagiri, Kottayam and Girideepam Institute of Advanced Learning, Vadavathoor, Kottayam . Retired as Reader and Head of the Department of English from B.K.College. She obtained her PhD from Mahatma Gandhi University, Kerala in American Literature. She presented a paper at Lincoln University, Nebraska in USA in 2005.
She is the Founder President of Aksharasthree: The Literary Woman, a literary organisation for women and girls interested in Malayalam and English Literature, based at Kottayam, Kerala. It was her dream child and the Association has published 32 books of the members so far.
We relentlessly pray
Until our prayers are answered
Strengthening our faith in God.
We Continue to pray all the same
As a gesture of gratitude
For bearing pain with fortitude
How did the interview with the specialist go off? asked my husband as we were having dinner.
Well, I found him blowing his trumpet a little too much, I said.
Nothing unusual, I suppose, perhaps he wanted to impress you so that you would do a good story, said my husband.
On the other hand, I thought half of what he said may not be true, anyway, I 'll have to cross check, I said.
Like what? he asked.
He said he doesn't charge his patients a high fee like most in his profession and that he would offer free consultation to poor patients.
That means he must be really an altruist, wish more doctors emulated his example, observed my husband.
Also he claimed that he was one of those in his profession who had a sense of humour. It appears he has brought out a compilation of his own jokes and he was giving a free copy to his patients to read as he believed laughter was the best medicine.
Yes, I completely agree with him. He really seems to be an exception among his tribe, said my husband who appeared overawed by my description of the interviewee.
By the way, did he give a copy to you too? he wanted to know.
Yes, he did, but I didn't realise it was a bait.
Why, what happened?
Even as I thanked him, he extended a copy of another book he had written and asked me to pay for it.
What was that book about?
It was another compilation of his writings. He said it comprised different genres which again was rare to find among writers.
What he said next provoked me no end and I retaliated.
What did he say and what have you said? asked my husband with a worried expression.
He said it was distressing to see women writers confining themselves to womanly topics and to a single genre of writing and humour was not one of them.
I told him he was not only under a misapprehension but was ill-informed as well because there are bylines of writers of different genres including humour appearing in the media and new media and they happen to be of women.
I even added mischievously that one of them is into her 100th column in the last genre.
You know what he said to that which really proved that he was an MCP? I said.
He said I must be joking and if at all what I said was true, he thought the columnist has a ghost writer who he was sure must have been a man!
N. Meera Raghavendra Rao, a postgraduate in English literature, with a diploma in Journalism and Public Relations is a prolific writer having published more than 2000 contributions in various genres: interviews, humorous essays, travelogues, children’s stories, book reviews and letters to the editor in mainstream newspapers and magazines like The Hindu, Indian Express, Femina, Eve’s Weekly, Woman’s Era, Alive, Ability Foundation etc. Her poems have appeared in Anthologies. She particularly enjoys writing features revolving around life’s experiences and writing in a lighter vein, looking at the lighter side of life which makes us laugh at our own little foibles.
Interviews: Meera has interviewed several leading personalities over AIR and Television and was interviewed by a television channel and various mainstream newspapers and magazines. A write up about her appeared in Tiger Tales, an in house magazine of Tiger Airways ( jan -feb. issue 2012).
Travel: Meera travelled widely both in India and abroad.
Publication of Books: Meera has published ten books, both fiction and non-fiction so far which received a good press. She addressed students of Semester on Sea on a few occasions.
Meera’s husband, Dr. N. Raghavendra Rao writes for I GI GLOBAL , U.S.A.
They intrigue.
Despite the little life
left in them.
On a rail platform
a collective shy
roars at the noon.
In the metropolis, army
of millipedes scurry
in to a cavernous
hideout till daylight.
The clang and the clash,
the grind and the gnash
permeates the layers
of days and evenings.
Moving jungles of feet
on hot asphalt weave
a tapestry of shadows.
Shadows turn corner
on wet earth soaked
in the flow of years.
From the beginning
we stand face to face
with a harsh sun below
an unrelenting sky and
rummage for that mirror.
Abani Udgata ( b. 1956) completed Masters in Political Science from Utkal University in 1979. He joined SAIL as an Executive Trainee for two years. From SAIL he moved on to Reserve Bank of India in 1982. For nearly 34 years. he served in RBI in various capacities as a bank supervisor and regulator and retired as a Principal Chief General Manager in December 2016. During this period, inter alia, he also served as a Member Secretary to important Committees set up by RBI, represented the Bank in international fora, framed policies for bank regulations etc.
Though he had a lifelong passion for literature, post- retirement he has concentrated on writing poetry. He has been awarded Special Commendation Prizes twice in 2017 and 2019 by the Poetry Society of India in all India poetry competitions and the prize winning poems have been anthologised. At present, he is engaged in translating some satirical Odia poems into English.
Roads run crazy at a square
Thus spoke, O’ Henry, the storyteller
I do give it a bit of my mind…
Being crazy a bane or boon!
Some do find fun in being crazier.
As I dwell on my petty career
A dead albatross set to drop off
My strangled neck in deep blue water
After thirty-six years the D day draws near
Redeeming a repulsive vibe of a fake chair
A stoic indifference descends
In royal grace to forget, forbear
The backstabbing sardonic maneuver
To assuage a grudge, to find a cure
For pet envy and mercurial temper
A sobbing heart in a quick fix
Clang to a story, “the ledger”
Too artistically woven by a mentor
Let not time write an epitaph
For me as a sadist, a tormentor.
Hark! O my arrogant dear
Time never flouts procedure
Nor would be driven by whims
As a crusader, a lawgiver
To make you pay in copious tear.
As tourists we are here
Life turns chapter after chapter
Some comic, some tragic
But finally settles the matter
Buries the winner and the loser
Born on 14th August 1960, Shri Mishra is a post-graduate in English Literature and has a good number of published poems/articles both in Odiya and English. He was a regular contributor of articles and poems to the English daily, 'Sun Times' published from Bhubaneswar during '90s. As the associate editor of the Odiya literary magazine Sparsha, Mishra's poems, shared mostly now in his facebook account are liked by many
From some mystified
realms
you descend
on wings of light
and rattle awareness
in rhythms and images
as one floats in endless voids,
form an emotional
response
through sounds, words.
You germinate
on soils of mind,
some fertile,
some indifferent,
lengthen your form
through flights
of fancy,
birds perch
on your silver
boughs,
sing different tunes sometimes.
You bind
space and time
to a distinct whole
and live on hallowed surface
among winds and stars,
create abundant
discontent
in the minds of
your creator.
Kindred souls
catch you radiate light
and pleasure,
you create
a better sphere.
Difficult to think of you,
jarring thoughts creep in,
jostle and nibble at me
in moments of leisure
which I have in full measure,
as their hapless prey.
As a child played with flowers,
opened my heart
to the winds,
talked to you
in moments of
deep anguish and prayed.
Mind was serene blue
and pulsating with life
and I breathed deep
the fountains of peace
as I marched to far off school,
often alone, all alone,
passed hills and mango troves,
gazed into blue sky,
crafted hymns
and prayed.
The hills are too distant now,
the aura has long faded,
forget all the prayers,
the shlokas I learnt,
yet the light shines somewhere,
the lilt of music flows,
just content with living,
Am I living still?
Pradeep Rath, poet, dramatist, essayist, critic, travelogue writer and editor was born on 20th March 1957 and educated at S. K. C. G. College, Paralakhemundi and Khallikote College, Berhampur, Ganjam, Odisha. Author of ten books of drama, one book of poetry, two books of criticism, two books of travelogues and two edited works, Pradeep Rath was a bureaucrat and retired from IAS in 2017. His compendium of critical essays on trends of modernism and post modernism on modern Odia literature and Coffee Table book on Raj Bhavans of Odisha have received wide acclaim.He divides his time in reading, writing and travels..
It was November 2018. We left for Singapore via Kuala Lumpur from Biju Patnaik International Airport, Bhubaneswar at about 12 midnight by AirAsia flight. Kuala Lumpur is 2 hours 30 minutes ahead of India. The flight was coming down the sky towards Kuala Lumpur Airport and the Sun was coming out of the sea. The panoramic view of the sun-soaked sky and high sea with their reddish-yellow hue was captivating our eyesight. It was mind-blowing. After waiting for around a couple hours at the Airport, we flew to Singapore. The endless beauty of the blue sea and sky overwhelmed us. Our flight reached Changi Airport, Singapore at about 9:30 am. It is one of the magnificent airports of the World.
After immigration, we came out and went to our hotel in Little India by taxi. The roadside landscape with its plants laden with beautiful flowers and the seascape with its floating ships were eye-catching. Little India is mostly a locality of Indian-origin people with their shops, hotels, restaurants along Serangoon Road and Race Course Road. Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple is the landmark. It is embellished with colourful statues of Hindu deities. We worshipped Sri Veeramakaliamman in the temple.
Singapore is an island city-state. It got independence and became a sovereign republic in 1965. After the dissolution of the British colony, it was a state of Malaysia from 1963 to 1965. It is a densely populated country of 725 square kilometers with a population of around 5.7 million: Chinese 76 %, Malays 15 %, Indians 7 % and others 2 %. The Malays are considered as indigenous people. Malay is the national language and English is the working language.
Singapore is almost located upon the Equator. Its climate is tropical and Summer reigns all year round with a temperature ranging from 28-34 degrees Celsius. Its high humidity causes sweating. Torrential rainfall is expected at any time, but mostly it picks up during monsoon. It is an island of trade and business.
At about noon, the owner-cum-driver came with the vehicle. He knew both Hindi and English. He was well aware of tourist attractions, their whereabouts and information. He was a funny and smart young man. He managed the work of our guide and we called him the guide.
We were a group of 10 tourists including my wife, Milly. All of us were Indians, of course, coming from different parts of India but staying in one hotel in Little India and traveling in the same vehicle with the guide for 4 days. We became friends and enjoyed the beautiful island.
We went to Chinatown around 4 kms away from Little India and visited Tan Si Chong Su Temple and purchased goods in Chinese shops. Though Chinese people are not good in English, they knew working-english. We managed our language difficulty in fun and humour. Of course, the Chinese were good sellers.
In the evening, we visited Gardens by the Bay. It was very captivating in the evening. It is a beautiful national garden spanning 101 hectares (250 acres) in the Central Region of Singapore, adjacent to Marina Reservoir. It presents a wide-ranging floral display and community programmes of the City-State. Various types of plants and flowers are available here. The towering vertical gardens are its main attractions. The park consists of three waterfront gardens: Bay South Garden, Bay East Garden and Bay Central Garden. The Flower Dome and Cloud Forest are spectacular. The entire Marina Bay area was created by reclamation, development and beautification. Its view is beautiful at night. Marina Bay Sands, the most iconic hotel, is located near the Gardens.
Next morning, we enjoyed the Singapore Zoo and its beautiful plants and animals. It's a fascinating tourist destination.
We came to the Singapore Flyer. It's a 165-meter high giant observation wheel with 28 air-conditioned, transparent capsules with capacity to hold 28 passengers in each capsule. While moving in it, we got an uninterrupted view of the city, its tall towers and beautiful buildings, wide roads, spectacular plantations, vast stretches of the sea and Marina Bay as well as floating ships, cruises, boats. It gave us an idea about the island-country from a height of 165 meters.
From the Flyer, we came to the vehicle and the guide announced - 'We are now going to the legendary Singa (Lion), the symbol of Singapore'.
My wife, Milly told him - 'In the zoo, you have shown us lions brought from other countries. Can you show us indigenous wild tigers of Singapore as found in the Gir National Park in Gujarat, India?'
The guide said - 'You will be stunned to see Merlion. It is greater than a mere lion. It is the soul of Singapore'.
We traveled through the city glancing at its grandeur and reached the Merlion Park.
The guide told us - 'Please see the iconic Merlion. It is a half-lion-half-fish statue. Mer indicates marine fish. Lion represents strength and power. The fish body symbolizes Singapore's humble beginnings as a fishing village. Its lion head represents Singapore's original name, Singapura or 'Lion city'. The name 'Singapura' is derived from two words: Singa and pura. Singa means lion and pura means city. In the 14th century this island was named Singapura. During the British reigns, it was called Singapore and continuing so.The British changed 'pura' to 'pore' as per their typical accent, while keeping 'Singa' as before. Thus, the name 'Singapura' was modified to 'Singapore' by the British. Now, it is officially called Singapore. But its original name is Singapura. Both Singapura and Singapore are one and the same 'Lion City'. It is basically an Indian name. My ancestors were Indians. Now, we live in Little India. It is an Indian dominated area in Singapore'.
Milly told him - 'Singapura is an Odia name. This name was given by the ancient Kalinga traders. Centuries ago, the traders of Kalinga (today's Odisha) were doing business with the people of Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Malaya. They were coming and going by boats via this natural harbour of Singapore. While sailing on sea, they were staying at this beautiful island. It was the gateway to the fabulous islands. Once, while staying,
they had left a cute young lion there. Their love for the lion was so deep and dense that they never forgot to see the auspicious lion while coming to Bali and going back to Kalinga. Some of them also settled here. They named it Singapura after their beloved Singa ( Lion). Since then all called it Singapura. Our 'Bali Yatra' festival is the symbol and memoir of our ancient sailing on the sea to Bali. It bears the sweet memories of our trade with Bali, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Malay. Our Singa is no more now, but his auspicious soul lives in Singapore making it rich and prosperous. The name of Singapura reminds us about our ancient trade and business with South East Asia'.
My friends were so spellbound that they started searching the heavenly soul of our cute, lovely lion in the legendary Merlion. To our naked eyes the 8.6-meter and 70-tonne marvellous Merlion statue was spouting water at the waterfront, but in our minds eyes we were glancing at the playful lion cub of fabulous Kalinga of ancient India.
Merlion is a must-see tourist destination located on the Marina Bay in front of The Fullerton Hotel in the Downtown Core District. It is the landmark, mascot and national personification of Singapore. It is the logo of the Singapore Tourism Board. The other six merlions including Sentosa Merlion are located at different places in Singapore.
Milly told our Singaporean guide - 'I had not heard of an animal with a fish's body and lion's head. It is imaginary. No indigenous Merlion has ever been reported in Singapore. Also, the lion left by our forefathers was not a Merlion. However, the Merlion is an architectural marvel and man-made statue. Thanks to Singaporean imagination for adding a fish body to a lion's head and calling it 'Merlion'.
The guide told her - 'Madam, you believe in 'Mermaid' with the head and trunk of a woman and the tail of a fish, 'Narasimha' with a lion's head and a man's body and 'Navagunjara' composed of nine different animals (in mythology). Why don't you believe in the 'Merlion' with the head of a lion and the body of a fish as per the Singaporean legends?'
She told him - 'If you have legends behind the Merlion, please tell me. I have so much interest in legends and folktales.'
He narrated - 'Once upon a time, a Malay prince was shipwrecked off the coast of the island. He and his crew saw a Singa (lion) and accordingly, they named the island as Singapura (Lion City).
According to another legend, Sang Nila Utama (Sri Tri Bhuvana), the Hindu king of Sumatra went on an expedition in the 14th century and discovered an island with white sandy shore. He decided to cross the waters to reach the island. However, a storm appeared and nearly capsized the boat. In a desperate attempt, he threw his crown into the turbulent waters. The weather and the sea became calm, and the crew reached the island safely. While landing, they saw a lion, an auspicious symbol. The king lived there and named it Singapura (Lion City). He ruled over Singapura, Sumatra and Java for 48 years before his death. His palace and burial ground was located on top of the hill (today's Fort Canning Hill). Some people also call it Simhapura as per their accent'.
Whatever may be the accent, but our Lion is the king of our Lion City'.
Milly told him - 'Whatever may be the accent, our Singa (Lion) is the king. it is a strange coincidence that the lion left by the Kalinga traders was seen by the Malay prince and the Sumatra king. Like our forefathers, they also named it Singapura. I am proud of our lion and happy that the Singaporeans have preserved the name. Really, the lion is an auspicious animal. People wear its nails and teeth for their auspiciousness. Our kings were sitting on Singhasana (lion throne). Singhadwaras (lion gate) were built at the entrance of our temple. I am happy that wherever our auspicious lion lived, made it rich.'
All of our friends including the guide were stunned to hear our Odia story based on facts. They thanked Milly.
Our Sikh friend said - 'I have seen the Bali Yatra festival in Cuttack and Paradeep of Odisha. It is a mark and a memorial of their sailing on sea for trade and business with Bali and other islands.It has to be accepted that the aforesaid lion belonged to Kalinga, since no indigenous lion or Merlion has ever been found in Singapore. The people of Odisha, India have named the island as Singapura'.
Next day, we visited Sentosa. It is an island resort off Singapore's southern coast, connected to the city by road, cable car and monorail. It is the most beautiful island of Singapore. It is a man-made heaven. From the Tiger Sky Tower one can see Indonesia. The Palawan Beach is famous for the scenic strip of sand with calm waters, fine sands and a suspension bridge. The crescent-shaped Tanjong Beach is renowned for its tranquility and solitude. It is a Nature's paradise.
The SEA Aquarium is the wonder of maritime life. It is a Marine Life park in Sentosa. The 8-hectare (20-acre) park houses two attractions : the SEA Aquarium and the Adventure Cove Waterpark. It is one of the largest oceanariums in the World. Thousands of species of fishes and aquatic animals are on display. We were mesmerized by their dancing and sparkling movements.
We enjoyed 'Wings of Time' on the seashore beside Palawan Beach Station in Sentosa. It was a 20 minutes fireworks show in the evening. Usually, it was commencing at 7.40pm and 8.40pm. It was one of the most popular multisensory experiences.
While traveling, we hardly found any big factories, mineral resources and vast agricultural lands in Singapore. Still it is rich, prosperous, fabulous and beautiful. We were astonished to see its prosperity. It takes full advantage of what it gets. For example - Rains that fall on its land are channelled to 17 reservoirs. It gets water from local catchment, high-grade reclaimed water and desalinated water. It is famous for its free-market-open economy based on a corruption-free, business-friendly administrative system with low tax rates. Its GDP is one of the highest in terms of PPP (Purchasing Power Parity). It is benefited from FDI inflows. It is a global hub of wealth management. Its exports include electronics, chemicals, services. Its economy is driven by trading, tourism, banking, shipping, fishing. It has got 20 % of the world market for ship repair. The Singapore government owns 90 % of the country's land and housing in which 80 % of the population live. Tourism also plays an important role in its economy. It gives employment and income to people. Around 20 million tourists visit this small City-State annually. It is one of the most visited countries in the World.
After sightseeing, we realized that Singapore has preserved, developed and established the fabulous trade and business of the ancient Kalinga. It's the secret of their success.
While seeing us off at Changi Airport, our guide told us - 'Our history is shrouded in mystery. Behind the origin, development and prosperity of Singapura, contribution of Kalinga has to be accepted and honored. The trade and business technique of Kalinga is being practised by the Singapore government for it's all round developments. Thanks to ancient Kalinga and today's Odisha.
Singapore's original name is Singapura. Henceforth, I will call it Singapura'.
Thanking him, we left for India. And our flight took off, leaving behind Singapura.
GANDHIJI'S FOURTH MONKEY
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
"What a disaster! What a goddamn, freaking disaster! Only an idiot will come here in October! And I am that idiot!"
Abhijeet groaned, his frustration oozing out of every word like a starving goat's emaciated bleat.
Kalyani, his wife, smiled,
"You should have checked the weather before booking tickets. No point in crying after the horse has bolted."
Her words touched a raw nerve, below the belt!
"You think I didn't do it? Of course I did. No one told me Munnar would have this incessant rain in late October. Monsoons are supposed to be over by September. And Kalyani dear, my Pooja vacation doesn't go by Munnar's weather. Every year during Pooja I take you to different places - from Jalianawala Bagh in Amritsar to Kaziranga in Assam. Suddenly I became a nincompoop just because it rained in Munnar?"
This time Kalayani laughed,
"When did I say you are a nincompoop? You are the one who is complaining all the time about the weather. I am quite happy sitting here and watching TV."
"Hah! You and your TV! You will be happy watching TV even in Timbuktu! Do we come to Munnar to watch TV? We should be out in the greenery, holding hands and dancing in the beautiful tea estates...."
Kalyani's face lighted up,
"O, we can do that here also. Outside this room in the lounge, look at the rains thorough the window and dance, singing to the tune of Tere Mere Beechme...like Kamal Hassan and Rati Agnihotri in "Ek Duje Ke Liye..."
Abhijeet stared at her. He was about to say, Kalyani, look at the mirror, at forty eight years of age you look like Rati Agnihotri's mother! But he applied the brake on his thoughts; what if she retorted with equally drastic remarks about him? Suddenly he remembered someone telling him, when an eunuch sleeps with another eunuch, nothing is lost because nothing is given, nothing is taken. Abhijeet knew these inane barbs at each other did no harm, but they had to stop at the right moment! Timing is of the essence in a husband-wife relationship!
Abhijeet was getting increasingly bored. At least if there was some company, he could have taken a few pegs of whiskey. He knew in the neighbouring room there was a honeymooning couple who had not come out of their room ever since they checked in two days back. Kalyani cornered Hariharan, the room boy when he came to clear the table of tea cups and snacks plates and asked him a few questions about the couple. Hariharan, in his own way was a freaking genius. He always thought in Malayalam and spoke in English. So his words came out as free flowing Engliyalam.
"Is the couple in the next room young?" Kalyani had asked with a mischievous smile,
Hariharan first nodded, then changed his mind and shook his head,
"No, that Sir is old, like our Sir here, Madam is young like you."
Kalyani beamed, happy to be considered young at the age of forty eight, even though the considerer appeared to be a dim wit. She threw a meaningful glance at her husband. The import of the glance was not lost on Hariharan, who hastened to add,
"That Madam is little little young than you...."
"Is she beautiful?"
The coquettish smile had not left her.
Hariharan replied to the coquettish smile with a flirtatious smile,
"Yes, little little beautiful like you...."
Abhijeet could not control himself, he laughed out loud. Kalyani threw a pillow at him. Hariharan fled outside to safety. Kalyani cast a withering glance at Abhijeet; she would have uttered some thing explosive, but then from outside a loud, booming voice rang out,
"Waiter, waiter, koi hai".
Abhijeet and Kalayani jumped up and ran out. A tall, hefty man with a gigantic moustache was leaning over the stairs and shouting at the non-existent waiter. A young lady, fair, slim, beautiful, was leaning against the door. The room was plunged in darkness. It was obvious the power supply to the room had got disrupted and the man was hollering at the waiter or the manager to fix the problem.
In two quick steps Kalyani was near the young lady, holding her hand and greeting her,
"Hello young lady, so nice meeting you!"
Abhijeet walked over to the hefty man and extended his hand,
"Hi, this is Abhijeet Gadnayak, from Odisha."
The man grunted,
"Sunil Grover."
He looked pointedly at Abhijeet,
"You are Gadnayak, not Patnaik? I had a class mate in college who was Patnaik."
Abhijeet assured him,
"No, I am Gadnayak, Gad as in God! There are all kinds of Nayaks in Odisha - Gods and Pots are the most common."
Sunil laughed out, the unmistakable smell of whiskey spread like a mild smoke and sat on the heavy air. Abhijeet smiled, a soul mate!
"I find you have been enjoying the heavenly liquid in your room, no fun in drinking alone. Why don't you join me for a few pegs in my room?"
It is an unwritten rule in drinking ethics that an offer of a drink should never be spurned.
At that precise moment the light also came on in the room of the Grovers. Kalyani virtually dragged the young wife inside, her inquisitive mind eager to see the inside of a honeymooning couple's room.
Sunil Grover slowly ambled into Abhijeet's room.
Soon they were busy gulping down the Black Label whiskey in copious quantities and chatting like long lost friends.
Sunil Grover opened up soon after the first two pegs, undoubtedly add-on to his earlier ones. He was obviously a rich man and let out hyperboles as if he was Amabani's cousin or something like that,
"Arrey Gadnayak, this Munnar Soonnar is like chillar for me, just small change, the summers I spend in Australia, South Africa or Europe. America toh is like my left palm, I scratch a line and I am in Las Vegas or Atlantic City, rolling dice on velvety tables...."
Abhijeet felt jealous,
"How lucky you are, and how lucky Bhabhiji is, roaming around the whole world with you!"
Sunil Grover roared out a hefty laugh, as hefty as the man himself,
"Arrey nehin, nehin, Bhabhis don't come with me, there is no fun dragging them with me, they throw too many tantrums, headache today, body pain tomorrow, indigestion day after. One should never carry fruits from home, the local fruits in a foreign country are much sweeter."
Sunil Grover winked at Abhijeet and continued,
"Last year I was spending a night in a hotel in Interlaken in Switzerland, next morning I was to catch the train to Jungfrau to see the Alps. In the evening I was taking drinks in the bar when a French girl came and sat next to me. I ordered a drink for her, she smiled and accepted it. She spoke only French but I had no difficulty in understanding the language of her mind and her exquisite nubile body. Soon we finished the drinks and went to my room. We stayed in the hotel room for three days, it never occurred to me that I should climb to Jung Frau! Instead the French girl, Valerie, made me roam around in heaven in slow, lascivious steps. They were the best three nights of my life, a close second being a week of passion with a tall, voluptuous Australian girl in Sydney. You think Bhabhis can give that kind of pleasure? They are good for desi Jain food. If you want to enjoy exotic dishes, you must eat local fruits when you visit other countries... "
And Sunil Grover kept on and on about his fruity adventures in Shanghai, Amsterdam or Johannesburg.
Around the fourth peg Abhijeet fell into a deep depression. Look at the lucky rich bastard, he has tasted so many exotic fruits all over the world. And poor Abhijit has been sucking on the same mango for the last twenty six years, when nothing is left but a dried up pickle!
Think of the devil, and she appeared! Kalyani came over with the young wife in tow,
"Are you done with your drinking? Saloni here says she is hungry and wants to eat and go to bed early", Kalyani winked at Abhijeet in a suggestive way, as if to say, honeymooning couples are supposed to do that.
Abhijeet wanted to get the dinner to their room so that they could all eat together. To Abhijeet's drunken mind, Saloni looked like an Apsara, a fairy and he was eager to spend some more time in the company of the Grovers. But women, they say, have a sixth sense and a third eye which can see through the thickest skin. Kalyani winked again and said, no, no, we should not be Kabab mein haddi, let the honeymooning couple enjoy, there is a special pleasure when a spoon of soup goes into both the mouths in turn, it tastes better.
The Grovers laughed and left.
Kalyani wanted to talk,
"Very nice girl, simple and talkative. Initially she was reserved with me as if something was holding her back, but the moment I told her she is the most beautiful girl I have seen in my life and that her face resembles that of Juhi Chawla, she became unstoppable, like a municipality tap with a loose valve. She is a Himachali girl, that's why she has soft, fair skin. Doesn't know much English, but she is good in Hindi, speaking like a film heroine. She has seen almost all the states, but this was her first trip to Munnar. Strangely she didn't say much about Grover Sahab, may be being newly married she doesn't know much about him."
Just before they fell off to sleep, Abhijeet said in a drunken slur,
"You know Sunil Grover loves fruits, whichever country he goes to he buys local fruits and tastes them. Lucky guy!"
Kalyani was shocked,
"A heavy drinker, and Saloni told me they are fond of non vegetarian dishes, but you say he loves fruits! Sound odd!"
Biswajit laughed out loud,
"Nothing odd, those who eat lots of non veg food have a craving for fruits, different varieties of fruits, from all over the world!"
"You are blabbering! Must have drunk a lot!"
"You know why the sexy Saloni didn't talk about her husband? She must have felt insecure. A beauty like you may give her competition! Sunil Grover might fall for you like a ton of bricks!"
Kalyani was aghast. She shrieked,
"What nonsense! How many pegs did you drink? You have lost your mind! Turn the other way and go to sleep! Yuk, your mouth is smelling like the gutter!"
The next morning Abhijeet and Kalyani hired a jeep as they wanted to roam around the tea gardens the entire day. They packed lots of sandwiches and coffee so that they would not have to return for lunch. When they came out of the room Abhijeet looked longingly at the adjoining room. Would Saloni be awake, should he invite the Grovers to join them in the jeep ride. Ah, the cascading rains, the green tea gardens and a dazzling Saloni to feast the eyes on! The day would be a gift from heaven.
Kalyani could read his mind, she had this uncanny ability to catch him and his fantasising mind,
"Come, come, let's leave, don't look at the honeymooning couple's room like a beggar waiting for alms. Let them enjoy their sleep, they must have been awake till late into the night! And don't even think of inviting them, let them go if they want, holding hands under big trees and cooing sweet nothings to each other."
Despite the rains they enjoyed the ride, the leaves looked fresh and washed, they spotted a few rabbits and sometimes the blinding rains made the serpentine ride too adventurous. When they returned to their room around five, it was already dark. Abhijeet had been thinking of Saloni throughout the day, her beautiful face had refused to go away from his mind.
When Hariharan came with tea Abhijeet was eager to know the programme of the Grovers. Would there be another round of drinks? May be Kalyani and Saloni would join them. The evening had the promise to be colourful!
"So, Hariharan, did the Grover couple go somewhere or did they spend the whole day in the room? As usual?"
Hariharan looked at them, a bit of sadness evident in the gaze,
"The honeymooning couple? They left, Sir!"
Abhijeet was too shocked to absorb the news,
"Left? What do you mean left? Left left or partly left?"
Looked like Hariharan's Engliyalam had infected Abhijeet.
"Fully left Sir, here rain comes the time tourists not liking much."
"So, no tourists during the monsoons?"
Hariharan became animated,
"No, no, Sir, some time rain comes the time tourists coming, but rain goes the time more tourists coming."
Kalyani, an MA in English added for good measure,
"Rain may come and rain may go, but he goes on forever."
Abhijeet was in no mood to enjoy the quip. Somehow he felt a void, the thought that he might not see the beautiful Saloni again saddened him.
Kalyani fixed him with a stern gaze,
"Oye, for whom does the heart bleed? The hefty husband or the pretty wife?"
Abhijeet looked at her, his mind totally blank.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
That was two years back. This year the Gadnaiks were at Manali to spend their Pooja holidays. It was late October, the weather was excellent - balmy and cool. The hotel they were staying in was crowded, overflowing with guests. The evening promised to be boisterous, with music, dance and the inevitable drinks. There were round tables with chairs around them. A huge stage was at the centre, for people to dance. Abhijeet and Kalyani came early, soft music was playing, waiters were circulating with soft and hard drinks on trays, and the hall was filling up. Exactly at seven, the DJ came up and greeted everyone; the mike started malfunctioning. The DJ moaned,
"Ah, I had asked the organisers if the mikes were good, they told me mikes are like wives, one has to manage with whatever one gets. Ladies and Gentlemen do you agree with this? Are wives like mikes? Yeah? No? I want a loud answer."
There was a big Yeah followed by claps and cheers. The DJ was just warming up,
"Yeah? You say Yeah? Let me tell you, how wrong you are. Tell me, you can switch off a Mike when you don't need it, can you switch off a wife? No? Yes?"
There was a loud No from the audience.
"OK! No takes the cake. And if a mike malfunctions you can borrow a mike, if the wife malfunctions can you borrow the neighbour's wife, Sir, can you lend me your wife just for twenty four hours, till my malfunctioning wife becomes functional?"
There was a thunderous applause,
"And sometimes if you have a big function you can use two three mikes, can you use two three wives if there is a big function in the family, a wedding, an engagement ceremony? Sasurji, give me your remaining three daughters as wives, I need them, you know, I have a big big function at home!"
More applause, a couple of whistles, someone was getting excited at the idea!
"And you know if a mike gets upset, it will simply pretend to sleep, like a patient with high fever, but if a wife gets upset....Tobah, Tobah, I don't even want to speculate on it. All of you must have gone through that experience in life...."
The DJ had undoubtedly set the audience in the right mood; the songs started, loud and blaring, "Bachnaa ai hasino, lo mei aa gayaaa...;" a few over enthusiastic couples went to the stage and started dancing. Soon everyone got up and joined them, some people didn't want to be too far from their drinks so they got up and started shaking their legs near their table, holding a drink in one hand and the wife's waist in the other.
Kalyani was reluctant to get up and dance but Abhijeet whispered in her ears, come, come, who knows us here? And how many of the couples are big dancers, do you see a Mithun Chakrabarty or an Hema Malini here? All are same, jokers shaking their legs and ladies their hips. Soon Kalayani also got into the mood.
They started moving around the hall. A few tables away they spotted a couple who looked familiar. The next moment they whispered 'The Grovers!' They went near, the hefty man with the big moustache was undoubtedly Sunil Grover, but who was the young dazzling beauty with him? Kalyani usually never forgot a face once she met someone. It was not Saloni, but some one even more beautiful than her.
They went up to the table. Abhijeet extended his hand,
"Hi Sunil, fancy seeing you here, remember we had met in Munnar two years back? I am Gadnayak."
The man fixed Abhijeet with a cold, withering stare,
"Sunil? What Sunil? You are making some mistake. I am Manish Chopra."
He didn't shake Abhijeet's hands. He just ignored the Gadnayaks, called the waiter and asked for a single malt whiskey and wine for the lady. Abhijeet and Kalyani stood there for a minute like two idiots and returned to their table.
Somehow the incident disturbed them and took away much of the warmth of the evening. They took their dinner quietly and returned to their room. It was nearing ten o clock and they felt sleepy. But Kalyani's mind was in a whirl, she had no doubt that the man was Sunil Grover, but then who was the lady, it was definitely not Saloni. She asked Abhijeet,
"Tell me if it was not she, then who was she?"
Abhijeet was nonplussed,
"What is this she she you are doing? What is in your mind? Just forget them, they have forgotten us, let's forget them."
"But where is 'they'? The man is no doubt Sunil Grover but where is Saloni, your favourite pretty girl?"
Suddenly she sat up on the bed,
"O, what an idiot I am! I should have guessed it. If this is not she, then she was that and this is also that!"
"Please, don't drive me crazy, what is this she, this, that? Will you please explain?"
A mischievous smile spread over Kalyani's face like a malodorous smoke,
"Remember you had told me that Sunil Grover enjoys different fruits wherever he goes? So Saloni was the fruit for Munnar and this girl is the fruit for Manali. Fruits, my foot! She was a slut and this is also a slut."
Somehow her words had a tectonic effect on Abhijit. He cursed himself! What a life! Why do some people enjoy all the luck in the world? A ripe, luscious fruit at every new place! And look at him, he remembered how at Munnar he had thought of the same mango he was sucking for thirty six years and all that remained was a miserable dried up pickle!
Abhijeet's face folded up at the unappetising thought. A terrible sadness enveloped him. It did not escape the gaze of Kalyani, she knew exactly what had caused this change of mood. She pinched Abhijeet on his thigh, it was a hard pinch, meant to hurt.
Abhijeet shrieked in pain like a hen does when her head is severed by a merciless butcher. He looked in horror at his smiling wife,
"Why did you do that?"
"Oye, do you think I don't know what is going on in your mind? I pinched you to remind you of Gandhiji's fourth monkey."
Abhijit stammered,
"Gandhiji's fourth monkey? What is that?"
"O, you don't know? Gandhiji kept three monkeys in his drawing room, to tell everyone not to see bad things, not to speak bad things, nor to hear bad things. He also had a fourth monkey in the bedroom, because that is where all men get their dirty thoughts. This monkey kept his two hands on the head to say, don't even think of bad things! So, do you understand now, Mr. Rangila Ratan, my evergreen hero? Don't even think of the exotic fruits, and the Salonis of the world. Just switch off the light and go to sleep. Tomorrow morning we have to wake up early and get ready. The bus for Rohtang Pass leaves the hotel at seven."
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.
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