Literary Vibes - Edition CXI (26-Nov-2021)
Title : Towards Home (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the 111th edition of LiteraryVibes. This time we are fortunate to have two new contributors. Ms. Heena Kouzzer from Chennai, a student of MBA, is an ardent lover of literature. Her poem in today's edition shows deep emotions and a sensitive heart. Tanvisha Padhi, the young genius, is a multi-talented personality, who excels in art, painting and craft. We heartily welcome them into the LV family and wish them a great literary career.
November is a great month to welcome the calming winter after a tortuous summer and tumultuous rains. However, not all of us are so lucky to open our arms and revel at the silken touch of winter. By a coincidence today I came across in the internet the story of a retired school teacher, restless, lonely, in a hospital yearning for some touch of happiness. I cannot certify the story's authenticity, but even as a piece of pure fiction it is priceless. Let me present it here.
x x x x x x
The teacher looking at the ceiling fan at the corona treatment facility run by the state government was about to pick up a book to read, when the phone rang. It was an unregistered number, usually she avoids such calls . However; alone at the hospital with nothing else to do, she decided to pick it up.
The firm male voice introduced himself, Good day Madam I am Souji Gopal Krishna calling from Dubai. Am I speaking to Ms Seema Kanakambaran ?
The teacher was curious about who would that be . She said , yes you are talking to Seema.
After a pause, he continued - Madam few years ago , you were my class teacher when I was in class 10.
The teacher couldn’t place him. She said, I am admitted at the hospital with Covid. Is it anything important or can you call me later?
Souji said, Madam I came to know about your illness from Subbu , the class topper of batch 1995.
The teacher said, well, I know Subbu quite well, but I am unable to place you.
Madam, Souji interrupted; hope you would recollect the tall dark boy who was your biggest headache. I was in the back bench! The teacher thought; hah, one of the back benchers!.
The conversation was getting interesting and she kept the book down on the side table and pulled up the pillow against the head board and made herself comfortable and asked , how come you remember me now, all of a sudden ?
Madam, Souji said, when I came to know that you are hospitalised, I thought of organising a conference call with all the available friends of the class of 1995. He continued, I managed to get 7 of us on line. They are listening to our conversation madam. We just called to wish you a speedy recovery.
The teacher was suddenly fumbling for words, after a long pause she asked , now tell me about you . Where are you ?
Souji continued .
Madam, I am at Dubai, I run my own business of logistics. I came here in search of a job and finally ended up as a successful entrepreneur. There are about 2000 people in my establishment.
When we were in class 10, you were a terror when it came to discipline. But at the same time you generously extended support and instilled confidence to the most noisy and unruly fellows at the back bench. I was their leader at the back bench.
Madam , I got the maximum amount of impositions from you, quite often you made me stand outside the class and sometimes inside the class, up on the bench. All those experiences standing outside the class and sometimes towering over every one in the class standing on the bench etc, helped me later in life .
The standup punishment on the bench had actually helped me to get a bird’s eye view over the entire class. I am applying those lessons in my life and business. Madam, whatever I am today I owe it to you .
The teacher was finding it difficult to speak. As Souji went on with his story , the teacher went back few decades to the class of 1995 .
The class of 1995! Yes the tall dark fellow in the class, he was the leader of nuisance ! Always late in class. The guy who used to bunk classes and go for movies ! The one who never used to do home work. The guy who repeatedly came to the teachers' room to negotiate on the impositions. The nightmare of teachers and the darling of the class ! Yes, he was well accepted by his friends. But how come...... ? Her thought were interrupted by Souji
Hello Teacher! Teacher, are you there ? She said; Yes, I am.
She continued, Souji ….. I never heard of you after school. I am so surprised and happy that you called, that too on a conference call with your friends ! Tell me about each of you.
They all spoke to her. Of the other six in the group call , there were three engineers from three continents. One doctor from Delhi , s priest who was at Shillong and finally Subbu, the class topper.
Subbu said , Madam I am a chartered accountant. I am the CFO of Souji ! Teacher couldn’t believe, she asked you are ? He said , yes madam, before joining Souji I was with KPMG. But, working with Souji , I am a satisfied professional and a happy family man .
By the time each of them had narrated their stories, it was almost 40 minutes, Souji apologised for the long call and wished his beloved teacher a speedy recovery and a promise to meet her during his next trip to Kerala.
Alone at the Covid 19 isolation ward , the teacher was in tears. Happiness swelled her heart and tears were streaming down her cheeks . She thought , here is a boy who applied all his out of syllabus and out of class lessons in real life !
By standing on the last bench , he developed a bird's eye view.
By standing outside the class, he had a larger vision than all the others who were limited within the four walls.
By getting caught for bunking class, at a very young age he learned to mitigate and overcome risks .
He acquired the art of negotiation coming to the teachers' room during lunch hours to reduce the number of impositions.
The marks she thought he had lost for Maths was actually saved by him for real life application & subbu who got 100 % for maths seemed to be working with the numbers saved by Souji. Amazing !
She thought, two years of pandemic induced closure is taking a heavy toll on the character moulding of children. Sitting at home and learning digitally they may score marks. What about life application? For that we need both Soujis and Subbus . Only then the society would evolve.
x x x x x x x x x
Hope you will love the story as much as I did. Please share the poems and stories from the present edition with all your friends and contacts through the link https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/407 Do remind them that all the 111 editions of LiteraryVibes can be accessed at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Friends, do take care. The Covid times are still on. I should know, because in the course of last six days my wife and I are among five from my immediate circle of friends who have tested Corona positive and fighting for recovery in different hospitals of Bhubaneswar. As I write this editorial from the hospital bed I realise what a torture it is to be here, particularly when loud wailings occasionally punctuate the air to announce one more victim embarking on a journey to the unknown. My five short poems written yesterday for LV111 reflect the emotions of a worried patient. Please do not let your guard down. Observe all precautions against Covid. Keep smiling. We will meet again on 31st December to welcome the new year.
With warm regards and wishing you a merry festive season,
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Haraprasad Das
FILIGREE GODS
THE FAMILY MAN (GRUHASTHA)
02) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
HOME
03) Geetha Nair G
DAYS
04) Dilip Mohapatra
UNHOLY DESIRES
05) Bibhu Padhi
RIVERS
06) Ajay Upadhyaya
AUTUMN MUSINGS
07) Madhumathi. H
EVER FELT...?!
08) Bijay Ketan Patnaik
GOD’S WOODEN AVATAR (DARUBRAMHA)
09) Padmini Janardhanan
ON FORGETTING
10) Hema Ravi
MAKE SOMEONE’S DAY
HAIKU
11) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
THE FLUTE SELLER
12) Runu Mohanty
MY PAINTING STUDIO (CHITRASHAALAA)
13) Setaluri Padmavathi
HEAVEN UNDER MY FEET
14) Sundar Rajan
A NEW BEGINNING
15) Er. Sunil Biswal
THE WINTER NIGER FLOWER OF KORAPUT
16) Chandan ku. Chowdhury
A POESY ON BALMAN: A POOR
17) Ayana Routray
CHASE YOUR STARS
18) Ravi Ranganathan
BALANCER
19) Bichitra K. Behura
LIFE IN ONE BREATH
20) Pradeep Rath
MEMORIES
21) A.R. Heena Kouzzer
UNTOLD SCARS OF HER HEART
22) Tanvisha Padhi
THE LONELY BALLOON
23) Trishna Sahoo
MY INDIA
24) Keshav Pradhan
TOLERANCE
25) Mrinalini Mallick
THE BEAUTIFUL MOON
26) Asha Raj Gopakumar
CHANTING- Ultimate Solution
27) Umasree Raghunath
I AM A GIRL, LET ME LIVE!
28) Prof Niranjan Barik
PUSHY IN THE OPEN ,IN SEARCH OF THE SUN
29) Dr. Thirupurasundari C J
GO! CREATE YOUR WEB
30) N Rangamani
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT- A DREAM
CHERITA.....
31) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
A FEW SHORT, UNFINISHED POEMS
SHORT STORIES AND MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES
01) RC Panda
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE -THIRD EYE OF LORD SHIVA
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
KANT’S THIRD ENCOUNTER WITH GOD
02) Ishwar Pati
A TALE OF TWO COUPLES
03) Radharani Nanda
THE STRANGER
04) Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo
OLD IS GOLD
05) Sunanda Pradhan
A FEW LEAVES FROM MY DIARY
06) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY : THE STORY...
07) Dr. Aparna Ajith
WHEN ANVIK BECKONS!
08) Sheena Rath
RAHUL HUSHKOO MUSINGS
09) Dr Viyatprajna Acharya
LAXMI PURANA
10) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
A LADDER TO HEAVEN
POEMS
Gods in filigree do not need much space
They live in the interstices between
fruits and flowers,
between the pliant margins of things and their opulent substance,
hardly ever over-eager to
register their presence !
They nudge each other to make space, gently
silver is tougher than moonlight and treacherous in the core
So they help each other and stay firm
And keep the river in course and control its water !
The filigree workers in downtown Cuttack,
in hutments of tinsheds serving the Jewellers in Chowdhury Bazar
hardly know their little handiworks of ornate efflorescence
are no pushovers in the glitz of commerce,
that they have a life of their own, together and alone,
like men they know how to retain power
in times when faiths flounder and paths veer !
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
He drives his wife around.
Besides, being her driver,
his manhood remains reserved
for her exclusive use,
he never sows his wild oats
barring accidents.
His machismo shines only for her
as ‘yours most faithfully’
except his amnesiac slips.
He ignores sirens and whores
walking the streets.
In the sedate marital bed
his chemistry rhymes with wife’s
for procreation only.
But his wife reserves
all her fruits and flowers
for a little brat,
who is expected,
the flesh of her flesh!
What she keeps aside
exclusively for her husband
are her troubles,
the drudgeries of life,
her pangs and pains!
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)”
An aunty from his neighbourhood
offered him a slice of rice cake
with a pinch of jaggery and a glass
of water, when he was roaming hungry
and thirsty after his mother’s death.
He felt at home when the aunty
gathered his shirtless body on her
warm bosom smelling of food.
It was so homely to shiver
by a little fire built in his village lane,
with his friends hugging it from all sides.
It felt so intimate to share
the smoked potatoes put into the flames
but dug out from hot ashes; the girl who
blew away the sticking soot from a potato,
offered it to him like a mother.
He felt he was home, when returning
by the last bus in a squall, walking along
a muddy road, he shared a hot meal
with his waiting wife, who towelled his body
and hair, holding him close. He couldn’t
believe, how the little girl had grown
into a little wife, her meals having graduated
from a smoked potato to casserole cooking.
His wife died. After consigning to flames
her mortal remains, he returned home,
an empty pod of a seedless groundnut,
sat a few disconsolate minutes
before returning to his wife’s pyre. The night
was cold and her ashes warm.
He smeared her ashes all over his body,
felt like a ghost who was home with her.
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is a poet/ story writer/translator/literary critic, living in Mumbai, India. The publishers - Rupa & Co. and Allied Publishers Pvt Ltd have published his three books of poems – VIGIL (1993), LIPS OF A CANYON (2000), and LITMUS (2005). His poems have been widely anthologized in fourteen different volumes of anthology by publishers, such as – Rupa & Co, Virgo Publication, Penguin Books, Adhayan Publishers and Distributors, Panchabati Publications, Authorspress, Poetrywala, Prakriti Foundation, Hidden Book Press, Penguin Ananda, Sahitya Akademi etc. over the period spanning over 1993 to 2020. Awards won - Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award, JIWE Poetry Prize. Former president of Poetry Circle (Mumbai), former editor of this poet-association’s poetry journal POIESIS. He edited a book of short stories by the iconic Odia writer in English translation – FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM, VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI. He is widely published in literary magazines; lately in Kavya Bharati, Literary Vibes, Our Poetry Archives (OPA) and Spillwords.
Listing them is a challenge;
My countless homes.
From chilly heights to sweltering plains
From verdant spots to burning vales
City and town
Up and down
I have built them quite fine
And got a cat to mark each as mine.
Danced in them
Skipped pirouetted waltzed, swung, lullabied, crooned... .
Days.
Yet, I tell myself,
There is another home
Permanent, perfect,
Then you arrive, final visitor,
Take me by the hands
Swing me round till I turn dizzy
to fall into your arms
As you whisper,
"Welcome home."
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 am not happy the way God made me
or desires me to be
that drives me to accept
my insipid existence..
I wish I had the irresistible charm of Cupid
and the prowess of Rasputin
to send the nubile nymphets to cloud nine
playing on their lutes an ecstatic rhapsody.
I wish I could find my name on top
of the Forbes list of the most powerful
men in the world vying with Vladimir Putin
and secure my place there permanently.
I wish my coffers
brimming with worldly treasures
and my wallet never going dry
like Draupadi's inexhaustible cauldron.
I know wishes are not horses
but I can always aspire for the heavens
and am ready to strike a deal
with the son of the dawn
the diabolical Lucifer.
And then God thrusts out His hand
and moves His little finger.
Dilip Mohapatra, a decorated Navy Veteran from Pune, India is a well acclaimed poet and author in contemporary English. His poems regularly appear in many literary journals and anthologies worldwide. He has six poetry collections, two non-fictions and a short story collection to his credit. He is a regular contributor to Literary Vibes. He has been awarded the prestigious Naji Naaman Literary Awards for 2020 for complete work. The society has also granted him the honorary title of 'Member of Maison Naaman pour la Culture'. His website may be accessed at dilipmohapatra.com.
I know how they have been acting out
some role from an ancient time—
long, episodic, their fate
rising and falling with the seasons,
their words at times reduced
to a bare, granular trickle of emptiness,
hushed to the silence of all time,
or at other times, raised to the insanity
of space, rushing towards the end.
They are what we could not be, can never be—
looking far and distant, always,
their hearts beating
to the pulse and body of the earth
in slavish imitation of a script
that we can hardly follow.
There is only a mute gesture of invitation,
intimate as life, of death, unaware of our
smaller commitments towards our
children and ourselves, beckoning us
to participate in their own predestined end.
A Pushcart nominee, Padhi has published fourteen books of poetry. His poems have appeared in distinguished magazines throughout the English-speaking world, such as Contemporary Review, London Magazine, The Poetry Review, Poetry Wales, The Rialto, Stand, American Media, The American Scholar, Commonweal, The Manhattan Review, The New Criterion, Poetry, Southwest Review, TriQuarterly, New Contrast, The Antigonish Review, The Wallace Stevens Journal and Queen’s Quarterly. They have been included in numerous anthologies and textbooks. Five of the most recent are The Bloodaxe Book of Contemporary Indian Poets, Language for a New Century (Norton) Journeys (HarperCollins), 60 Indian Poets (Penguin) and The HarperCollins Book of English Poetry.
I
Autumn creeps on us, slyly.
Leaves of youth mellow,
and drop off, one by one,
They make mounds of memorabilia.
Memories rustle from within,
urging us to listen to their whisper:
Gone is the frenzy of spring,
rushing everything to a blur.
It lingers in me still; I am yet to go.
The gloss is gone, but not the gusto.
This enticing lull, waiting without rancour,
not letting the unfinished stories die with me.
II
Loud autumn colours, full of themselves,
dazzle to a dizzying point, but not for long.
Wanting to linger on, protest:
Where is the hurry for departing?
Puzzled, I wonder,
How heartless can nature be,
to make them so fleeting.
Yet, little do I realise;
so exquisite and intense, soon they hurt.
Somewhere, someone knows us
better than we do:
The best judge to decide,
just how much we can bear.
Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya from Hertfordshire, England. A Retired Consultant Psychiatrist from the British National Health Service and Honorary Senior Lecturer in University College, London.
Someone carrying empathy in their eyes
Sits beside you, and
You instantly feel, their heart is willing to listen
Without, "So how are you?", pleasantries
Just look into your tired eyes, and ask
"What's bothering you?!"...
Ever felt, that very moment
You don't want to let go
Unburden your heart
Allow the unshed tears flow like rivers
Eyes flooded with the ache
Of carrying the unspoken, for long?!...
Ever felt
Perplexed, let down
Life, destiny throwing too many challenges
Making you fatigued, from juggling
With hope the only thing to hold
Ever felt, you deserve kindness, respite
A shoulder to lean on
To heal from everyday bruises
A cup of tea made just for you
When reluctant to fetch even a glass of water...?!
Ever felt
The world around is crumbling
You are amid the rubble
Searching for your own self
Questions stampeding, answers always a mirage...
Ever felt, you need a soothing melody
To calm your racing heart
Lyrics that carry you faraway from the dissonances
Need to nourish your soul
From the vitamins words produce...?!
If you have ever felt
All you need, is a little kindness
Gentle hand-holding, a warm soul-hug
Someone's cheerful smile
To just lift your spirits
To make you feel loved, respected, acknowledged
Be the one, gifting all of them!
Ever felt
The joy, in giving
Those random acts of kindness
Knowing the pain, of not having?!
Felt an ocean of happiness deep within
Your eyes lit bright, guiding you inside
Making sunshine smile through
The louvres
New Windows and doors of hope, opening?!
Ever felt, the pristine beauty of life unfold
As you become love, in moments?!. . .
It is never too late
To feel peace blooming within
As we hold love for someone, as a bouquet of smiles
A cup of tea, or a small poem soaked in empathy...
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1yxy9USzcgi_BNO516mSJCe6PoCX-fuVk/view?usp=drivesdk
A bilingual poet-writer(Tamil, English), Madhumathi is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry, Photography and Music. Her poems are published in Anthologies of The Poetry Society(India), AIFEST 2020 Poetry contest Anthology, CPC- Chennai Poetry Circle, IPC – India Poetry Circle, Amaravati Poetic Prism, and in e-zines UGC approved Muse India, Storizen, OPA – Our Poetry Archives, IWJ - International Writers Journal, Positive Vibes, and Science Shore.
‘’Ignite Poetry'’, “Arising from the dust”, “Painting Dreams", “Shards of unsung Poesies", "Breathe Poetry" are some of the *recent Anthologies her poems, and write ups are part of. (*2020 - 2021). Besides Poetry, Madhumathi writes on Mental health, to create awareness and break the stigma, strongly believing in the therapeutic and transformational power of words. Contact: madhumathi.poetry@gmail.com Blog: https://madhumathipoetry.wordpress.com
GOD’S WOODEN AVATAR (DARUBRAMHA)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Holding myself still and unmoved
seems beyond me. Underfoot,
the ground slips away, quicksand.
The plaster and paint get peeled off
from time’s ramparts, I feel unstable
on the ground, as in time.
Wish, I had the ability
to have my feet firmly on earth,
yet cover the world’s length and breadth,
reaching all its nooks and corners,
taking control of all I see,
doing that in no time.
Is it necessary to be mobile?
Should it bother anyone if I stay still?
If I can hold my ground,
let the earth underfoot slip away.
Let my wooden avatar, without moving a finger,
go places riding an accelerator,
even move into the lush grass
in lawns drenched with morning dew.
Wish I had robotic telescoping arms,
in spite of my immobile stance,
to caress the green leaves on trees,
comb the feathery puffs of cotton-clouds
swimming across the sky. How I wish,
my wooden avatar could reach out
to pluck the Parijat* from Eden, dig out
the Baidurya Mani* from the earth’s womb,
fill the world with Parijat’s fragrance,
dispel the dark with Baidurya Mini’s brilliance.
(Footnote – Parijata* is a flower of heavenly beauty and fragrance said to be blooming in Eden. Baidurya Mani* is a gem of unparalleled luminance and good omen. The Odia poem is from the poet’s book UDVASTU.)
Bijay Ketan Patnaik writes Odia poems, Essays on Environment, Birds, Animals, Forestry in general, and travel stories both on forest, eco-tourism sites, wild life sanctuaries as well as on normal sites. Shri Patnaik has published nearly twentifive books, which includes three volumes of Odia poems such as Chhamunka Akhi Luha (1984) Nai pari Jhia(2004) andUdabastu (2013),five books on environment,and rest on forest, birds and animal ,medicinal plants for schoolchildren and general public..
He has also authored two books in English " Forest Voices-An Insider's insight on Forest,Wildlife & Ecology of Orissa " and " Chilika- The Heritage of Odisa".Shri Patnaik has also translated a book In The Forests of Orrisa" written by Late Neelamani Senapati in Odia.
Shri Patnaik was awarded for poetry from many organisations like Jeeban Ranga, Sudhanya and Mahatab Sahitya Sansad , Balasore. For his travellogue ARANYA YATRI" he was awarded most prestigious Odisha Sahitya Academy award, 2009.Since 2013, shri patnaik was working as chief editor of "BIGYAN DIGANTA"-a monthly popular science magazine in Odia published by Odisha Bigyan Academy.
After super annuation from Govt Forest Service in 2009,Shri Patnaik now stays ai Jagamara, Bhubaneswar, He can be contacted by mail bijayketanpatnaik@yahoo.co.in
Our chat on forgetting, I quite forgot
Till all of a sudden it just pooped up
From nowhere? From my memory of course.
Selective memory sure remembers
To remember what it chooses to
The delightful, the cherished, the joyous.
Selective memory sure remembers
To forget whatever it chooses to
Does not allow the suppressed to surface.
The suppressed still are tightly held within
Till a sudden pressure burst throws them up
Or the suppression impact fades away.
Some memories aren't a matter of choice
Their strength of affect, painful or joyous
Sponges them into the memory stack.
What then is this that you call forgetting?
Dormant memories awaiting trigger?
Padmini Janardhanan is an accredited rehabilitation psychologist, educational consultant, a corporate consultant for Learning and Development, and a counsellor, for career, personal and family disquiets.
Has been focussing on special education for children with learning difficulties on a one on one basis and as a school consultant for over 4 decades. The main thrust is on assessing the potential of the child and work out strategies and IEPs (Individual Educational Plans) and facilitating the implementation of the same to close the potential-performance gap while counselling the parents and the child to be reality oriented.
Has been using several techniques and strategies as suitable for the child concerned including, CBT, Hypnotherapy, client oriented counselling, and developing and deploying appropriate audio-visual / e-learning materials. Has recently added Mantra yoga to her repository of skills.
She strongly believes that literature shapes and influences all aspects of personality development and hence uses poetry, songs, wise quotations and stories extensively in counselling and training. She has published a few books including a compilation of slokas for children, less known avathars of Vishnu, The what and why of behaviour, and a Tamizh book 'Vaazhvuvallampera' (towards a fulfilling life) and other material for training purposes.
The toothless grin of infant and elderly
Contagiously bubbly.
Mother’s gracious smile at child’s progress
words cannot express.
Father grins from ear to ear
Following the success of his children dear.
Foodie’s contented smile
Exotic dishes appearing in file.
Fragrant blossom attracting passerby
Enchantment on his face-Oh my!
Young man stealing glances at fiancée
Twinkle in her eye tickles his fancy.
Brisk walk at start of day
Letting out steam invigorates.
Sanguine smile to a spectator
The avowal- elated initiator.
Pleasant countenance
Positive Ambience
late autumn
Steller jay's whisper song
brings back memories
soap suds on my legs...
three year old's first visit
to seashore
Hema Ravi is a poet, author, reviewer, editor (Efflorescence), independent researcher and resource person for language development courses... Her writings have been featured in several online and international print journals, notable among them being Metverse Muse, Amaravati Poetic Prism, International Writers Journal (USA), Culture and Quest (ISISAR), Setu Bilingual, INNSAEI journal and Science Shore Magazine. Her write ups and poems have won prizes in competitions.
As the Secretary of the Chennai Poets’ Circle, Chennai, she empowers the young and the not so young to unleash their creative potential efficiently.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
I listen to the flute seller playing his flute.
The melodious music giving me so much peace.
The Bollywood songs of the 70s and 80s.
The beautiful music I so much relish.
The music floating up to our sixth floor flat.
Taking my loved one and me back to our teenage days.
The memories of our native city.
The melody giving us happiness in so many ways.
The flute seller with his basket of flutes.
Playing music and spreading magic in the air.
Different tunes and different rhythms.
Changing the mundane street into a fun fare.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick is a scientist by education, educationist by profession and an author and poet by passion. She has published five books and has received several awards for her poetry including the Golden Rose from Argentina for promoting literature and culture. Some of her poems have been translated into 31 languages and her poems have been published in more than 250 national and international journals. Paramita has started and is the President of Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library (IPPL) Mumbai Chapter. She also writes travelogues which are published regularly in e-magazines. She lives in Mumbai, India with her husband and daughter.
MY PAINTING STUDIO (CHITRASHAALAA)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
It has not been easy for me
to put colours into reflections in water,
put colours on gray birds in flight;
not easy to paint the flight of a caged bird
to freedom, equally difficult to bring
the garden in a painting to blossoms.
These are as difficult as bringing
paradise to earth, twirling feelings around
a finger, or as hard as ruining own home.
Underwater drumming or
building castles in the air
may happen in fairytales!
In reality, when the soil is fertile and wet,
ready for seeding; why should I
worry about the green harvest?
Shouldn’t I welcome the happy tidings,
of a hovel or mansion, when God seems
willing to bless my supplications?
My needs are frugal, though
there is enough and to spare,
the tree being laden with fruits;
I need only a few of those
in my humble sari-corner. But for
my other needs, should I
cling to God like a creeper
clutching its supporting tree;
or should I surrender to my beloved?
(The Odia poem is from poet’s collection, ‘MOHINI’)
Runu Mohanty is a young voice in Odia literature, her poems dwell in a land of love, loss, longing, and pangs of separation; a meandering in this worldwide landscape carrying various nuances on her frail shoulders. She has published three collections of her poems; appeared in various reputed journals and dailies like Jhankar, Istahar, Sambad, Chandrabhaga, Adhunik, Mahuri, Kadambini etc. She has also published her confessional biography. She has won awards for her poetic contribution to Odia literature.
I walk through the valleys steep
Nothing seems to be so bright
When all men fall soundly to sleep
I fondly look for the rays of sunlight!
Different nationalities move around
I creep slowly on the grassy land
Huge trees on the roads, surround
With no movement, look, they stand!
A group of hares runs across the byway
And a flock of birds flies gladly so high
The half-sized moon glides away
Giving the way to the sun, in the sky
I was caught in the dreamworld
While thinking of people, and guessing
It’s nice to live in the natural world
Which is impartial and a blessing!
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi, a postgraduate in English Literature with a B.Ed., has been in the field of education for more than three decades. Writing has always been her passion that translates itself into poems of different genres, short stories and articles on a variety of themes and topics. She is a bilingual poet and writes poems in Telugu and English. Her poems were published in many international anthologies and can be read on her blogsetaluripadma.wordpress.com. Padmavathi’s poems and other writings regularly appear on Muse India.com. Boloji.com, Science Shore, Setu, InnerChild Press Anthologies and Poemhunter.com
The setting Sun silently swims its way,
Thro' the horizon, to end another day.
Shades of blue canvas envelope the sky,
Viewed in total awe by few passersby.
A crown of gold emanates in the cloud,
Awaiting uncrowned supreme leader, proud.
Or is it a silent flame, flickering,
To stand steadfast with misery mourning?
Dispelling within, pall of engulfed gloom,
With pandemic creating a vacuum.
Maybe it's a positive flame, sparkling,
And in a way, coaxing and signalling,
The worst is over to be left behind,
To herald a new beginning, undefined.
(Nature's way. The cloud here looks like a flame in a lamp and offers a dark wick too. One can only admire and watch in awe.)
S. Sundar Rajan is a chartered accountant, a published poet and writer. His poems are part of many anthologies. He has been on the editorial team of two anthologies.
THE WINTER NIGER FLOWER OF KORAPUT
Niger crops, more poetically called “Alasi” in Odia,
Literally means ‘Lazy She”.
Winter brings miles and miles of golden yellow fields,
Stretching horizon to horizon, like a golden carpet.
On the slopes of hills, on banks of vast lakes,
in the valleys, On either side of the rail track,
by the side of winding mountain roads,
Alasi fields are a delight to watch, to fall in love.
Gently swaying to the autumn breeze,
With a profusion of golden yellow,
Shining under a kind sun,
Extending till the blue mountains on horizon,
against blue sky hung above with white clouds,
Gently remind that you are at god’s own backyard.
The mesmerizing sights are Soothing balms for bruised mind,
Frayed nerves, tired eyes, Sagging spirit.
Oh Alasi, bloom, to Kindle hope in us,
Bloom, to assure us that we still are blessed by nature,
Bloom to make us count our enchanted moments,
Bloom to make us feel “Tat Tvam Asi”
Bloom to tell us “Tena Tyaktena Bhunjitha”
Alasi, crown of glory on head of Koraput.
Er.Sunil Kumar Biswal is a graduate Electrical Engineer and an entrepreneur. He is based in Sunabeda in Koraput District of Odisha. His other interests are HAM Radio (an active HAM with call sign VU2MBS) , Amateur Astronomy (he conducts sky watching programs for interested persons/groups) , Photography and a little bit of writing on diverse topics. He has a passion for communicating science to common man in a simple terms and often gives talks in Electronic media including All India Radio, Radio Koraput. He can be reached at sunilbiswal@hotmail.com
(It's a child's imagination of the prevailing situation of poverty, like the one we are seeing post pandemic. So the language of the poem is also designed in a childish manner.)
A shabby swarthy
Hardy wight
Hard labour is
Whose daily beat
Crammed into
A shanty-town
Chokeful smelly
Dusty brown
Balman gets off
At the crack of dawn
And till dusk,
Goes awn and awn and awn
He fixes cleats to the shoes
In a fettered sweat-shop
Ah! Slave labours for a few halfpence
As a ray of hope
His pick-axe then
Grounds and shatters the rocky slate
Sundrenched under the mighty Sol,
Sweated to a powerless state
Balman earns in a state of flux;
He has no more than a wee wherewithal
Thus, forced to slum his comfort and care;
His clothes and rice and dal
Poverty pushes him into serious brawls
Over trivial reasons
In a fit of rage starts lamming for trifles
As a poppycock dunce
His osseus frame has been suffering from an ailment,
That is growing chronic
Alas! There’s no means to fund for alleviation of
The pain of the rustic
The fool dreams of an ‘asylum’,
Soothingly elated and snug
Which is simply irrelevant to this
Hustling and bustling Bhadrak burg
He lays his agony
To the Be-all and end-all
He prays for a better stay
To the Supreme soul
His hope and hard work makes him shine
In a world so foggy and dim
He is a true swash buckler best out of all others
Found in a film
Chandan Chowdhury is a final year MBBS student at IMS and sum hospital, Bhubaneswar. To get in Touch: twitter.com/c_howdhury ; linkedin.com/in/c-howdhury ; Email - c.ku.chowdhury@gmail.com.
Close your eyes,
Drift into the mystic world you want
Spread your wings, fly high
Chasing the moon of magical chant
With big visions in eyes and passion in mind,
Never look down, never look back
Make that dream come true
Believe, there's no potential that you lack
Provide yourself with confidence and strength
To walk the unpaved path, leaving behind the trail
And even if it may seem to go downhill
Understand, that sometimes there's also triumph in the fail
Remember?! The days as a child
You used to count and fancy the stars
Wishing and aspiring to one day become this or that
Laying underneath the sky, spending hours
Bring those days back again
in nights , at least for once
Count your stars, realise your dreams
Don't forget, it's never too late to give yourself another chance
Ayana Routray, a student of Class X in Bhubaneswar, is a young poet with keen interest in Literature, Fine Arts, Singing, Modelling and Anchoring. She is also a television artiste in Odiya TV channels.
Sometimes, when sitting with the sunset
I feel I would never be able to write again
Darkness everywhere seems to be the refrain
And then there is that beautiful sunrise!
Sometimes, when sifting with my travails
I feel life has become so dreary and uneasy
And there’s no way I can take it easy
But then there is my innate strength!
Sometimes, when lighting a lamp
I feel why there is this darkness
Covering the blind terrain with stillness
But then there is the inner light!
Sometimes, when drifting with my thoughts
I feel where’s life’s work balance
I cannot find meaning with nonchalance
But then there is that ease with Truce! …
Ravi Ranganathan is a retired banker turned poet settled in Chennai. He has to his credit three books of poems entitled “Lyrics of Life” and “Blade of green grass” and “Of Cloudless Climes”. He revels in writing his thought provoking short poems called ‘ Myku’. Loves to write on nature, Life and human mind. His poems are featured regularly in many anthologies. Has won many awards for his poetry including , Sahitya Gaurav award by Literati Cosmos Society, Mathura and Master of creative Impulse award by Philosophyque Poetica.
Being too busy,
Wish I watch
At least one breath
Getting conscious of my living.
It enters baffling all noise,
Very quietly
In slow steps
Inside me
Into my empty house
Rhyming with each heartbeat,
Appearing as a stranger
With smiles of a friend,
Familiar but
Difficult to place,
The true identity.
It brings with it
Whole of the universe
Along with all celestial beings,
Music of silence plays
On the background
As birds flutter to the tune
Sitting on the trees ,
The leaves shake up
Dancing with the breeze
While the smiling flowers
Welcome the spirit of life.
I get aware of the stream
Trying to say me something
In hushing hiss
Before rushing towards the sea.
I hold the moment
For a while
Observing the details,
Threadbare, minutely,
Discovering a current
Flowing within
As I feel
An exhilarating ecstasy
Changing my old beliefs.
Mind recedes,
Body overcomes pain
In a state of divine bliss,
May be it is a glimpse of real life.
Time to say goodbye
To my guest;
With a request to grace
The coming moments.
Let him wash away
All the garbage,
Accumulated, over ages,
So that I accommodate
All the gifts I get
During every breath.
Contemplating deep,
I realize
Have lived more than ever
In one single breath,
With complete awareness.
Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura, is an Engineer from BITS, Pilani and has done his MBA and PhD in Marketing. He writes both in Odia and English. He has published three books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” , “The Mystic is in Love” and “The Mystic’s Mysterious World of Love” and a non-fiction “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. He has also published three books on collection of Odia Poems titled “ Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” and “Nirab Pathika”. Dr Behura welcomes feedback @ bkbehura@gmail.com. One can visit him at bichitrabehura.org
Shining memories fly in wind like melodious tunes,
unpleasant run on ground, prowl,
sometimes least expected,
and spread their limbs on sand dunes.
Life is a mix of various hues,
moments make us
and we rise for a while,
sun and moon caress us soft,
stars sing, flowers dance
and we march on finding a trail.
Long lost faces rise from the foams of the sea,
float languidly round and round,
try to catch them as they perch on our heart,
they flap their wings,
vanish without a trace or a sound.
Pradeep Rath, poet, dramatist, essayist, critic, travelogue writer and editor is an author of ten books of drama, one book of poetry in English, 'The Glistening Sky', two books of criticism, two books of travelogues and two edited works, Pradeep Rath was a bureaucrat and retired from IAS in 2017. His dramas, compendium of critical essays on Modernism and Post modernism, comparative study on Upendra Bhanja and Shakespeare, travelogues on Europe and America sojourns, Coffee Table book on Raj Bhavans of Odisha have received wide acclaim. He divides his time in reading, writing and travels.
Chant, chant, chant….
The name of God.
The ultimate solution.
Capricious this world is,
Filled with sham and solipsism.
Arduous to unravel,
Segregate the altruistic,
Living like a fading shadow.
Chant, chant, chant….
The name of God.
The ultimate solution.
Detach from your agonise.
Unfasten your despondency.
Open your mind to Him.
Keep your love and trust to Him.
Surrender at His lotus feet,
Like a bottomless well.
Chant, chant, chant…’His’ name.
‘He ‘The Supreme Lord’
The ultimate solution
Asha Raj Gopakumar, a postgraduate in English Literature and a novice in writing. She has been living in the Middle East with her family for more than a decade. She is an ardent lover of music, nature and spirituality. She is an active bajan singer in many devotional groups. Presently she focuses on reading, writing and is very much busy with her personal vlog for Krishna lovers as a spiritual service. She had been a teacher for almost six years and gave it up for family matters.
She and her insecurities
have come along with
her in, 'long run'.
Kindness was her morality
Nevertheless, it seems
Desperate to other
Fellow Humans.
People around her
merely, chose her
as an option,
despite that, she
chose them as first
always.
They lit her soul on fire through the venom in their tongue ;
However, she and her serenity
never left apart.
She desires that one of these days'
Life will be, similar to
She always 'imagined for'.
Heena Kouzzer is pursuing MBA HRM (first year) in MGR University. Her hobbies include reading novels , dancing, exploring new things and writing. She has a blog page on Instagram named "Lilacqueenvoicesout20_" in which I pen my random thoughts. I started to write because I want my words to speak for myself and spread positive vibes among my fellow humans .
The little balloon has nowhere to go,
except to roam around the woods.
She has no friends
and it has a lonely way to go.
The little balloon has lost her mother’s path;
she is left with a ribbon and a bow.
She follows the street lights,
going far away.
She hopes to find her mother
on the way.
The little balloon has nowhere to go,
except to sit down on the road and feel sad.
Tanvisha Padhi is a student of Grade VI in Bhubaneswar. She is multi-talented and excels in art, craft, painting and poetry.
A land of culture and a land of heritage,
People from all parts of the globe come on pilgrimage .
Here flourished art , sculptor and education,
It's the land of first civilization.
It's the land of Gurus, preachers and sages ,
Their teachings are still alive ages after ages.
No doubt, it is the home land of Goddesses and Gods,
She has stood tall and strong, fighting all odds.
All her daughters and sons believe, " UNITY IN DIVERSITY ",
For peaceful existence, it's a necessity.
She is my mother, my mother India,
I love my mother land ; I love my India .
Trishna ( Natuni ) , a class V student of Sai International School Bhubaneswar, born to engineer parents and doctor grand parents is a gifted child. A disciplined and determined learner she is, as a student, family member, speaker, writer and an Odisi dancer. She is blended with traditional and cultural values, spirituality, science and arts. A nature loving girl she has taken reading books and travelling as her hobbies. Her favourite dish is Chicken Biryiani prepared by her mother. Her motto of life is, " NEVER BE A DEFAULTER. " May God bless her.
When someone says a word,
A word that you don’t like heard;
When someone does something,
Something that is disturbing.
When you fall down in pain,
When your efforts go in vain;
When your mouth goes dry,
When you really want to cry.
In such situations for instance,
There is a need of tolerance;
The strength to bear the pain,
And bear the pain again.
When your need is dire,
Then you must have the desire;
The desire to tolerate,
To give up dislike and hate.
Tolerance is not just this,
Not just bearing crisis;
Tolerance is coping with
Even the worst possible myth.
Then you will succeed,
You will meet your need!
Only then will you fly,
Fly high into the sky!
So do your best and tolerate,
And you will be called great!
Keshav Pradhan is 13 years old . He is a Grade 8 student in Bangalore. He started writing poems recently. Appreciation from everyone around him for the poems makes him feel special. He hopes to write many more in future.
How beautiful is the moon
Glowing brightly in the night sky
Hiding herself during noon
So no one will never knows if she cries,
Alone she sits in the sky
Guiding those who need her light
Warming the hearts of those who cry
To all the didactics Of dark night
It lights the hope Shows the way
Under her beautiful light
While walking down to the difficult of darkness
It goes calmness for all
The moon is alone too,
But it still shines
Mrinalini Mallick is a student of class 7. She has taken inspiration for writing from her father Shri Sabyasachi Mallick, an avid reader and lover of literarure. She writes on subjects experienced by her little world in a unique way. Her poems exude innocence and hope of an uncluttered mind.
Yes, I am a simple girl, my daddy’s little girl
He gave me wings to fly, not knowing he should spy
I dream to shine, believe in people, share my dreams
Trusting the other gender, silently and sincerely without qualms
I ventured out, making new friends and networking
Not understanding the brutal underground systems working
Looks can be deceptive and words can be manipulated
In the name of friendship, love and care and what not!
When I extended my little hands in search of friendship
I did not know for sure, the big shadow of a cruel perpetrator
My simple dream not just broken but tarnished for ever
The small moments of pleasure became a bane for life
Veils of perverseness of the man I believed to be a friend
Brought upon me a tragedy to unveil and an emotional end
I cried in pain, for rescue, for help and for solace
The ‘trusted’ friend with his gang of ‘trusted’ friends
Ended up treating me like a meat as I ventured onto meet!
I ended up in shame and disgust, physical and emotional pain
Media wants to show my face and give a name, and blame
Victim blaming, victim shaming, and victim destroy
Unfortunately, Is not new in this country of mine,
STOP, this game, please for heaven’s sake and hell’s end
All I did was to put my trust and go along with a friend!
Oh Mothers! Out there! Please feed your sons with food for thought
That ‘woman’ is not a sex toy, but a soul with blood and flesh
We are young, and we too have a dream and a life out there
Beyond this tragedy, let us live in some left out grace
Social Media fanatics – Stop searching for who we are!
We are someone’s sister, some dad’s daughter, even a teacher!
System - Refine yourself, before you advice on what we need to do!
Our families and friends can take care of us for true!
Umasree Raghunath is a Senior IT Professional/ Author/ Blogger/ Poet/ Lawyer/ Diversity & Inclusion Social Activist/ Motivational Speaker, Past President - Inner Wheel Club of Madras South, Vice-President-eWIT . Umasree has close to 400 poems across various themes, subjects, situations and emotions and been writing since she was 13 years old. She is the Author of the Book- Simply Being Sidds and also has a live blog in her own name.
PUSHY IN THE OPEN ,IN SEARCH OF THE SUN
Neither to London, Nor to meet the Queen,
Not a Paramvir that a Court would seek
To know where the person is in,
None bothered about her,
No photo of her in any daily, local or national,
No poster in the missing section,
The Pushy Cat ,
Without a Coat,
Battered by the wintry biting cold,
Has come out to the open,
In search of the Sun
But Lo !, Where is that day-time golden moon ?
The Sun or its shine,
Hidden behind the clouds of smoke and fog,
Its face was pale, looking like another fake,
The Sky itself tormented, cannot hold the Sun tight or bright,
The farmers are sure to blame for the plight,
Not the chimneys that coughed out black torrent bouts ,
Nor the thousands and thousands of wheels in their twos and fours
That honked their way forward in the cut throat competition,
To stamp carbon pride on their selves and the civilization,
The Pushy on the road, In search of the Sun,
Heard from People's conversations,
The World heads towards oblivion,
But the world heads had put their heads together at Glasgow,
The heads were on a similar mission,
To find on Earth the Sun,
But Pushy felt that their exercise was in vain,
Their sincerity and tactics were matters of question if not pretensions,
They all were nationalists, concerned about their men and women
True to their calling as politicians,
Worked in national interest doing business in trading carbon.
Getting the Sun clean is a far off proposition,
The Pushy felt that it won't come in her life's generation,
And her lasting was a question of only a few days on!
(Dedicated to the memory of Prof B.C.Rout , an iconic scholar ,writer ,teacher and mentor who made Poitical Science popular in Odisa’s nook and corner by his lucid writings . Prof Rout my well-wisher and erstwhile colleague and Head of the Department , Pol.Sc at Ravenshaw and Principal ,DD College Keonjhar left for his heavenly abode on the last 17th November night /18th Nov early morning )
Dr. Niranjan Barik is a retired Professor of Political Science from Ravenshaw University, Odisha and is currently attached there on teaching and research on an ICSSR project. He is passionate about literature and writes poems, short stories.
Grubby places,
Oh! Cherishing abode,
For the itsy-bitsy spider.
Not sparing any worthless space too,
Oh! Spinning its web tenaciously,
Astounded by its dashing momentum,
A maze-like pattern that follows,
The best artisan,
Energizing and inspiring as always.
Swaying and flapping,
Shooting to larger distances,
Sticky silky nets,
Never gets ruined easily,
The cobweb,
Awful in deserted places,
Oh! Scary sights in movies,
Alas! How ridiculous it is for a prey,
To envisage its liberation, once succumbed!
The orb web, tiny strands,
Shining as the sun rays fall,
It spins and spins, the rich protein silk,
Exquisitely getting strengthened,
With phenomenal tensility and elasticity!
It teaches I guess,
Life's many lessons,
Life is like a web,
Every soul is cautiously intertwined.
Spin a web, clasping hopes,
Grasping positivity,
We may topple, might get lost,
Yet, hold on!
If we never fall, we learn nothing,
Bouncing back, is the essence of life.
Beware! Don't stumble into a web of evil dogmas and hallucinations,
Living under delusion, anticipating fortune,
Without much toiling, risky!
Might get entangled like prey in the web.
Challenges in life?
Be diligent,
Strands of the spider's web,
Distend before breaking,
Damages are indeed repaired,
Blockers and mockers may hamper our success,
Situations might even make us underdogs,
Face the impediments!
In the web of struggles,
Seek the hidden avenues, broaden the horizons,
An ever-smooth sea,
Can never be the best tutor to the sailor.
Success crowns a person,
Who spins strands of possibilities and perseverance,
Every strand is priceless,
It contributes beautifully, to accomplish the web of life,
Weave it with utmost care!
A cheerful Biochemist and Molecular Biologist, Dr. Thirupurasundari C J (Dazzle) has a university rank and gold medal in her Bachelors and Masters respectively. She fetched her state and national level fellowships for Doctoral studies. She started her research and teaching experience at a Diabetes Research Hospital. She is recognised as someone who teaches with passion. She took this ethos to a school and also excelled as Assistant Professor in a reputed University, Chennai and then for a brief stint at the Vector Control Research Centre, Puducherry. She has PG diplomas in Bioinformatics, Clinical Research and Patent Rights. She has participated in national and international scientific conferences and has published her research findings in peer-reviewed journals. Cancer, Diabetes and Horticulture are the fields, she has traversed. The last of which was put to use at the Indian Institute of Horticultural Research. Her other passions include yoga, sudoku, poetry, sketching, gardening and experimenting new cuisines. Besides a science content writer, an editor for “Science Shore” e-zine, she has published her oeuvres in Bangalore Poetry Circle, Adisakrit, Positive vibes, Chennai Poets’ Circle, Indian Periodicals, International Writers Journal, Inner Child Press International, INNSAEI, Spillwords and other anthology groups. Her oeuvres are also available on literary platforms like TechTouch talk, Cultural reverence, Namaste India, Muse India-Your Space, Story mirror, Pratilipi and others. She draws inspiration from others!
Betwixt the rosy lips
I see a smile of recognition;
And the dark, thin eye-lids
Seem to extend a secret invitation.
Your expressions, most akin to moonlight
Like a mermaid dancing to the tune of waves
Reminds me of your lovely words, to my delight,
Which sparkle from your blissful face.
Stolen, or borrowed, may your words appear
But, they do come from within your heart;
For, your eyes are a faithful errand- runner
Never do they go from me, or apart!
Your love is great, so truthful
Like a flower blossoming to full !!
We say prayers
ere every meal
No caste or creed
None taught....
to abuse Mother Earth, and affront
farmers that toil in the soil.
N. Rangamani, a resident of Chennai, graduated from IIT Madras; superannuated after more than thirty-five years of service in (Aircraft Maintenance) Aviation. He has revived his writing passion post retirement. He likes to write and puts it to action, sometimes. He writes in Tamil and English. Contact: rangkrish@gmail.com
1.
The flowers I offered at your feet
Have turned to dry petals,
The lamp I lit in your room
Has become a fleeting flicker,
The incense I burnt with love
Has been reduced to flakes of ash,
Now all I want to do is fold my hands
And tell you I believed in you,
Perhaps you didn't .....
2.
We have drifted so far apart,
It's difficult to think
Once we walked on the same path
Our shadows chasing each other.
Now even in my pain
You have left me aching
A forlorn shadow under a leafless tree......
3.
November is here,
Slowly creeping into our rooms
Like a shy, demure bride
Promising a few days of soothing winter,
And lots of glowing warmth.
Let's fill the cup with pleasure
And forget the impending shivers of December......
4.
It is strange
How loneliness makes everything look different
Days seem darker than night
Evening mists look like looming clouds,
Ghosts appear from every where
And sit like monarchs of a Nowhere Land.......
5.
All of you who sleep tonight
With loads of sweet dreams,
And sighs of peace and contentment,
Let me wish you a morning of bright sunshine,
Not for you a gloomy foreboding
That reduces life to a grey canvas.......
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . 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. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
SHORT STORIES AND MISCELLANEOUS ARTICLES
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE -THIRD EYE OF LORD SHIVA
Meaning:
One should worship Shiva for spiritual knowledge and
Janardan (Vishnu) for the liberation (Moksha).
In Hindu mythology, Shiva is one of the principal deities. Amongst the three primary deities in Hinduism of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, he is considered as the reformer and destroyer, with Brahma being the creator and Vishnu being the sustainer. Lord Shiva is depicted with a third eye on his forehead and we are told this eye destroys everything it sees. This attribute of Shiva definitely makes a great mythological spectacle, but there is something deeper and more profound that our forefathers are trying to tell us. In this article, let us try to understand the underlying meaning and associated some legends of Shiva’s third eye and decode what our forefathers mean when they say, “Shiva destroys the world by opening his third eye”.
Shiva has many iconographical attributes which include;
· A third eye on his forehead
- Body covered in ash
· Sitting on tiger skin
· A cobra around his neck
· Crescent moon on his head
· A trident in one hand
· A drum in other hand
· And the river Ganges flowing out of his matted hair.
All of these attributes of Shiva have some significance associated with them and there are very interesting legends and stories associated with all these attributes. I do not intend now to explain all these attributes but let’s just focus on Shiva’s third eye, as this attribute is the most profound.
Lord Shiva is prayed as Tryambaka
Translation:
Om, We worship the Tryambaka (the 3- eyed One), Who is fragrant (as the spiritual essence),
Increasing the nourishment (of our spiritual core);
From these many bondages (of Samsara) similar to Cucumbers (tied to their creepers), May I be liberated from death (Attachment to perishable things), So that I am not separated from the perception of Immortality.\
Being one of the most widely worshipped Gods in Hinduism, Lord Shiva is also referred as Tryambaka Deva (Three-eyed lord) for the third eye placed on his forehead with which he burned Desire (K?ma) to ashes. "Tryambakam" (Sanskrit: ??????????? ), which occurs in many scriptural sources. In classical Sanskrit, the word ambaka denotes "an eye", and in the Mahabharata, Shiva is depicted as three-eyed, so this name is sometimes translated as "having three eyes" However, in Vedic Sanskrit, the word amb? or ambik? means "mother", and this early meaning of the word is the basis for the translation "three mothers". These three mother-goddesses who are collectively called the Ambik?s. Other related translations have been based on the idea that the name actually refers to the oblations given to Rudra, which according to some traditions were shared with the goddess Ambik?.
The third eye stands as a symbol of wisdom, free from “Maya” (illusion) and duality of life. It looks beyond the obvious happenings with clear perception, and shows one what is known to be true. This eye of Lord Shiva is known as the “Spiritual eye” which stands for deeper consciousness and allows us to see the real world for the world as we see it is an illusion.It is philosophically believed that the third eye allows for clear thought, meditation, spiritual contemplation, and self-reflection. It is the highest chakra in the physical body, allowing human beings to provide visionary ideas. The third eye determines one's reality and beliefs based on what one chooses to see in the world. The third eye chakra is sometimes referred to as our pure sense. It's thought that an open third eye can lead to an increase in perceptive, meditative, and intuitive, divine and spiritual abilities.
As per the modern philosophy and spirituality, the third eye is a symbol of enlightenment. It is often referred to as “Gyananakashu” (the eye of knowledge). In the Indian and East Asian iconography, the third eye is the “Ajna chakra” (the sixth chakra). It is also known as brow chakra or brow center. The third eye of Lord Shiva is also famous for emitting flames that destroy the evil. It is believed that Lord Shiva has only opened the third eye in extreme cases, when no more space for forgiveness was left and no question of granting another chance existed. It was his third eye, which gave him the name of the destroyer; when Shiva opened third eye it destroyed the person who befell for the vision. It is also believed that Lord Shiva’s third eye represents the rejection of desire. It is this eye that killed the Kamadeva (the God of lust). The question arises why does Shiva reject desire? He realized the consequences of desire. When the object of desire (Sati) goes away, it leaves behind an immense sorrow and anger. Desire not only evokes positive emotions like love, affection, contentment, and compassion, but it also evokes negative emotions like anger, dissatisfaction, and sorrow. Lord Shiva is, therefore, known to shy away from it, preferring the cold mountains – Kailash Parvath, which represents the state of coolness, calmness and transcendence – where there is just stillness, silence and bliss.
His right eye is believed to be the sun, the left eye is the moon and his third eye represents the fire. His left and right eyes indicate his activity in the physical form. In his anger he opened his third eye, and fire from the eye devoured Kama, until Parvati saved him. Once Lord Shiva was sitting fully engaged in meditation, Goddess Parvati, his consort came there and playfully covered both his eyes with her hands. Immediately, the entire universe plunged into darkness.. With his divine power, Siva created a third eye in the centre of his forehead.
Legends: Some of the Puranas narrate why Lord Shiva opened his third eye. But there are no documentary evidences to know - how many times Lord Shiva opened his third eye. The Shiva Purana provides instances when Shiva opened his third eye.
1. Opening of third eye and burning of Kamadeva
At the suggestion of Brahm?, the Goddess Sati, representing divine female energy, took birth as a daughter of Brahm?’s son Daksha Praj?pati. Brahm?'s strategy was that Sati would please Shiva with devotion bringing him out of his long meditation to marry him. It was natural that Sati, as a child, adored the tales and legends associated with Shiva and grew up as ardent devotee. At the age of five and thereafter she wanted only to worship lord Shiva. As Sati grew to womanhood, the idea of marrying anyone other than Shiva as proposed by her father was not acceptable to her. Every proposal from kings made her crave the ascetic Shiva of Kail?sa. To win the heart of Shiva, Sati renounced the luxuries of her father's palace and retired to a forest, to devote to worship Shiva. So rigorous were her penance that she gradually renounced food itself, at one stage subsisting on one bilva leaf a day, and then giving up even that. Finally, all of her devotion brought lord Shiva out of long meditation and appeared before Sati and asked her to be his bride. An ecstatic Sati returned to her father's home to await her bridegroom. She found her father not at all happy with the events. Her father Daksha was a proud king and didn’t like Shiva and used to call him a dirty ascetic. The wedding was however held when Brahm? intervened. A huge celebration was planned, and all the Gods, Goddesses, and Sages were invited. It was indeed a royal feast and there was much rejoicing, because the world was always a happier place when Shiva came out of his long meditation to find his beloved once again in earthly form. Their union is celebrated on the new moon in February which is called Mahashivratri, the great wedding night of Shiva and the divine Mother. After the wedding Shiva took his beautiful young bride in his arms and took her to his mountain home at Kailash. There it was always spring or summer. The flowers were always in bloom. There Shiva adorned Sati with garlands of rare and exotic flowers, jewels of the most dazzling hue, and garments woven of the finest silk. He would fashion jewelled sandals for her lovely feet and find crimson paints to embellish her graceful toe nails. Beautiful rings bedecked her lovely long fingers, pearls and opals in her black hair. Even though he himself wore the skins of wild animals, he had built for Sati an exquisite palace out of the finest pink and golden-hued marble. Thus, unimaginably blissful thousand years in human time passed. Sati's father Daksha had never approved of his daughter's marriage. To Daksha, Shiva was an unorthodox hermit, who frequented cremation grounds. No yogi with long matted hair, who consumes intoxicants, sings and dances whenever he pleases, was a worthy husband for his daughter. After Sati’s marriage, Daksha distanced himself from his daughter, and his son-in-law, Shiva. Daksha organized a great yagna or ritual sacrifice. He invited all the members of his family, allies, Gods, sages, courtiers and subjects. Consciously excluding Sati and Shiva from the list of his invitees, he also set up a statue of Shiva at the entrance to his hall, which he defiled. Sati reasoned within herself that her parents had neglected to make a formal invitation to them only because, as family, such formality was unnecessary; certainly, she needed no invitation to visit her own mother. Sati was hurt by her father's refusal to acknowledge her marriage and her husband and decided to go to the party. Shiva tried to dissuade her. But she had resolved to go, so Shiva provided her with an escort of his ganas and requested that she maintain her composure in the face of insults that Daksha would heap upon him. When she arrived, her father asked her why she was there, as she was not invited. Daksha explained that he could not spoil his glorious yagna by Shiva who had matted hair and wore a loincloth of animal skins. Some of the guests began to laugh. Sati was hurt by the insult to her husband. Sati was devastated. She trembled with disgust and she made an internal resolve to relinquish all family ties. She walked past her father and sat in a meditative seat on the ground. Closing her eyes, envisioning Lord Shiva, Sati fell into a mystic trance. Going deep within herself she began to increase her own inner fire through yogic exercises until her body burst into flames. There is an interpretation and twist to the story that Sati jumped to the sacrificial fire for self immolation. However, hearing what had happened, Shiva's attendants rushed inside the ceremony hall and started attacking all the guests. Upon hearing the news of his beloved wife's death, Shiva, was first shocked and saddened, then enraged. He fell into the deepest and darkest place he could find. He tore his hair out, and fashioned from the hair the fiercest of warriors, Siva named this warrior, Virabhadra which connotes Vira (hero) + Bhadra (friend). Shiva then commanded Virabhadra to go to the yagna and destroy Daksha and all the guests. Virabhadra stormed the ceremony and killed Daksha as well as many of the guests. Terrified Gods begged Lord Shiva for mercy and to restore Daksha's life. Shiva arrived at Daksha's palace to see the damage that Virabhadra had done and absorbed Virabhadra back into his own form. Shiva’s anger was gone. He was filled with sorrow. This sorrow turned to compassion when he saw the bloody aftermath of Virabhradra. Shiva found Daksha's headless body and giving it the head of a goat, brought Daksha back to life. Daksha called Shiva as Shankar - the kind and benevolent one. With Daksha's pride put in check he bowed in awe and humility to Shiva Shankar. The other Gods and Goddesses followed his lead and honoured Shiva. The fact remained that Sati was dead. The entire assembly would have been disintegrated by Shiva's rage, yet greater than his rage was the unspeakable suffering at the loss of his beloved Sati. And so tenderly and carefully he gathered up the sacred body of the divine Mother and walked away from the scene, carrying the lifeless body of his beloved wife, wandering to where he did not know. But one thing he was sure of was that he would find the most isolated place possible and once again become an ascetic recluse. Shiva began roaming the earth, walking up and down mountains miles high with his beloved clasped tightly to his heart. Gods followed not knowing how to help restore him to normality. They chanted mantras and prayers but when nothing worked, the Gods called upon Lord Vishnu to return Shiva to his original form. Vishnu used his Sudarshana Chakra to cut Sati's lifeless body into 52 pieces which fell to earth at various places and these places are called Shakti Peethas, and became places of pilgrimage. Finally, when the last part of the body fell away, Shiva sat down at the banks of the source of the Ganges where he had sat once a long time ago when he agreed to let the river Ganga fall on his head, so that its impact would not tear the world apart. There in a long meditation, he remembered who he was and who the divine Mother was. He then remembered their sacred vow, that they had sworn never to part, even when the body was no more, that they would be together in spirit and in soul even if the body were to change forms, even if the body were to disappear altogether, as it must, for the new form to take shape. Much later, Sati is reborn as the daughter of Himavath (the king of mountains). The couple named her Parvati and showed immense devotion towards Lord Shiva. She tries her best to please him to marry her. Although Lord Shiva remains impassive, disappointing both she and the Devas who are eager to get Lord Shiva married. The Devas were informed that the demon, Taraka, who got them in trouble was destined to be killed by Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati’s son. So, they decided to help Parvati, please Lord Shiva by sending Lord Kama to the Mount Kailash. While Lord Shiva is seen meditating, Kamadeva raises his bow, pulls his bowstring buzzing with bees and shoots flowery scents of kama (desire) into Shiva’s heart. The result was not something the Devas expected it would be. Instead of opening his eyes and expressing his desire for Parvati, Lord Shiva opened third eye. It is in the centre of the forehead and blows out a missile of fire that sets Kamadeva aflame. Right in front of Parvati, Kamadeva is reduced to ashes in no time. It is then that Shiva gets the name destroyer. Such is the power of the third eye of Lord Shiva. Through this incident, the third eye has been accompanied by emotions of rage and anger.
2. Parvati closes Shiva’s two eyes and Andhaka is born
In Hinduism, Andhaka (Sanskrit: ?????, meaning "He who darkens") refers to a demon whose pride was vanquished by Shiva P?rvat?. This legend finds mention in the Matsya Pur??a, the K?rma Pur??a, the Li?ga Pur??a, the Padma Purana and the Shiva Purana. Andhaka is believed to have one thousand heads, and one thousand arms, thus having two thousand eyes, arms, and feet. In another version, he has two thousand arms and two thousand legs.
This legend in Shiv Purana narrates that when Shiva was meditating on the Mount Mandara, once playfully Parvati closed the eyes of Lord Shiva with her hands from behind. As soon as Mahadeva’s eyes were thus covered, all the regions became dark and life seemed to be extinct everywhere in the universe. All living creatures became cheerless and filled with fear. Birds froze in the air mid-flight. Cows became living statues while grazing in their lush green fields. The tiger about to pounce on her prey was rooted to her hiding spot while the deer was fastened to his feeding ground. All life became still and quiet. When the eyes of the lord of all life forms were closed, the universe seemed to become sunless. Soon, overspreading darkness disappeared and a mighty and powerful flame of fire started to radiate from Mahadeva’s forehead. His third eye, resembling another sun, appeared on his forehead. This eye provided light to the world when his other two eyes were closed. While covering Lord Shiva’s eyes, Goddess Parvati’s hands started perspiring. The sweat filled with the power of Shiva (heat) and Shakti (water) transformed into a child – a blind child.. Parvati was terrified on seeing him, but Shiva rebuked her, claiming that since he was born due to their physical contact, he was their child. The child sang, cried, laughed, danced, put out its tongue like a serpent and thundered fiercely. They named this child – Andhaka. At this time, there was a demon named Hiranyaksha who had no sons. He prayed to Lord Shiva and pleased by his devotion decided to offer him with Andhaka, to raise him as his son. Andhaka went on to become the king of Hiranyaksha’s kingdom. Later, Andhaka gets blessed with a boon from Lord Brahma. Andhakasura asked him for victories throughout his life and immortality. Lord Brahma granted him the first boon but asked him how he wanted to die, as death was inevitable. To this, Andhakasura replied that he would be killed by his own father if he ever decides to marry a woman who was like a mother to him. Empowered by this boon, he went on to conquer all the three worlds. During his invasion, he meets Parvati and gets aroused by her beauty. He then decided to make her his queen. As he chased her, Lord Shiva came to Parvati’s rescue. Andhak tries to abduct Parvati from Shiva. A battle ensues in the Mah?k?la forest and the blood that flows from Andhaka gives rise to a thousand more demons. V?sudeva creates the Goddess ?u?karevat? who drinks the blood of all the demons and kills them. When Shiva is about to blow the final strike, Andhaka surrenders and begs for forgiveness by praying to him. Pleased by his devotion, Shiva makes him a Ga?a This story narrates the dark side of the third eye . In the R?m?ya?a, the story of K?l? killing Andhaka is briefly noted in Chapter 30 of the Ara?ya K???a, at the time when Khara, the younger brother of R?va?a is killed by R?ma. The scripture reads that Andhaka was killed by Shiva's third eye. In the Mah?bh?rata, Andhaka is killed by K?l?, though not by Shiva’s third eye as in the R?m?ya?a
Sadguru states that this legend metaphorically illustrates that the physical world, blinds one to worldly realities. Andhaka means the `blind one’, so blind that he does not even distinguish between mother and wife.
3. The birth of Jalandhar
There is one more legend which provides event which compelled Shiva to open his third eye. Once upon a time, Lord Indra was going to Kailash Mountain to meet Lord Shiva along with Sage Brihaspati. Lord Shiva came to know about their arrival and he wanted to test his devotion towards him. Lord Shiva disguised as a hermit met them on their way. Indra did not recognize Lord Shiva. Indra inquired as to who he was and where he lived. Lord Shiva sat quietly without replying to his question. Indra asked him again and again, but Lord Shiva did not reply. Indra became angry and tried to attack Lord Shiva with his Vajra (sword). Lord Shiva paralyzed Indra’s hands of by his divine power. Shiva's eyes turned red with anger, which made Indra frightened. Sage Brihaspati was able to recognize that hermit was none other than Lord Shiva. He prayed Lord Shiva and requested him to pardon Indra. Lord Shiva became pleased and diverted the power of his radiant eyes to the sea. Lord Shiva went back to Kailash Mountain. Indra and sage Brihaspati returned back to their own places. The effulgence, which had been diverted from Lord Shiva into the sea, resulted into the manifestation of a child. The child was crying so loudly that fear was created everywhere. The deities and the sages went to Lord Brahma who assured them to find out the reason. Lord Brahma went to the seashore. The sea put the child in his lap and asked him about the name of that child and his future. Meanwhile the child pressed Lord Brahma's neck with such power that tears rolled down from his eyes. For this reason he named the child as Jalandhar. Lord Brahma said to the sea that the child would become the king of the demons and no deity would be able to kill him except Shiva. After Lord Brahma returned to his abode, the sea took that child to his home and brought up the child with care and love.
Sadhguru explains the symbolism of Shiva’s third eye and how clarity and perception arise when the third eye opens up.
The above verse best describes Lord Shiva’s identity. It says: Parama Purusha Shiva also known as Ishwara having no Lord over him, who holds Mandakini on his head. He has three eyes and crescent moon on his forehead. He is a pleasant soul, holder of a trident, having complexion as white as camphor, keeps on applying white ashes over his body. Such is the description of Lord Shiva. The third eye is treated as another divine characteristic of Lord Shiva.
The question that now arises is, of all the things, why did our forefathers use the third eye on the forehead as an icon for depicting this. For this we will have to jump a little bit into understanding the physiology of human brain. It is a well know phenomenon in psychology that we have two levels in our brain. The lower animal-brain runs on autopilot and the higher human-brain through which we make intelligent decisions. In his book, “Thinking Fast and Slow”, which has been recommended by Sadguru, Nobel Laureate Daniel Kahneman describes the difference between these two brains. He calls these two brains, system 1 and system 2. When we do thing on autopilot based on our instincts, we use system 1 or lower brain, while when we put an effort into a mental task, we use system 2 or higher brain. It is this higher brain, which separates us from animals. Animals just follow their animal instincts and live their life within the limits of nature, while as humans we can overcome our instincts and act on our will. It is this capacity of humans due to which we are not limited by nature. When you blindly pursue a desire based on your instincts, you use your lower brain. When you pursue them consciously, after overcoming your instincts and carefully judging the pro and cons, you are using your higher brain. In other words by using your higher brain, you open the third eye of Shiva in you. Through functional MRI, scientists have figured out, where this higher brain is located. Can you guess where it is located? Shiva’s third eye is located on the forehead and so also ours. Our forefathers did not have functional MRI, but they did know where our seat of wisdom is located and that is exactly where they placed the third eye. Shiva’s third eye signifies the destruction of the world of Maya. It is an eye of wisdom, which provides us the faculty to distinguish what is right and what is wrong.
The third eye refers to an eye which can see that which is not physical. The sensory eyes can grasp that which is physical. When you want to see something that is not physical in nature, the only way to look is inward. When we refer to the “third eye”, we are symbolically talking about seeing something that the two sensory eyes cannot see.The sensory eyes are outward-oriented. The third eye is to see your interiority – the nature of yourself and your existence. It is not some extra appendage or crack in your forehead. That dimension of perception through which one can perceive that which is beyond the physical is referred to as the third eye. Another aspect is that the sensory eyes are deeply contaminated by karma Perfect clarity arises only when our inner vision opens up. No situation or person in the world can distort this clarity within us. For true knowledge to arise, your third eye has to open up.
Thus, when we refer to the “third eye”, we are symbolically talking about seeing something that the two sensory eyes cannot see. It is to see something that is within our interior self. The two eyes that humans possess are controlled by senses which are not reliable. The third eye represents all pervading – Gyaana knowledge) and Dhyaana (Consciousness or Concentration) that one aspires to achieve.
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.
KANT’S THIRD ENCOUNTER WITH GOD
Kant recalled having an encounter with God, the first time when he was a kid of around ten. And a second encounter with God, almost two years later. The time had accelerated in his life in those two years and maturity had come to him as if by the pressing of a fast-forward button of the panel of a video player.
His own reading and regular feed-back from his erudite father’s repository of information had made Kant feel as if he had progressed two centuries in his mental aging ahead of his classmates and playmates. He had started feeling like a little Zen philosopher.
Kant had read and heard from his father about Goutam Buddha’s first exposure in his childhood to the worldly knowledge of ‘old age, sickness, death, and attainment of peace’ by watching the life of ordinary people during his horse-cart ride through the capital city, Kapilavastu, of his father’s kingdom. He was taken out to the streets by his wise and friendly charioteer for the first time, from his insular and secured palace interior, full of luxury and fun.
It was Goutam’s father’s idea to expose his son, the successor to the royal throne, to the real world. Goutam watched with sad wonderment the sufferings of an infirm old man even unable to walk because of weakness due to advanced age, a sick person suffering from painful diseases, and a dead man followed by crying relatives while being taken in a sad cortege for cremation. His heart broke for the tragedy and sufferings of the ordinary people.
Goutam, one day, came across a peaceful monk with no worldly worries, begging for food and taking shelter in the shade of a tree. But the poor homeless monk seemed untouched by any unhappiness. The young prince asked his charioteer, “Who is he and why is he so happy and peaceful; though he begs for food, has no home, and takes shelter under a tree?”
His wise charioteer explained, “My noble prince, he is a monk. He is happy because he has no attachment to material things or living beings. He has no worldly desires. He has disciplined his mind to be free from desires.”
Kant recalled, he had the similar experiences, as those of the young Goutam, in a vicarious way. He realized, bad thoughts, and bad experiences had caused him unhappiness. Good thoughts, joyous experiences, and happy memories kept him in the best mood. He had tried his best to avoid looking at unhappy incidents and discard his sad, bad, and unhappy memories, and to preserve only the memories of his happy moments. But he had failed miserably.
Harder he had tried to erase the bad patches of his past, more intensely those memories returned to him. But he didn’t give up. he kept trying, he kept looking for ways in books, guides, Google, as well as his father’s unfathomable store of wisdom. He didn’t understand why his father would reply his queries on the subject a mysterious, knowing smile and twinkle in his eyes without uttering a word.
His first encounter with God seemed so remote that Kant could not exactly recall the way it had happened. Was it in a trance, a dream, or a real time experience? He only recalled, as God had explained, he had travelled from home through a wormhole to emerge at God’s house. It had been an easy way of travel between inter-galactic universes.
He had read that Einstein had theorized about those space-time ‘wormholes’ by the side of every ‘blackhole’ in his General Theory of Relativity, the ‘wormholes’ would connect universes for instant inter-galactic travel. But all his experiences, that had happened during his hours of stay with God, clearly came to him now, like the vivid replay of a video: images, actions and sounds. God, he recalled, was a little old fragile dwarf, a slightly bigger version of an elf, the magical creature, that he had seen in sketches in the books of fairytales.
God, he had found living in a non-descript mud-thatch cottage, badly in need of repair. He was writing programs like a great computer buff, but in long hand, using some script unknown to young Kant. His script was like little snakes sleeping side by side on a piece of paper. He was writing programs for coming millennia, and revealed that Kant’s own millennium was running as programmed by God in another millennium in the hoary past.
Kant had learnt that God programmed everything conceivable, millennia in advance, like the seasons, flora, fauna, soil condition, and space and elements, movement of celestial bodies, functioning of universes and time’s speed-factor, human behavior, and their conscience, music, artforms, beliefs, art, literature and love. In a nutshell, nothing was left to chances. Every aspect of the living and non-living was programmed by that little old elf like creature, who called himself God, the one and only. But the dwarf’s actions and explaining had convinced Kant beyond doubt that he could not be anyone but God.
When, Kant had mentioned that encounter to his mother the same morning after returning home, she had expressed fear and performed a ‘Najar-Utaro’, the ritual to ward off the evil spirits harassing her child. She presumed that Kant had a nightmare under the influence of an evil spirit.
Kant, however, had developed an undeniable and unquestionable trust on his elf like God because he had solved a most complicated question bothering his mind, how God had managed to deal with the myriads of prayers from countless humans, many of the prayers contradicting one another. Like a thief would pray to help him loot a house, whereas the householder would pray to save his house from the thieves. God had shown his tree-wind-complex-device working with an infallible program to fulfill just and balanced prayers, and ignoring the trivial ones, also the irresponsible and imbalanced ones. The system had seemed fail-proof to Kant. Even he was given a chance to personally test the working of the system and he got convinced. To explain him in Kant’s own terms, God had given the example of the Pegasus spyware, that Kant recalled had been in the latest news to be used to spy against terror activities, though often misused. God’s was something like that but having no misuse possibilities.
A few years ago, around two years after his first encounter, Kant had the second encounter with God. It was an epiphany. He was either in a deep thought or light sleep, he could not exactly recollect now. ‘Bang’, and the dwarf was there. Or was it the other way around, he was with the dwarfish God, being carried away by the space-time travel through a wormhole?
The dwarf seemed to have shrunk in size, looking shorter and thinner than what he had looked like during Kant’s first visit. It was the same derelict cottage interior in the semi dark, with no light or fan, except a little earthen oil lamp throwing a glow of light on the area where God was scribbling away, might be a program for some future millennium.
The dwarf turned and looked at Kant, his wispy white beard and hair catching the little breeze from an open window, Kant knew that the window was in the outer room. God had a quizzical glint in his eyes.
He smiled like a mind reader and said mildly, “No Kant, I have not shrunk in size, it is an optical illusion of your eyes, as you have grown in size. In two-years’ time, you have put on height and weight, as most of your friends have done, but I have remained unchanged, so… I guarantee, everything here is there exactly as you left them during your last visit. Why …., I feel, you just went away just a second ago through that worm-hole from my universe to yours, and returned immediately, having grown big, experienced and knowledgeable.”
Kant protested, “No God uncle, it has been around two long years, since I met you last.” God smiled showing him regular but pointed small shark-teeth, “I know that my child. But your two years is even less than an instant at my end. See, I am still scribbling the same program and hardly progressed two lines, and the same earthen lamp is alight with hardly any oil consumed. You know, I have programmed the time of your universe to run around a million times faster than mine.”
Kant felt totally scandalized, “So, if I spend a second with you, I may age decades in my planet. It is not fair, God uncle.” The dwarf gave a lopsided naughty smile, “No Kant, when you return, you get back all your lost time. Your time is your fixed deposit with me, ever-guaranteed by me, and I am not fallible like the banks on your earth.” Kant felt relieved.
He was offered a broken old stool, that was so far not visible to him because of the semi-dark, and he sat down on it by the little all-powerful God. He towered above God’s diminutive dwarfish figure. He felt awkward. He was so big but so little, but God was so little but was so big! He wondered how the dwarf held the reins of the countless universes in his little hands, how mighty his clutch!
God smiled his all-knowing smile, “Why don’t you recall what you read in Bhagavat? Mother Yashoda, who had similar thoughts as you have now, when she forced-open her lad Krishna’s mouth to catch him at eating raw mud, and to her wonderment, saw in his little mouth the universes of stars, planets, constellates, nebulae and comets, nestling and moving in their cosmic trajectory!” Kant nodded vigorously.
Kant now recalled his ever-bothering subject by acquiring the capacity not to be influenced by bad, unhappy or tragic experiences and not being haunted by their memories. He wanted his eternal happiness like the monk that had influenced young Goutam during his tour through the township of Kapilavastu.
But he was not allowed to broach the topic before God. The omniscient dwarf gave him a knowing chuckle and seemed like pulling the thought from the deep recesses of his mind to the fore. He asked, “Tell me my boy, what exactly you want to do with your experiences and memories? What is your real bother?”
Kant gathered his wits. He was good at his personal computer. He those days was using computer terms into his vocabulary to impress all. God was amused with a little smile, whenever Kant did that with him. When Kant felt a bit crestfallen, God patted him with his little hands and urged, “Don’t mind this old fellow’s oddity. Please explain your point.”
Kant asked, “God uncle, I want to be happy. If I come across unpleasant and sad or horrific events that happen to me or around me, they make me very unhappy, besides making permanent homes in my memory. The memory revisits me and makes me more unhappy, again and again. I have heard the story of the monk, whom young Goutam had seen during his tour of Kapilavastu town, who was detached from worldly affairs and basked in happiness. Give me a ‘Self-delete/Self-save App’ connected to my thought process that would automatically or by default, whatever, block me from bad experiences and unhappy memories, and delete them forever. Let my brain have the capacity to experience only happy incidents and save them as happy memories for posterity.”
God looked at Kant with a puzzled look, “You are not made that way, my child. Are you sure about what you are asking? You would discard half or more of your experiences that way. You wish the attributes of a monk. The monk was a monk. You surely don’t profess a monk-like ambition in your future. Are you, my child?” Kant remained rigid like a petulant child.
God looked more puzzled, “Are you cock sure, Kant? Won’t you repent your decision? I can’t advise further than saying that a monk-like memory and posturing may clash with your worldly living. A monk acquires the powers or mastery over his thoughts, memory and experiences through rigorous meditation, that you want like an ‘App’ in computer programming. A monk never ignores bad experiences or erases unhappy memories, but he organizes them to his advantage. But you want the powers to ignore them and erase their memories, and that again, in an instant, automatic application gifted by me to you, a wish-button working as a default switch.”
Kant remained resolute. God stood up, sighed as if in deep thought, put a palm on his head. Kant felt his head receiving a tremor that tickled down to deep recesses. He suddenly was fully awake and ajar. God and his room, the earthen lamp and all had disappeared.
He was sitting on his bed and the wall clock visible in the dim star-light, that entered his window, indicated twelve midnight. He heard his parents still awake in their room. He heard his mother’s suppressed giggles, and wondered if his parents were playing a ticklish game, each teasing the other with tickling like two children in playful mood? And so late in night, he wondered! But he was filled with a bliss like happiness thinking how his parents were still in love, not at daggers drawn like the parents of many of his friends.
Suddenly, a puppy whimpered in pain outside their house. It continued to whimper pathetically. Puppy’s yelps were piercing in the silent and peaceful night. Kant felt irritated, “This bloody little rascal won’t allow anyone to sleep tonight.”
He heard his parents opening the front door and going out. Kant couldn’t hold his curiosity. He tiptoed out of the house and followed his parents in the translucent dark outside. A slice of dim moon had just come out of the East, looking like pale reddish bowl hanging among bright stars. His parents were looking into a waist-deep drain. His father was focusing his torch into the drain. Kant craned his neck and saw the whimpering little puppy that had fallen into its ditch-water.
The puppy that stood shivering and yelping in the dirty ditch-water up to its neck in that cold night. It cried with a thin sharp voice, might be out of cold but more, perhaps, out of fear. But Kant only felt a disturbing irritation towards the puppy.
He thought the puppy had no business to fall into the gutter and disturb his peaceful night. His mind revolted against such stray animals. Then what happened disturbed him more. He saw his father bending double and extending a hand to retrieve the little beast, but in the process, getting toppled over into the drain. He heard his father’s loud groan of pain.
Kant felt that his father had overreached his capacity and taxed his aging body. He saw his father, in spite of groaning, had picked up the puppy with his left hand. He put it outside the drain on the dry grass. Kant saw the puppy happily running to its mother standing at a distance and getting busy at her nipples. The bitch was licking and cleaning her pup while the latter was feeding at her underbelly. He liked their happy union and felt a sliver of joy folding him in its happy glare. He, however, was distracted by his father’s ‘ooh and aah’, and got irritated for his foolish act of saving the pup and getting injured.
He had noticed his mother helping his father out of the drain. His right hand appeared bent and terribly swollen at the wrist. He might have fallen into the drain, his entire weight on his right wrist. It might have further twisted in his effort not to fall on the puppy but turn his fall to the other side. According to Kant, from going out to help the whimpering puppy until breaking a hand during the rescue of the puppy were foolish gestures of his father. He said so with irritation to his parents’ faces. His father was taken aback to hear Kant’s stand.
Kant heard his father curse under his breath, “How heartless, I can’t believe this!” He kind of lost his words after saying that much. But his mother rebuked Kant, “What is so wrong with you child. You react in a strange way tonight. It’s not yourself. As if you are possessed. I noticed with apprehension your indifference from the moment you came behind us. You neither tried to help the puppy in distress, nor bothered when your father broke his wrist and was in pain. Now, you are pontificating like an insensitive slob. What’s wrong with you child?”
Kant immediately forgot his mother’s rebuke, and father’s pain. He hardly could appreciate his parents’ emotion. He also did not try to understand. He was rather smiling to himself to recall the reunion of the salvaged puppy with its mother, their conviviality when the puppy suckled at its mother’s tits.
He went to bed peacefully without bothering for his father’s pain. With peace all around, his last memory before sleep was the happily squealing puppy in its mother’s lap drinking her milk. Another thing he recalled before lapsing into a dreamless slumber was his father tickling his mother and their suppressed happy brittle laughs in bed. His father’s pain seemed remote and vague as if it had happened in a nightmare.
Kant grew into a happy person overnight, and for the years that followed. His attitude often made his parents, friends, teachers, and neighbours to grumble in puzzlement, “What has made this nice boy turn into an insensitive bloke?” But Kant forgot the harsh remarks almost instantly. The comments singed him with a sharp pain for only an instant, but he could wish them away and peace returned to him instantly.
One of his closest friends in the neighbourhood died drowning, but Kant avoided visiting the dead friend’s family, sitting with them in the wake, consoling the grieving parents, or going to his funeral. He commented, when his mother advised him to go to the bereaved parents, “All are to die one day. What is so special about Shankar’s death?” His philosophical comment when percolated to the neighbourhood surprised one and all, but pained Shankar’s parents the most. Kant noticed how painful was his comment for them but he couldn’t feel a thing.
He noticed over the years that his friends were drifting away from him. Their relationships with him had gone insipid, his neighbours ignored him, and even his own parents after trying to evoke his soft feelings back in him, looked frustrated. All were shying away from his presence.
Kant felt bad about it but his peace returned to him in no time. Those seemed like fading distant shadows receding into the unknown. He was growing indifferent with no empathy for anyone except the happy and laughing people or playful animals. He would visit gala-marriages of even unknown couples and spend hours watching the singing and dancing of people in festive mood.
One day he returned home dead drunk and full of euphoria. Though he was all of sixteen, his father slapped him, and said, “I am ashamed of you, the indifferent cruel rascal. I can’t change you. But we can change our tracks. I and your mother are going to commit suicide if you don’t improve. It is better to be dead than be the parents of an insensitive and unsympathetic slob like you.”
That day was a turning point in his life. He sat down to meditate on what all was happening to him, around him. He found himself like a marooned sailor, with no real contact with people or the world. All seemed to have walked away from him. His mind was abuzz with the memories of happy things all around him but the number of new happy experiences, as days advanced, was dwindling. He was happy but apprehensive.
A most bizarre apprehension was shaping up in his mind. He felt that he was losing his mind. His peace and tranquility were weighing heavily on his conscious thoughts, boring him like eating a favourite dish day in and day out. One day, his parents took him to a counselor-cum-psychiatrist, who was a famous sink or mind-doctor of their town.
Kant told the doctor everything including his encounters with God. The doctor looked at him with a kind and tolerant expression of understanding. He spoke softly but persuasively with Kant. Kant had to answer many probing questions and wrote tests. Then the shrink talked to Kant’s parents out of Kant’s earshot.
Kant returned from the sink with parents and medicines. Most of his time now was spent in a drowsy sleep after swallowing those tablets. He discontinued from school in his crucial first year in the college that he had joined after passing out of his High School Certificate examinations. One day he happened to read the diagnosis documented by the doctor about him, kept by his father in his private drawer.
The doctor had recorded, “…the subject has repeated hallucinations that have a spiritual tilt. Has lost worldly connect, especially, the sympathetic syndromes to others’ pain and suffering. Non-reactive to tragedies. No memory of any past tragedy or unhappy event, not feeling unhappy ever. Is euphoric in a disbalanced proportion. Indifferent to others’ suffering, even of his own in earlier times like when he broke a finger during the games in the school last year. Appears like a severe case of depression with euphoric dementia of a disturbing proportion. Advice - further tests, medicinal effect of the present prescription, and counselling to decide future course of treatment …. .”
Kant wanted to cry on his own state of affair as diagnosed by the sink. Hadn’t he asked exactly those special attributes from God? He was himself responsible for the changes that ruined his present as well as his future. He had almost alienated him from his parents, friends and neighbours. He has failed as a human being.
He recalled the story of Goutam Buddha’s monk during his tour. Now he recalled reading that the monk was giving away to the poor his extra collection from his alms. Because the monk wished to help the poor to do away their hunger. Kant was understanding the monk with more clarity.
He cried, standing by the private drawer of his father containing the medical file. He wished he had not asked God uncle the bizarre ‘App’ of happiness. ‘Zap’, and God uncle was there by his side. Kant was in God’s presence, in the little dark room dimly lighted by the translucent earthen lamp’s flickering light.
God uncle started talking, “Kant, my child, I am sorry for your plight. But you wished it. But to tell you the truth, you had stollen my wish. For quite some time, I was toying with the idea and looking for a willing subject to try my ‘App’, this Happiness-App’, and then integrating it into the pre-written program for humans, running the present millennium. I was toying with the idea of giving humans the ability to automatically ignore bad experiences and erase bad memories without going into the rigors of practicing it like an ascetic, disciplining their minds. When you begged me for the same ‘App’ as a boon, it gladdened me no end to have found my willing subject in you.”
Then the little dwarf paused, pushed the lighted wick in his little earthen lamp to burn brighter, and continued, “Sorry boy for your present turmoil, but my experiment is over. I find from your experience that the new model is unfit for humans. Because it would stop people from being mutually sensitive and helpful. It would stop creativity in art and literature also.”
God paused dramatically, then added, “For example, it would stop producing another Shelley who would write lovely lines like, ‘With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.’ All time happiness would not make another Wordsworth to write the happy-pungent songs like the ‘Solitary Reaper’, even may prevent him penning the iconic romantic poem ‘Daffodils’ where Wordsworth’s joy of watching the pretty vibrant golden flowers in a meadow was provoked indirectly by his depression, of late, for the untimely death of his brother. Happiness needs tragedy as its supplement and companion, like Yang needs Yin, otherwise it remains handicap.”
God paused, “The ‘App’ is being uninstalled in your mind, my boy. Just this moment." God put a palm on Kant’s head and the latter felt a tremor passing through. ‘Zap’, and God had disappeared like a puff of air. Kant turned from resting his body on his the left side on bed to his right. The creaking bed made him awake. He looked for God uncle, but he was nowhere. Suddenly he missed his parents. He went to their bedroom, and crawled in between them and slept soundly.
In the morning, when they sat to breakfast, Kant’s father winced in pain as the fruit knife snipped the tip of his right index finger. Kant felt a pang and ran to hold tight his father’s bleeding hand. He shouted for his mother to come running with the first-aid box. Kant was full of mock rebuke for his father’s carelessness. His parents were exchanging strange eye signals with happy smiles. Kant thought they were teasing him.
After breakfast, Kant visited the house of Shankar, his close friend, who had died a year ago. Looking at his garlanded photograph on the wall he broke down. Parents of Shankar, though had their wounds still raw, had managed to reconcile with their son’s death, now joined Kant in his grief. Even some neighbours joined them. Kant’s parents were whispering at home, overhearing the howls of Kant and subsequent commotion over the year-old tragedy, “The medicines and counselling of the doctor is working. Our little Kant is coming out of the bad patch in his life. Let’s celebrate.”
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is a poet/ story writer/translator/literary critic, living in Mumbai, India. The publishers - Rupa & Co. and Allied Publishers Pvt Ltd have published his three books of poems – VIGIL (1993), LIPS OF A CANYON (2000), and LITMUS (2005). His poems have been widely anthologized in fourteen different volumes of anthology by publishers, such as – Rupa & Co, Virgo Publication, Penguin Books, Adhayan Publishers and Distributors, Panchabati Publications, Authorspress, Poetrywala, Prakriti Foundation, Hidden Book Press, Penguin Ananda, Sahitya Akademi etc. over the period spanning over 1993 to 2020. Awards won - Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award, JIWE Poetry Prize. Former president of Poetry Circle (Mumbai), former editor of this poet-association’s poetry journal POIESIS. He edited a book of short stories by the iconic Odia writer in English translation – FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM, VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI. He is widely published in literary magazines; lately in Kavya Bharati, Literary Vibes, Our Poetry Archives (OPA) and Spillwords.
The Duronto Express was speeding through the night, with no stoppages to impede its swift progress. My wife and I were in a First AC coupe, sharing it with another Senior Citizen couple. I had applied for two lower berths, but the Indian Railways, in all their fairness, had allotted each couple with one lower and one upper berth. The old man who occupied the berth opposite to mine seemed rather stiff and withdrawn. But I could discern from his hissing tone that he was ‘commanding’ his wife under his breath not only to make the bed or give him his reading glasses or things that wives are wont to do at home, but also dismissing her suggestions for what they should have for dinner. She merely smiled at whatever he said. What a contrast to my see-saw relationship! You never knew, whenever an argument started between me and my wife, who would end up on top.
I tried to draw the old man into a conversation and mentioned my grandson who had come to Bangalore station with his parents to see us off. A proud grandfather like me couldn’t keep himself from talking about the grandson, who was only two-and-a-half years old, yet spoke fluently in English. I mentioned about the vacuum I felt on leaving him. In fact, the older one gets, the more painful is the pang of separation. Meeting one’s grandchildren is divine, while parting from them is desperately abysmal. If spring comes into your step, can the summer of parched love be far behind?
What better way to thaw the ice between us than to talk of grandchildren? Words flowed freely thereafter, with both sides making their grandchild look like a ‘Superchild’! But soon we drifted to exchanging notes on our respective fields of experience and the idiosyncrasies of our late bosses, a favourite topic of gossip at any stage of one’s life! The discussion expanded its coverage to the all-consuming topic of elections. As the air became rather heated, I switched over to the corporate world, where both of us had our origin. My companion, Mr. Venkat Rao, tore the wheeling-dealing of some of the best companies to shreds. Apparently he had a number of crows to pluck with many business tycoons. As far as our wives were concerned, while my wife joined us as the mood took her, Mrs. Rao sat sphinx-like with a fixed smile on her face. We turned in rather early as they were to detrain at Visakhapatnam shortly after midnight.
Imagine my shock when next morning I saw the couple still sitting on the opposite berth! They had overslept and failed to get down at their scheduled stop. Mr. Rao bore a glum face. But that did not deter Mrs. Rao from continuing to sport her trademark smile! They were stuck on the train till the next stop at Bhubaneswar around noon, unless a kind providence intervened with an ‘unofficial’ halt. The TTE and his staff shed profuse crocodile tears for failing to wake them up in time. But much water had flowed under the Godavari Bridge by then.
“It’s the first time such a thing has happened to us,” the embarrassed husband shook his head in disbelief. “I suppose there’s always a first time, even in old age!” Instead of going hammer and tongs at the railway staff, he meekly reconciled to his fate with philosophical resignation. As it was, the train had a clear run and didn’t stop till we reached Bhubaneswar. I shook hands with Mr. Rao as they hurried to catch a train back to Visakhapatnam. He did manage a faint smile in parting, while his wife never parted with her smile! Making our way to the exit gate, I asked my wife, “I wonder what my fate would have been in a similar situation.”
“You jolly well know the answer to that!” she snapped, sending a shudder down my spine.
Ishwar Pati - After completing his M.A. in Economics from Ravenshaw College, Cuttack, standing First Class First with record marks, he moved into a career in the State Bank of India in 1971. For more than 37 years he served the Bank at various places, including at London, before retiring as Dy General Manager in 2008. Although his first story appeared in Imprint in 1976, his literary contribution has mainly been to newspapers like The Times of India, The Statesman and The New Indian Express as ‘middles’ since 2001. He says he gets a glow of satisfaction when his articles make the readers smile or move them to tears.
Smita was immersed in deep thought sitting in her balcony with a notepad and pen in her hand. Three days left for the Alumni meet of her University PG mates. Everybody had been requested to deliver a talk on some exhilarating experience of their real life. So many trifling incidents were appearing and disappearing like floating clouds in her mind. But they were some excerpts of day to day experience of her life. They didn't have any tinge of thrill or romance to enchant her friends.
She looked from her balcony. The stunning scene of twilight had filled the canvas of the sky with its hypnotising charisma. The hustle and bustle in the street was slowing down and in such tranquil surrounding Smita was trying to unfold the pages from the memory that was treasured in some corner of her heart and enthralling her even today after long span of 15 years.
A very fair, slim, of average height, 23 yrs old Smita - her long thick hair, sparkling blue eyes were fascinating. She might not be counted as a beauty queen but she had the glamour to mesmerise a guy easily. She had just finished her PG in political science and was in a plan to do PhD in next session. She was interested to do a job as a lecturer which she had yearned from her childhood. Her parents had given her subtle hints about marriage but she was firm in her decision .She had told them not to raise the issue of marriage till she became self sufficient .
Her father Abinash babu was the Principal of a D.A.V. school at Bhubaneswar. He had settled at Bhubaneswar after his retirement. His son Ritesh was a Software Engineer working in Wipro at Bhubaneswar and Smita was his second child. Recently his wife Roma Devi after suffering from an acute abdomen had been admitted to a Private hospital. She had excruciating pain and vomitting and she was under saline and injections since last two days. All the investigations were done .Her pain and other symptoms came under control. Abinash babu was staying with her in the hospital. Ritesh was attending on her both morning and evening and taking care of everything related to her health issue. In between as he had to attend to his office work Smita had to carry the lunch for Abinash babu after finishing her household responsibilities which she had shouldered after her mom had been admitted in hospital.
On that day after getting down from autorickshaw near the hospital gate Smita stepped on to the verenda and proceeded towards the corridor.
On one side of the corridor there was the general ward meant for common patients and the spacious partitioned room was duty room of Doctors and Nurses. As she came to this hospital for the first time she had to enquire about the topography from the staff nurse. Smita took the right turn and proceeded towards the special cabins. Her mama was admitted in cabin number 2. She reached in front of the cabin door. While she was trying to push the door to enter inside reflexively her steps paused for a while. What did she notice? Just a little distance from the door to the opposite side of the veranda a good-looking guy was standing with his eyes riveted on her. He was tall, fair, having slightly wavy thick hair. The classy moustache under the sharp nose was adding to his elegance.
Why was he staring at her? From his appearance and costumes he seemed to belong to a cultured family. Smita was baffled. His gesture somehow bothered her . "Who cares ," she mumbled. In college days she had faced many such silly incidents but she had never given any importance to them. Smita turned her eyes from this guy and tried to open the cabin door. But unknowingly her eyes turned back towards that stranger who was still gazing towards her. Smita knew that she was beautiful and attractive. Any body might be captivated by her youth and glamour. But how shamelessly this person was leering at her! Is he a wayward petson, loitering in the hospital and goggling at the ladies? So many presumptions and apprehensions stirred up her mind. Amid such bewilderment she entered inside and handed over the lunch pack to Baba. Increasing the speed of fan she sat down on the bed. She felt somehow uncomfortable at today's incidence. Why that fellow was looking at her so intently?
Smita had forgotten that she was sitting by the side of her ailing mother. She came to her sense. She caressed her hairs affectionately. Baba explained to her all about her mom's treatment and medicines continued as per the advice of incharge doctor. Ultrasound report revealed stone in Gall bladder which was the root cause of her acute illness. Smita stayed for an hour and left for home.
Next day her elder brother had an urgent work for which he had to rush to his office early. Smita had to take both breakfast and lunch for her father to hospital. Yesterday's incidence in hospital was wearisome to her. But she prepared herself to proceed to hospital without thinking much about it. While stepping towards the cabin her eyes spontaneously stretched out to the opposite side of verandah. Oh! He was standing there glancing at her even today. As if he was expecting her at this particular time and waited for her. How could he know she would reach at this hour in the hospital? Smita noticed as if he wanted to say something to her. Smita was perplexed. She thought now a days these wanderers have no other job than to chase beautiful girls. She hurriedly opened the cabin door and entered inside. Before closing the door she noticed him standing there chuckling. Smita sat near her Baba and heaved a sigh of relief.
But she was astonished to mark the change in her own thought. What was phenomenal in his look? Though her mind was not agreeing but Smita was very much aware that her impulsive eyes were dragged towards this stranger like a magnetic influence. Smita could not recall she had ever such feeling towards an unknown person like this. Her inner self was not at all prepared to accept that the person who was chasing her since last two days was actually a wayward person.
Abinash babu finished his lunch. Smita sat for sometime by the side of her mama. She was sorrowful for her mother's ongoing stressful condition. Abinash babu consoled her. She got ready to leave. She opened the door and looked towards the corridor apprehensively but could not find anybody there. She was relaxed and hastened towards the hospital gate. But as she left her eyes were searching for someone.
Next day also Ritesh had to leave for his office for some unavoidable work and Smita had to go to hospital like previous day. Today she could not find anybody waiting in the corridor for her like the last two days .Who was that guy? In thoughtful mind she opened the door. And she stopped on her track! My God! The person who was examining her mother wearing an Appron with a stethoscope in his hand was none other than the young man who was staring at her for the last two days. So he was a doctor? Smita felt flabbergasted.Then why was he behaving like a loafer? Lot of confusion was weighing her down. Everything was becoming a mess.
Abinash babu could notice her inquisitiveness and came to her. He introduced the person to Smita. He was Dr.Saswat. He was junior to the surgeon in charge of the unit where her mama was being treated. As the concerned surgeon was on leave for some days Saswat was in charge of the entire ward and he was treating the patients. Dr.Saswat?Nice name and it matched so perfectly with his appearance. Smita's face bloomed with appreciation. Dr.Saswat wished her with a beaming smile. Smita was spell bound. She could not utter a single word. Dr.Saswat assured Abinash babu that if today's report comes normal she will be discharged next morning. He left the room after giving necessary advice to staff nurse. He behaved as if nothing had happened between Smita and himself. Smita was not able to make out what was happening around her within these few days. She could not express any thing to her Baba.
Today Roma Devi was going to be discharged from the hospital. Bhai Ritesh had taken leave. Baba was also there. There was no need for her to accompany them. She steadied her mind. But Ritesh came and told her to get ready to go to hospital to bring her mom. As if her ears were waiting to hear this, all her restraints broke down. She got ready to go to hospital mesmerised by some unknown attraction.
Dr.Saswat came. He checked all the reports of her mom. There was no pain or vomiting. He assured Abinash babu that they can take her home and follow the treatment as advised. He told him to bring the patient after one month and seeing her condition surgery would be planned. He instructed the staff sister to explain to them about everything and handed over the discharge slip to Smita. While taking the slip from him Smita was almost quivering. She was drenched in sweat even standing under full speed fan. She was feeling as if she would reel like a dry leaf falling with slightest provocation of wind. How hard she tried, her mind was speeding uncontrollably far ahead .
Saswat spoke to Smita in a soft voice, "Don't worry madam. Everything is ok. We will meet again after one month" and after saying this he left the cabin room. An amazing romantic thrill was feeling her inside and out. Had she fallen in love with Saswat? Was it called love at first sight? Smita was contemplating. No, never. Why she was tormenting her mind in these absurd things. She had a strong belief in arranged marriage. Her parents were more experienced and whatever they decide would be definitely better for her. She wanted to continue her PhD and to be self sufficient. She was trying to restrain flow of emotions bursting in her mind.
Roma Devi came home after being discharged from the hospital. Smita was taking utmost care of her mama and Abinash Babu was also
much concerned for her early recovery. But Smita was not in her right mind. She felt as if she had lost some valuables which was at her disposal.What was it? She tried to introspect. She was feeling nostalgic to reminish the few words uttered by Saswat at the time of discharge of her mama.
3 to 4 days passed. Smita tried to control her feelings triggered by her thoughts and return to some semblance of normality. She decided not to overstress herself for a stranger. Can a girl from a conservative family express her feeings before her elders and insist them to find out the person to whom she had lost her heart within these few days of random meetings? Can she belittle herself before her parents and brother. She should delete this chapter from the leaf of her life. But her state of mind was not comforting, it was rather selfdeceiving.
Another amazing surprise was waiting for her. Ritesh entered into her room and asked her how did you feel about Saswat? Do you like him? Smita was awestruck. What Bhai was talking about. How could he guess what was in her mind. She felt as if broken strings of a violin rejoined and emanated a sweet melody which was so rejoicing. Ritesh smiled at her dilemma and continued, "I know you must have liked him. He is a very good guy. After finishing his postgraduate in Surgery Dr.Saswat went to Delhi and completed his senior residentship in All India Institute of Medical Sciences. He has joined in this hospital few months back with an intention to create his practice field at Bhubaneswar. He is the elder brother of my friend Nishant. He had given me this proposal of marriage of Saswat with you before. But as you were not interested for marriage we kept silent. After mama got admitted in the hospital we wanted to take a chance and proceed. Baba and mama know everything. Saswat was not in favour of a traditional way of choosing a girl and wanted to see you without your knowledge. He has given his consent. He is handsome, brilliant, well mannered and belongs to a decent family. What more you want?" Bhai asked.
Smita was musing on the whole incidence that happened with her in the last 3 to 4 days which was so delightful. So it was a well planned drama scripted by the entire family. Everybody knew this except her. Nobody bothered about her tumultuousness that she faced within these days.That's why Bhai was taking plea of office work and going away early to give a chance for their meeting. And Saswat was also a part of this scene. Ritesh could study her state of mind and told her mischievously, "if you refuse to marry him I will say no to his brother."
Refuse? Smita became tense. She will lose him who within these three to four days days had enraptured her heart and soul. Who had robbed her peace and tranquility. But Smita tried to hold her emotion and told Ritesh that if everybody is in affirmation why she would refuse. Let them proceed if they think it suitable for her.
Ritesh felt relieved. He was delighted to know that his sister had at last given her consent for marriage. He hastened to inform his parents and get ready for necessary arrangements.
The mind boggling incidence happened in her life 15 years back was so much intoxicating that Smita could not know how long she was sitting in the balcony completely absorbed in it. She heard the calling bell ringing and looked outside. Night had supervened. Saswat was parking his car in the garage. She went down to open the door.
Dr.Radharani Nanda completed MBBS from SCB Medical college, Cuttack and post graduation in Ophthalmology from MKCG Medical College, Berhampur. She joined in service under state govt and worked as Eye specialist in different DHQ hospitals and SDH. She retired as Director from Health and Family Welfare Department Govt of Odisha. During her service career she has conducted many eye camps and operated cataract surgery on lakhs of blind people in remote districts as well as costal districts of Odisha. She is the life member of AIOS and SOS. She writes short stories and poems in English and Odia. At present she works as Specialist in govt hospitals under NUHM.
I joined VSS Medical College, Burla on the 23rd December 1985. My wife was transferred to a nearby dispensary at Gosala around 10 km from Burla with quarters facility. We stayed there and I had to do to and fro Burla daily by Bus. It was difficult to attend emergency calls with that mode of conveyance. A two wheeler became a necessity. But money was the only hindrance. My wife had the pleasure of withdrawing the required amount from her GPF account and present me a Bajaj Super light yellow color scooter as the most memorable gift.
By 1992 we shifted to Burla. The surroundings in Burla were different. Many had four wheelers. It was branded as a symbol of aristocracy. By that time I was popular among the public. Private practice was gradually picking up. Attending nursing home with a two wheeler or a four wheeler was making a huge difference to your personality and face value. There was heavy pressure from every side to go for a four wheeler. At that point of time money was not a problem. The problem was choice of vehicle between the time tested FIAT Premier Padmini and newcomer MARUTI 800. Finally the decision was in favor of FIAT.
We decided to get a FIAT Premier Padmini model from the Bhubaneswar dealer. The cost at that time was 1.69 lakhs. I made an outright purchase . Everyone in my family including the family of my father in law were too happy. It was the first four wheeler in my family. The vehicle was delivered to my father in law, the most memorable moment for him and all of us. He was so excited that he arranged a driver and brought the vehicle to Burla covering 320 km. nonstop. Everyone in my family were anxiously waiting for the arrival of the new member. At last the anxious moment came to an end when the vehicle halted with a long horn in front of my gate and my father in law got down from the car like a victorious hero, defying his age, with a wide hearty smile on his face which spoke volumes of his satisfaction and happiness. At the same time, his worthy daughter was transformed to the owner of a four wheeler, really a rare achievement in her life.
Everyone in the family was prepared to receive the new member. My mother, father, wife and daughter (about 9 years old) did all the rituals like a bride is traditionally welcomed in our Odia family. Then sweets were distributed in the colony. The news of the new car spread like a wild fire. People from all spectra qued to take a glimpse of the new car andshower their wishes.
The vehicle came, the driver went back to Bhubaneswar. Then all the official procedures were completed within stipulated time. Dr. Narayan Acharya, Associate Professor of Anaesthesiology, a neighbor of mine, trained me to drive the car. A driver also was appointed to have a stress free ride, but soon I fell a victim to his insincerity, misbehavior and treachery.
The dream of stress free journey in my chauffeur driven car turned into a bad dream. The chauffeur became a liability and I was forced to remove him . I knew my limitations. As far as practicable I tried to maintain my car with the help of a skilled and loyal mechanic, Gurumurty and Shanti garage of Sambalpur. In the mean time Maruti vehicle had captured the market and the FIAT Premier Padmini company stopped production of new cars . The resell value of FIAT cars crashed to the nadir.
Towards the end of 20th century only three FIAT cars were seen in Burla , one was of a retired professor of Medicine (2222), second of a Superintendent Engineer (9060) and third was mine (9889). Everyone was advising and suggesting either to sell it or donate it. Some were even threatening me to carry the car like Hanumanjee carried the Gandhdmardan, when spare parts and tyres will not be available. But I had fallen in love with my car. It was a long standing intimate love. What service it had not given? The car had managed three marriages, two of my brothers' in law , one of my sister's apart from thousand and one emergency works and pleasure trips. In its service period it had neither broken down nor the tyre deflated in the middle of the road. Accident? Never happened - minor or major. It was a very lucky car for me. I never dreamt of disposing it. It was simply indispensable for me.
But as time passed, wear and tear increased and maintenance cost proportionately increased. Availability of spare parts was a chronic problem. So I went for a Maruti WAGNER and kept my FIAT car as a symbol of aristocracy and respect. But second garage was a problem. Moreover a Govt. circular came that one owner can't keep two four wheelers. So I transferred the ownership of my FIAT car to my father in law, who was instrumental in bringing the vehicle from Bhubaneswar to Burla and who was proud of the vehicle as that was the first car in his family.
Anyway, because of the garage problem, fuel cost and maintenance cost , it was decided that the old horse haf to be disposed of. It was one of the most difficult decisions to be taken in my life as I was too much emotionally attached to my vehicle. Others laughed at me for this childish behavior.
One day I gave an advertisement in all local newspapers, "A self driven FIAT car, which had problem-free run on any type of Indian roads for last five years covering 45,000 kms will be disposed. Safety is 100% guaranteed. Price is non-negotiable. Test drive of 40 km is permitted. Interested customers can contact the owner on phone no. 9861017510 ."
Following my advertisement I got a good number of responses. One day two of my old friends from Sambalpur University came to me to see my vehicle. I said, "It's my pleasure." After a cup of tea we three started for a test drive. It was about 10 am Sunday morning, in the month of May. It was too hot. Even at 10 am the atmospheric temperature was 45 degree. My friend opted to drive. They opted to go to the Hirakud dam on the rough hilly road with ups and downs. The vehicle ran on its familiar road making orchestra of sounds which was the hallmark of my car. The glasses were open to allow cross ventilation. Fortunately I had kept three bottles of drinking water. Two bottles were almost consumed to quench our thirst. The turkish towels used as seat covers helped us to wipe our dribbling sweat. After running about 30 kms suddenly my car stopped with a violent jerk. My friends were frightened. But I know the character of my car. I assured them nothing to be worried. It's usual with my car. After 30 to 40 kms, my car needs rest and a bottle of water to quench its thirst. I just lifted the bonnet to allow the hot vaporized steam from the radiator to come out. I poured the bottle of water into the radiator. Now the engine got its tranquilizer and started to run like a loyal tamed white horse. After the test drive we reached home safe at around 12 noon.
We all sat in my air conditioned drawing room and enjoyed glasses of chilled lemon drinks. Then we came to our business. "What is your first hand experience after test drive?"
I asked "Exciting", replied my friend sarcastically. I was expecting that type of answer. "What's your proposed resell value of your sweet heart?" asked my friend. I frankly told the resell value is non negotiable. It's the base price 1. 69 lakhs and 5 thousand extra for 5 years of experience of giving flawless service. Both of my friends had a cloud burst laugh as if it's something of a new discovery or Aladdin's magic lamp .
I also enjoyed the moment with them and asked a simple question, “Tell me friends, what are the characters of a good vehicle ?" Then my friends enumerated as usual all the modern facilities which are available with an ultra modern car starting from leg space, road grip to driving comfort. I interrupted in their long list of facilities and told them the most important character a vehicle they are missing is, safety and accident proof which is only and only found with my car .
Listening to my bold, breath taking and confident statement both of them were astonished and gently asked me to elaborate. I told them that my car may be old but its spirit is young. When it runs, no driver can force it to go beyond 40 km per hour. The car is without air conditioner and music system. Moreover when it runs, it produces orchestra of its own musics. After every 40 km the vehicle needs a break for cooling. The last but not the least is that, ladies don't prefer to ask for a lift. With these conditions the driver can never dose nor be distracted. So it's not only the safest car available in the locality but also 100% accident proof. What more one expects from a vehicle. I am proud to be the owner of such a vehicle. Therefore I have fixed the resell value, to pay respect to its experience and flawless service.
Both of my friends listened to my ten minutes long emotional and philosophical speech, then looked to the wall clock. It was 1.35pm, lunch time. Both were tired and exhausted, asked for a glass of water and bid farewell saying, “Very nice philosophy. We aren't the worthy customers. Keep it with you. Thank you very much for your valuable time."
I got rid of the stress of disposing my car. My father in law was then the legal owner of the car. One fine morning I drove the car to Cuttack and handed over the car with its keys to him.
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.
What a memorable fortnight it was! Memories are timeless treasures of my heart. A moment lasts for a second, but memories live forever. Life brings tears, smiles and memories. The tears dry, smiles fade, but memories are forever.
14th March 1979
The clock struck 8 o’clock in the morning. The Puri-Howrah express reached the Howrah Station. Me and my husband got down from the train to catch the connecting train to Burdwan, where my husband was posted at that time. It appeared as if I would get lost in the ocean of people. The Howrah Bridge was looking as glorious as ever from the train. I wanted to enjoy its beauty for a while after getting down from the train. But as soon as we got down, the wave of people pushed us and we were in the connecting train in no time.
At 10 o’clock, we reached the Burdwan Station. We were greeted by a person with a driver waiting to receive us. We were driven to the circuit house. My colorful imagination of the night bloomed into reality. The dream of the subconscious mind came true. The car stopped and we were welcomed warmly by the staff of the circuit house. We had the privilege of getting V.V.I.P. suite of the circuit house, which was generally reserved for C.M.s and Governors only. I was overwhelmed with joy at the sight of the luxurious ambiance of the room and the lounge. The bright and airy bedroom décor was the personification of spring. The quietness of the room made me more comfortable. I spent the whole day reading books and enjoying the beauty of the room with antique furnishing. Soon, the evening sky changed to the warm shades of twilight.
I was waiting for my husband to return from work, expecting to talk something nice with him. At home, during many evenings I had seen my father telling my mother, “I am at your disposal for an hour, after which I will do my work.” But what a contrast! Though my husband returned at 7 o’clock, after having a wash and doing his puja, he started washing his clothes! I had seen the soaked clothes and was under the impression that someone would come and do the needful. I had never seen anyone at home washing their own clothes, there being a washerman for that purpose. Even in my wildest dreams, I had never imagined that he would wash his clothes after coming back from office! But his work didn’t finish there. He started playing some music in the tape recorder and then started ironing! To remind you, it was the first day in this new place and it had been only 8 days since our marriage. I was observing him and wondering what sort of a specimen he was. Politely, I asked, “Don’t you have anybody to wash and iron your clothes?” He smiled and replied “I prefer to do it myself.” That evening I realized that we were as different as chalk and cheese. For a moment I remembered the true Gandhian that my father had dreamt of. Later on, my father had mentioned in many occasions, “He is a man of work, not a man of words.”
The first day passed by, and as night changed to day, it was day 2. Being a probationer, my husband was the junior-most officer in the district. Moreover, being newly married, the senior officers made it a point to invite us for either lunch or dinner.
The invitation was for an informal lunch party from an A.D.M. who considered my husband as his younger brother. Being a simply dressed girl, I went with quite a simple attire. Seeing as I had grown up under my mother, who was a highly sophisticated and stylish lady, you may find this surprising. Moreover, it was an informal lunch party. When we arrived at 1 o’clock, the three-year old son of the A.D.M. came running towards my husband and said, “Where is the bride? Mama was telling that you would come with a bride, then why have you come with an aunty?” It was an extremely embarrassing moment. I never realized the expectations regarding my dress-code. The A.D.M.’s wife told me like an elder sister that I had to be decked up like a newly wedded girl during our stay.
It sounded like a drama to be enacted for a fortnight. That afternoon when we returned to the circuit house, I called my father and shared this experience. My father’s reply was, “Behave like a Roman while you are in Rome.” My father’s words consoled me.
That night, there was a formal dinner party at the D.M.’s place, with all the elites of the small town. I was feeling nervous, as if I were going for an interview. I dressed up with a gorgeous silk saree with a little make up. The party was like that seen in movies. The officers, and even few ladies were taking drinks. People were dancing with music. My husband said, “This is not a regular affair, so don’t worry,” and told me to sit in a corner with the D.M.s wife, a simple lady. I was quite scared seeing the atmosphere. By the time we finished dinner, it was 1 o’clock! Though everyone was warm and nice, I felt that it was not my cup of tea.
As the next day came, it was yet another informal lunch party from another A.D.M. That experience is also worth writing. Though I felt very comfortable there, an interesting thing happened. The A.D.M.’s wife was an excellent cook. When we started eating, she did not give company, but preferred to serve us. It was quite understandable, until she served. There was only rice, dal, sag fry and brinjal fry! Assuming that she was probably not well, I started eating. I filled my stomach with these items itself. When I was about to get up from the table and wash my hands, however, she said, “Who will eat the remaining dishes?” I was confused and then came the surprise. Items started pouring over in courses. I was astonished! But since my stomach was full, I couldn’t eat anything, though it was very tempting.
That day, there was a dinner party at the A.S.P.’s place. The A.S.P.’s wife was not well, but I was not aware of this. At the table, there was only roti, bhindi fry and mutton curry. Assuming that there were more items to follow, I started eating. Being a vegetarian, I couldn’t eat the mutton curry. And what to say about the bhindi fry! It was hard to make out whether it was bhindi fry or chili fry. My eyes started watering when I ate the first bite. On top of that, I then realized that there were no more items to follow. My husband advised me to eat whatever I could, since there would be nothing in the circuit house later. So, I asked for butter and sugar to eat with the roti. The hostess was feeling really bad, but nothing could be done.
These lunch and dinner parties continued for a few days. After a week’s stay at Burdwan, we visited Durgapur, the town famous for its steel plant. We stayed at the steel plant guest house, which had its own charm. The beautiful lush green lawns and well-maintained gardens were mesmerizing. The personalized attention of the uniform-clad staff was highly impressive. The layout of the table to the quality of the food were of high standards. The taste of the food was out of the world. We visited few places like Durgapur barrage and steel plant.
After a couple of days, we moved to Burnpur in Asansol, a captive township of SAIL. The boat ride on Maithon Lake was like travelling in paradise. I was speechless after encountering spell-binding beauty of the lake. Like this, we visited a few other places.
After spending two nights at Asansol, we returned to Burdwan. A few days of the fortnight remained. On the last day at Burdwan, it was our turn to throw a party for everyone. All the officers and their wives were invited. Few people sang, and they requested me to sing too. The applause that followed my singing still rings in my ears to this date.
40 years later, when my grandsons went through my diary, they said, “What sort of a grumpy experience you had!” After all, there is generations gap. growing up in completely different world, how can they understand those feelings which I had experienced?
Smt, Sunanda Pradhan is a scholarly person, a teacher of mathematics to thousands of students. She is married to Sri PK Pradhan, a retired bureaucrat. They are settled in Bangalore.
A LEAF FROM HISTORY : THE STORY OF SINGAPORE AND LEE KUAN YEW AS A UNIQUE LEADER !
Singapore is a small city state in South East Asia which in many ways has become extraordinarily successful to be known as Asia’s dream country and the attraction of the whole world. Its unprecedented success as a nation-state is a matter of great significance especially in the context of the fact that it lacked natural resources to create such economic wonder with influence that would go far beyond its region thanks to the leadership role played by some dynamic farsighted nation-builder. And this dynamic leader and the architect of Singapore’s prosperity was none other than the famous Lee Kuan Yew to whom Singapore owes a lot.
As the story goes, Singapore was founded by one Stamford Raffles in January 1819. Then it was just a nondescript small fishing village inhabited by a thousand Malay fishermen and a few Chinese farmers. The transformation of this land from a small fishing village in the early nineteenth century to a modern and prosperous city-state today is described as an incredible story of from rags to riches.
Lee Kuan Yew, ( born on September 16, 1923 ) is hailed as the founding father of modern Singapore . As its first premier he laid a solid foundation with a vision for which Singapore is what it is today. A lawyer by profession he remained the Prime Minister of Singapore from 1959 to 1990. Born in Singapore during British colonial rule, which was then part of the Straits Settlement, Lee's parents were English-educated third-generation Straits Chinese. While the family spoke English as its first language, Lee upon entering politics acquired a command of Chinese as well as Malay and Tamil.In 1965 he made a spirited speech in Malay language (Bahasa Melayu) in Malaysian Parliament and surprised the members and people there for his ease of speaking in this language, otherwise foreign to him. With interest in acquiring new languages, he had expeditiously mastered Malay after becoming the Prime Minister.
After schooling in Singapore, he had studied at the London School of Economics before earning a law degree (1949) at Fitzwilliam House, Cambridge. He also became a socialist. Although he was admitted to the English bar in 1950, he preferred to return to Singapore in 1951 to practice law but practically for political work in mind. He became popular working as a legal adviser to labor unions and won election to Singapore’s legislative Assembly in 1955, while the country was still a British crown colony.
In 1950 Lee formed an alliance with two other political newcomers—David Saul Marshall, a lawyer, and Lim Yew Hock, a trade unionist—to challenge the hold of the businessmen on the legislative council. Lee, however, soon broke with his two colleagues to take a more radical stand, becoming secretary-general of his own party, the People's Action Party (PAP).
In 1958 in London, Lee helped negotiate the status of a self-governing state within the Commonwealth for Singapore. Elections were held under Singapore’s new constitution in May 1959, and Lee campaigned on an anti-colonialist and anticommunist platform calling for social reforms and eventual union with Malaya. Lee’s party won a decisive victory, getting 43 of the 51 seats, However Lee refused to form a government until the British freed the left-wing members of his party who had been imprisoned since 1956. After their release, Lee was sworn in as prime minister on June 5, 1959.Introducing a five-year plan he called for slum clearance and the building of new public housing, the emancipation of women, the expansion of educational services, and industrialization.
In 1963 Lee took Singapore into the newly created Federation of Malaysia. In elections held soon afterward, the PAP retained its control of Singapore’s Parliament, and Lee thus continued as prime minister. In 1964, however, he made the mistake of entering his party, 75 percent of whose members were Chinese, in the Malaysian national elections. The growing tension between Chinese and Malays resulted in communal rioting in Singapore itself. In August 1965 Lee was told by his Malaysian colleagues in the federal government that Singapore must leave the federation. Although Lee passionately believed in the multiracialism that the federation represented, Singapore had to break away. It then became a sovereign state with Lee as its first prime minister.
After the separation, the fledgling nation had to become self-sufficient, and faced problems including mass unemployment, housing shortages and lack of land and natural resources such as petroleum.
Lee’s principal aims were to ensure the physical survival of the new state and to retain Singapore’s national identity. Surrounded by more powerful neighbours as China and Indonesia, Lee did not press for the immediate withdrawal of Commonwealth forces from Singapore. Instead, he sought to phase them out slowly and to replace them with a Singaporean force locally trained and patterned on the Israeli model.
More importantly, Lee recognized that Singapore needed a strong economy in order to survive as an independent country, and he launched a program to industrialize Singapore and transform it into a major exporter of finished goods. He encouraged foreign investment and secured agreements between labour unions and business management that ensured both labour peace and a rising standard of living for workers.
While improving health and social welfare sectors, Lee continually emphasized the necessity of cooperation, discipline, and austerity on the part of the average Singaporean . His administration curbed unemployment, raised the standard of living and implemented a large-scale public housing programme. The country's economic infrastructure was developed, racial tension was eliminated and an independent national defence system was created. Singapore evolved from a dying nation to first world status towards the end of the 20th century.
Lee’s dominance of the country’s political life was made easier when the main opposition party, the Barisan Sosialis, decided to boycott Parliament from 1966. As a result, the PAP won every seat in the chamber in the elections of 1968, 1972, 1976, and 1980, after which opposition parties managed to claim one or two seats. Lee sometimes resorted to press censorship to stifle left-wing dissent over his government’s fundamental policies.
Lee brought his country an efficient administration and spectacular prosperity at the cost of a mildly authoritarian style of government that sometimes infringed on civil liberties. By the 1980s Singapore under Lee’s guidance had a per capita income second in East Asia only to Japan’s, and the country had become a chief financial centre of Southeast Asia. Mr. Lee also promoted the use of English as the language of business and the common tongue among the ethnic groups, while recognizing Malay, Chinese and Tamil as other official languages.
With tourists and investors in mind, Singapore sought to become a cultural and recreational hub, with a sprawling performing arts center, museums, galleries, Western and Chinese orchestras and many casinos.
The PAP won the general elections of 1984 and 1988, and Lee remained prime minister, though the question of the succession of leadership became an issue during that decade. After satisfactorily arranging the succession, Lee resigned the office of prime minister in November 1990, though he remained the leader of the PAP until 1992.
Lee’s successor as Prime Minister, Goh Chok Tong, named Lee to the cabinet position of senior minister, from which Lee continued to exercise considerable political influence. Upon Goh’s resignation as prime minister in 2004 (he was succeeded by Lee’s son Lee Hsien Loong), Goh became senior minister. The elder Lee remained in the cabinet as “minister mentor,” a position he held until 2011, when he finally stepped down from the cabinet. He held his seat in Parliament until his death in 2015 at the age of 91.
Lee Kuan Yew in 1969, within ten years of his tenure as prime minister, had transformed the tiny island state into one of the wealthiest and least corrupt countries in Asia. He was able to mould the nation in his image: efficient, clinical, incorrupt, innovative, forward-looking and pragmatic.
It is said that even among people who knew little of Singapore, Mr. Lee was famous for his national self-improvement campaigns, which urged people to do such things as smile, speak good English and flush the toilet, but never to spit, chew gum or throw garbage off balconies.
Lee’s “Singapore model” included centralized power, clean transparent government and economic liberalism. But his rule was criticized as a soft form of authoritarianism, suppressing political opposition, imposing strict limits on free speech and public assembly, and creating a climate of caution and self-censorship.
The commentator Cherian George described Mr. Lee’s leadership as “a unique combination of charisma and fear.” Machiavelli had outlined two important prerequisites for good leadership – love of people for the ruler and fear of him, the latter overriding the former in a competition, but otherwise both need to be there. Lee fulfilled that – a combination of the two.
On his passing away, his son the current Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong had paid tribute to him saying."He fought for our independence, built a nation where there was none, and made us proud to be Singaporeans. We won't see another man like him." US President Barack Obama had described him as a "giant of history",the Chinese foreign ministry calling him "a uniquely influential statesman in Asia".
Described as a truly transformational leader in a positive sense, Lee led Singapore from its post-colonial backwater to post-modern first-world city-state status with a hundred-fold increase in per capita income. No one would deny that Lee deserves to be credited with this honour of transformation.
His foreign policy was a great success in that he relentlessly pursued strategic relationships for the benefit of Singapore. Skillfully navigating third-party disputes and avoiding taking sides, he saw Singapore establish cordial relations with the United States and Iran, Israel and the Arab world, India and Pakistan, China, Taiwan and Japan; Russia and the European Union, as well as the biggest network of free trade agreements of any country.
True to his pledge after the split in 1965 from Malaysia, he built a meritocratic, multi-racial nation and created a highly educated work force fluent in English. Lee Kuan is credited with a three language formula for students , ( mandating in 1966, the year after Singapore gained independence from Malaysia) , a “mother tongue” – a language associated with their ethnicity, “English” as the main language of instruction, plus one of the three official languages: Mandarin, Malay, or Tamil. The policy he believed to be a tool not only for stronger social and national ties among a diverse population, but for better economic cohesion with China and the West. Lee had created the Prime Minister’s Book Prize to encourage students who did well in both English and their Mother Tongue.
Lee had however admitted his failings for a cause in the following words : “I’m not saying that everything I did was right, but everything I did was for an honorable purpose,” he said. “I had to do some nasty things, locking fellows up without trial.”
A small country, but Singapore is a big idea to be emulated by others .And Lee was a titan as a leader whose leadership styles, conviction ,vision and implementation will be studied by scholars and leaders for long time to come. The rule of law, the respect for order, the belief in meritocracy, inter-ethnic and inter-religious harmony, well-functioning institutions and an incorruptible administration, were the most valuable legacies left by Mr Lee Kuan Yew.
(Facts compiled from different sources).
Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik,who hails from Cuttack,Odisha is a young IT professional working as a Senior Developer with Accenture at Bangalore
“My short stories are like soft shadows I have set out in the world, faint footprints I have left. I remember exactly where I set down each one of them, and how I felt when I did. Short stories are like guideposts to my heart”, says the renowned Japanese writer, Haruki Murakami. Well! I too have created the faint footprints I have already traversed during the upended year 2020. I think I have exemplified Murakami’s dictum when an unanticipated novel Coronavirus created an impervious dimness. In my creative smithy, there lie the soft shadows of a zillion stories. Some stories do serve as the guideposts to my heart as well as my amygdala. Let me take you all to one such story that has literally transformed the elixir of my life to a new realm. Yearning for those bygone and brimming days makes me realize that I can very well relive those days via my world of words. The vast treasure trove of memories made me get down in front of Ezhimala, the land of Seven Hills. An array of musings straddles across the terrains of my sparkling experience.
It was in the month of March immediately after my birthday, I began sensing some visible changes in my physical and mental makeup. Moreover, the level of HCG development was explicitly marked by the color bands on the Control (C) and Test (T) regions of the kit. Without much ado, my Husband, Sujeeth, and I approached the doctor. And yeah, she has officially declared that I am pregnant and 23 of Jeeth and 23 of me are on the way. Before experiencing the sublimity of cloud nine at that moment, doctor Madam has cautioned me to be careful as there can even be the chance of miscarriage. Her words began rankling in my recess. Albeit Jeeth is cool by nature, he became extremely concerned about my health and the one growing within me. Everything turned topsy turvy all of a sudden owing to a sudden unforeseen lockdown. We were weighing in the balance of excitement and anxiety. Our angsts were enhanced by the rapid upsurge of the coronavirus. Still, we began counting days and waiting for the ‘out for delivery date’ based on the expected delivery date appearing on the prompt scan reports.
Days and nights passed within no time. Staying indoors due to the nationwide lockdown made my days sluggish. What to do when a virus hits worse than a world war? Gone are the days of a fast-paced life. The novel form of fear in the name of novel Coronavirus has malformed our lives to a standstill. As a blessing in disguise, Jeeth was available always and in all ways for almost a month to offer all sorts of warmth and comfort when my first trimester of pregnancy going was a bit tough couched in my wearisome and wavering mind. He got a month’s leave for the first time post marriage. Food cravings and dislikes occupied my days. What to do when you can’t be there with your family to take care of you in this auspicious phase of life? What to do when you can’t satiate your urge for some newfound likes and dislike of spicy and salted food items? There is nothing better at this occasion other than your husband assuming various roles in life including a cook. Yes, Jeeth has undergone a vast change in mastering the art of cooking in a short stint. Yes, the plump version of me and the baby bump was equally enthralled by the new diet chart and the daily movie screening on our laptop. One month has gone smoothly like a wink and I became alone, all alone a wide side of my musings. Oh, no. Someone else fluttering within me marked his presence at regular intervals. Jeeth made sure that I ate breakfast regularly without skipping and before he left for the office. A long duration of silence and a room of my own had to manage myself and the baby in making till he comes back.
I began engrossing myself in the thought of unlocking creativity in the time of lockdown. Yeah, it seemed sensible to me in a zillion ways. Literature has enmeshed all sorts of pandemics by wielding a pen to the pinnacle of facts and fantasy. I set pen to my paper and slowly and steadily aroused my creative faculties. Poetry was never my forte although I have written and published many. Now, it’s time to fall and feel for the words. A hodgepodge of thoughts and sanguine emotions recollected in tranquility became alive in the verdant of my life. I think it is the right time to dwell and dive into the depths of the imaginary landscapes. When I began to write, I sensed that the pilgrimage through the avalanche of words brings forth the noblest of all human emotions. I kept on scribbling lines unaware of the fact that I was going through the genesis of my debut anthology of poems along with the genesis of my baby. All the nascent surprises of the one within me have endowed fresh hopes and I have badly and madly fallen for someone I have never seen, someone who is going to change my status of wife to the status of the mother. I don’t know what and how to address that unfaltering love for someone I yearn for? I endeavored to unlock something in lockdown at ease. Yes, my love for my baby in the form of mighty words!
It’s time to fall and feel for the words. Burying myself into the vast ocean of worldly wisdom kindled and reinvigorated a new vigor in me. There is no lockdown for the literary world of creative thoughts and emotions soaring in the sky of fancy and fantasy. I feel it is the right time to dwell and dive into the depths of the imaginary landscapes. “Writing is like the tap I have in my bathroom in Delhi that never turns off completely,” says my best-loved author, Jaishree Misra. She resonates in my recesses with an insatiable appetite for the imaginary homelands. The exuberant jumble of words guides and girds me. They offer an extended homage to imperfection. At times, my journey to the fictionalscape is exciting; at times, it is exhausting too. The more I feel flawed, the more I am active. Unknown and unexplored words present a dizzying but fertile abyss. When I strew the pen around me, I feel a sense of rapture, an affinity to scribble for long. My language and diction no more seemed to be an unlocked gate. The passage warmly welcomes my heart to unlock the construction of marvel with words.
After receiving the scan reports, Jeeth told me as a shocking surprise that he was dropping me at home that day and we would be going by road. Oh, I forgot to tell you that we began consulting another doctor from the second month onwards as her words helped only to enhance my worry. The second one who was so calm and composed did cheer me and I looked ahead with spectacular hopes of holding someone in my arms soon. The doctor has shown the green signal for us to travel that day itself. I don’t whether I was happy or excited or indifferent. Neither did I expect nor did I prepare for a sudden journey. Jeeth managed to pack my stuff and we got ready for the safari. No parting is done without shedding a tear and I found hard to bid a sudden adieu to Ezhimala, the land of Seven Hills. I wonder whether I travelled ten hours by car. He has handled me with the utmost care and handed over me to the utmost caring hands. My days were focused on food and health and sleep. Above all, for finding and selecting baby names, reading articles, and watching YouTube videos on pregnancy care. Although the mood swings kept troubling me, the baby bump gave me all the reasons to be excited and enthusiastic. Scan days and regular checks kept on coming and going. I was elated as well as worried about the fast-approaching delivery date that kept on changing in all the scans. I was all set to see the flapping beauty although I was apprehensive of the delivery procedures.
Putting an end to all speculations, the much-awaited day to welcome the new love of my life has reached the doorsteps. Aah, it was a C- section delivery, and everything befell in a few minutes’ hurry burry. In the shades of that anaesthetic instant, I heard the doctor’s announcement, “It’s a baby boy, dear”. In that moment of cloud nine, the nurse presented my baby for a moment. For me, the first vision of mine to him appeared faint as I was in the frenzy of the surgical unit. Just one minute and my baby is gone. I had to wait one day and night to see, touch and sense him. The day began crawling and I was counting the hours and persistently asking the nurse to show the baby. They did it twice for a few minutes and he was taken away from me. I was desperately waiting for the dawn of the next day. To my utter dismay, I was discharged from the ICU only by noon after the doctor’s checkup, nurse’s advice, and kinds of stuff. And finally, I was shifted to the room. The moment I reached, I could see only my parents. My eyes shifted to the beds. I could see a sleeping bag on the right side bed where our new wonder is sleeping peacefully as if in my tummy. Our rarest of the rare emotional and physical connections in the form of the umbilical cord: a bit of it is still with him. The agony and pangs of the C- section has vanished just by a glimpse of the little marvel. Here begins a fresh chapter of my life with my cutie pie!
The year 2020 has ebbed away into bosom eternity giving way for a resplendent New Year 2021. COVID -19 has literally toppled everyone’s lives. All of us were yearning to get rid of the impact it created on our subsistence thereby transforming 2020 into a futile year. When I look back at 2020 now, I have something to cheer and cherish. The lethargic days of lockdown impelled me to dwell deep in the wisdom of words. I began weaving words in my creative landscape. All things subtle and striking enthralled me. While I was creating life to my words and stanzas, I was sensing the euphoria of creation within me. I was heavily pregnant with my first baby and going through the whirlwind of agony and ecstasy, exhaustion and exhilaration and whatnot. But by the time you read my story, I am baby Anvik’s mom.
From a butterfly’s flutter, I felt the fresh breath of Anvik Sujeeth. Sujeeth and I have become parents! From my womb, the spring of our life, Anvik baby has come to the world. It’s time to celebrate his arrival. Hurrah! Thank you, my Kunjapp for making my lockdown days creative and active by your tiny exquisite moments of enormous joy. Thanks a lot for all your embryonic surprises, my little wonder. A hearty welcome to our epic weirdo life. Loads of inspiring and irritating days are in store for you, our little munchkin.
Anvik, our cute little wonder boy,
marked his arrival with immense joy.
In my warmth and shade, he sleeps
In my sudden absence, he loudly weeps.
Often wet is his diaper
that makes him hyper.
He delights me with his cherubic smile
making me oblivious of life's tiring mile.
His serene charm captures me
And in all my thoughts, there's he.
He fills my heart with too much pleasure,
He's the darling divine design I treasure.
Your lovely gestures thrill mom and dad
You are the rhythm of our life, my little lad.
Your boyish pranks enthrall everyone
You just make us all gleeful, my little one.
Hearty congrats, cutie pie on your arrival
All our happiness and heartiness on your revival!
Anvik, my raison d'etre 2.0 has transformed my life into a new empire. Mewling and puking in my arms, I feel his serene charm and sense his innocent gestures. His angelic smile makes me blissful, his charismatic vegetative sounds make me delightful. He has bestowed a new world of happiness and happenings to me. He makes me go ahead with spectacular expectations of a better tomorrow. My horizon of hope is embellished by his hearty arrival. I can’t think of a day untouched by his touch and twitter. Yearning for the umpteen alluring days with my cutie pie!! The august presence of the spring of my life continues to remain afresh in story of my life: “This story is for you - with all my heart -.by your ever-loving Amma Kutty!” Hope you read my story someday far, someday near, my darling Anvik baby.
Dr. Aparna Ajith is an academician and a creative writer who dabbles in the world of prose and verse. She was awarded Ph.D. in English from Central University of Rajasthan. Her area of specialization is Comparative Literature and Translation Studies. Her interest lies in Creative Writing, Gender, Diaspora, Film, and Culture Studies. She holds a Master’s degree in English Literature from University of Hyderabad and Post Graduate Diploma in Communication and Journalism from Trivandrum Press Club, Kerala. Being a freelance journalist, she writes and translates articles for the Information and Public Relations Department, Government of Kerala. Her creative pieces have found space in ezines and blogs. Recently, she has been awarded the Panorama Global Literary Youth Award 2020. She received Kerala State Chalachitra Academy Research Grant 2020. Her maiden anthology of poems entitled Musings of Venus was published recently. She enjoys sailing through the exhilarating and exhausting moments with her darling baby, Anvik Sujeeth who gives life to many of her poetic scribblings. Having lived in three Indian cities and a hamlet, she soars high in the sky of artistic imagination wielding out of her realistic and diasporic impressions.
The pandemic euphoria has lasted almost 2 years giving shivers and played havoc in each and everyone's life.While every strata of society suffered a severe setback,it definitely hasn't been easy for parents with special needs children or adults who are now totally confined indoors.
Rahul my twenty four year old autistic boy,who has always loved long drives,now yearns for it.His excitement would start in wearing a shirt, which he feels is meant for outdoors and then dash a bit of his favourite perfume (no particular brand as of now) before leaving home.
He would always make sure that I carry my purse along however much i would purposely try to forget,i guess he connnects it with all the junk food that he could demand on the way starting from MD,toPizzas, cream and onion chips, chocolates , icecream,etc etc......he understands,purse is loaded with money and you have to give money to get food.
For a drive he is willing to complete any task given to him with a smile on his face and full of confidence, what more could one ask for., moreover he needs his own space a little away from Hushkoo who forever runs up to his Rahul bhaiya, just to let him know that if he needs anything he is most willingly there beside him.
Now as time goes by, Rahul has been instructed that he can go for short drives only if he completes his morning and evening walks.,then he gets the car rides as a reward.... and so far so good all these months, but keeping fingers crossed,as it has been a rollercoaster ride.
Now to top it all,the recent development is that Hushkoo wants to accompany him in the car,he occupies the back seat looking all the more handsome and charismatic,as he looks out of the car window with that blissful look on his face."Mommy""I'm finally in the car with Rahul Bhaiya"!!
Earlier Rahul would keep cajoling us to go for drives, but now he has learnt the art of being patient., but the roles are reversed.When we feel everything is calm, quiet and under control, Hushkoo initiates or sends reminders to Rahul,by rubbing his body against his legs or simply barking...."let's go"!!Boys just wanna have fun!!. Visualising what's coming up next dearest hubby quickly escapes on his bicycle with his headphones ???????? listening to some beautiful numbers by Abida Parveen,(mann lago yaar fakiri mein),if her name is not heard by you, you must listen to her sufi songs, very soulful.
Hushkoo is getting notorious to the extent that he now refuses to go for his walks until his bhaiya steps out of the house ????, just in case he could get lucky with the car drive.
It's a scene at home and with all this commotion i have to manage my writeups,do my music video shoots, sketch and manage home as well, since one can't step out much.
But you need special eyes and an aching ???????? heart to see his love for Rahul and of course for each one of us.
So much love from an animal,a pet,non verbal, from another world,yet full of emotions just like any of us, friendly and loyal,more than humans.
More coming up in my next article.
Sheena Rath is a post graduate in Spanish Language from Jawaharlal Nehru University Delhi, later on a Scholarship went for higher studies to the University of Valladolid Spain. A mother of an Autistic boy, ran a Special School by the name La Casa for 11 years for Autistic and underprivileged children. La Casa now is an outreach centre for social causes(special children, underprivileged children and families, women's health and hygiene, cancer patients, save environment) and charity work.
Sheena has received 2 Awards for her work with Autistic children on Teachers Day. An Artist, a writer, a social worker, a linguist and a singer (not by profession).
She has been writing articles for LV for the past one and half years. Recently she has published her first book.. "Reflections Of My Mind",an ode to the children and families challenged by Autism
On last Thursday of Margashira month after finishing my home Puja joined my in-laws for Manabasa Gurubar and Sudasha Brata. After preparing 50 odd dough balls for "Mandaa", a sweetmeat typical of Odisha cuisine usually made for Laxmi Puja, started reading the “Laxmi Purana” and “Sudasha Brata katha”. These are books to guide one through the Puja process but it is felt that it’ll be a sin or puja will be incomplete if you do not read these books on the D-day. Really unfortunate to associate the absence of it with sin like any other religion. Hinduism is always so broad and benevolent that incurring sin from such a petty act of not reading a book is laughable. But with time, hardly people understood what is true spirituality and why these rituals take place.
Margashira (Margasirsha) month is the month of harvest or at least during this month the paddy will be just ready for the harvest. Since Mother Laxmi is considered as the Goddess of prosperity, she is invoked and worshipped with gratitude. These days were occasions when people got to take something special in their food and with all scientific basis. Whichever Puja prasad I have analysed as a Biochemist, I found it to be a true representative of balanced diet.
With rice based outer covering (Jantuni), the stuffing will be that of coconut and jaggery or that of Moong dal. Some fruits as Baladhupa, Rice, dal, ghanta as main course (Shankhudi bhoga) and sweetmeats and pithas (Thick Dosas) for snacks (Trutiya dhupa) and each meal is a complete one.
These small “purana” or “bratakatha” books guide our daily routine—how to wake up early, maintain neatness in houses, how to dress up, how to maintain harmony in the house, how to pay respect to elders and what not. If no one reads these it’ll be a loss to them, not a sin incurred. All our rituals are so scientifically designed and each Prasad is framed as per the season and the combination is so perfect that they are a Science in themselves.
Apart from this, Laxmi Purana speaks against racism and caste system and gives equal rights to husband and wife and depicts the importance of women in running a household smoothly. But with decreasing education among women especially in our last few generations true power of these scriptures has been deviated from knowledge and awareness to “Bhoga”, satiating our two inch muscle, the tongue and fighting pettily over rituals and taking unnecessary stress over observing them rather than understanding rationality behind these practices.
It is a call to our youth to read these scriptures again, analyse and implement in their lives rationally, learn the nutrition principles and lead a happy and successful life. Let our land be again filled with prosperity and happiness. Jay Maa Mahalaxmi.
Dr. Viyatprajna Acharya is a Professor in Biochemistry at KIMS, Bhubaneswar who has done some original research on different edible oils and also has done her PhD on Obesity in young adults. She is basically a doctor who specialises in Medical Biochemistry and her arena of research is metabolic diseases, nutrition and cancer.
Precisely at 01:01:01 in the afternoon of Kartik Purnima, the luckiest of the lucky human being took the first step on the ladder, amidst loud chanting of mantras, blowing of a hundred conches and uncontrolled frenzy of the assembled crowd. It was no ordinary step, nor was it an ordinary ladder. For the first time in the history of mankind a living human commenced his ascent to heaven. There were 9999 steps left before he could reach the gates of heaven, where apsaras would be waiting to greet him with lighted lamps, lovely flowers and exotic incense. He would be followed by 9999 others, all staunch devotees who would have observed the strictest penance to grab the chance to go to heaven. The journey was no doubt arduous, climbing 10000 steps over a ladder of 5000 feet height, but they believed their year-long penance had fortified them for this seemingly impossible task.
The big ground, covered by a high wall on four sides, was packed with people, mostly invitees. The pilgrims to heaven were standing in a queue which went much beyond the gated compound, far out onto the street. Also outside the compound there were more than thirty thousand onlookers, mostly the pilgrims’ relatives who had come to bid them adieu on a journey from which they would never return.
A few meters from the ladder Seth Dharam Chand sat near the havan-kund, the place of Yagna where the sacred fire was lighted as an offering to the thirty three crore gods and goddesses. He had been joined by his wife, two sons, two daughters and many relatives. High level government dignitaries adorned the stage. The Deputy Superintendent of Police was there, as also the Sub-Divisional Magistrate, the Chief Medical Officer and other officials. For them it was nothing new to enjoy the hospitality of Seth Dharam Chand, the richest businessman and industrialist of the district. Sethji had an exclusive guest house a little away from the town where he entertained government officials from the state and the center, politicians, business partners and foreign collaborators . His parties were lavish with no-holds-barred solid and liquid entertainment. Today it was of course all Satwik food and drinks. Fruits, juices, specially made sweets in pure ghee were going round for the invitees. For the thousands of people assembled inside the ground and outside there were packets of prasad and bottles of drinking water. Everyone in the area knew Seth Dharam Chand never shrank from spending liberally when it came to a religious cause.
Media representatives from all over the world had arrived three days back. They had interviewed the inhabitants of the small town, some of whom were a part of the divine journey, their faces shining with a rare glow in anticipation of the impending trip. All the TV channels from India jostled with each other to occupy prime space to record the events. The team from CNN was there, as also from BBC and a dozen more from all major countries. They had erected high platforms from where they could capture the action live, as it happened. A rare occurrence, it had baffled people from all over the world. It showed India at its spiritual pick - the mind-boggling prospect of devotees being transported to heaven through a ladder specially erected for the purpose.
It had all started about two years back, when Sethji had a strange dream on an auspicious night. He called a press conference the next morning at eleven and narrated his dream to the astounded audience. He had mentioned how he had woken up immediately after the dream, shaking all over, delirious with joy. He had no doubt the dream was real. He had seen the glowing, divine face of Lord Indradev, the king of heaven. The room had been filled with a translucent light, there was a divine fragrance, the like of which no living being would have experienced. The assembled media representatives were eager to know what was the dream about. Seth Dharam Chand did not disappoint them and gave them an exact account of what transpired between him and Lord Indradev.
Seth Dharam Chand had fallen at the feet of Lord Indradev, paying a thousand obeisance. The God was pleased and lifted him from the ground. In a clear, booming voice he told the Seth the purpose of his visit:
“O my devout disciple, I have come down to earth today from my
heavenly abode to entrust you with a special responsibility. As you know, the world’s population is growing at an alarming pace. Unfortunately human life has prolonged in the most unhealthy way. Governments have been foolishly giving everything free to people – free rice, free daal, free sugar, free cooked food. Now our spies are telling us that some enthusiastic political leaders are proposing to provide free cinema tickets and free life-prolonging elixir in the form of liquor. At this rate, the air, water and environment would be inadequate to sustain the human race. So in a meeting we, the Gods and Goddesses, have decided to permit a certain number of human beings to be transported to heaven, in their earthly form. As you know, there is no dearth of space in heaven, so we can take as many people as we want. In the first batch we have decided to take 10,000 persons. If the programme becomes successful we can take up to 100,000 per year”
Indradev kept smiling in a benign way. Sethji prostrated himself before the almighty Lord again,
“O my, Lord, my savior, I am so grateful to you to choose me as a pilgrim to heaven. Just give me two days to settle my business matters, clear my income tax, GST and other dues. Those hounds can chase me through heaven and hell, let me sort it out with them first, so that I can enjoy a peaceful time in heaven.”
The Lord smiled and shook his head, as if he was trying to tell the Sethji he should desist from sweets because it was bad for his diabetes.
“O Devout one, don’t be in a hurry to come to heaven. You are close to our heart, you are the chosen one to perform the greatest Yagna and facilitate the journey of 100,000 pilgrims to heaven. Your Punya will surpass that of any human being from past present and future.”
Tears flooded Sethji’s eyes, he touched his head to the ground,
“My Lord, please tell me what I should do, what is your order to this chosen one, the lowliest of the low. I am prepared to give my life to serve the human race.”
“We know my beloved child, that’s why we have chosen you for this unprecedented task of transporting pilgrims to heaven. You don’t have to give your life, just spare some money and your valuable time. Around two years from now on the auspicious day of Kartik Purnima the holy event of the Pilgrim’s journey to heaven will start. You start building a ladder of 5000 feet height with 10000 steps. Tomorrow let the news spread that those who observe strict penance will get an opportunity to ascend to heaven through the ladder to be built by you."
Seth Dharam Chand asked a question to the Lord of the heaven,
"What penance O Lord, be kind enough to tell me."
Lord Indradev raised his hand,
"Tell the devotees they should not eat any meat, strictly abstain from cigarettes, alcohol and women for one year. Make it clear that those who deviate from strict observance of the restrictions and try to sneak in will face serious consequences. They might lose their life and limbs and will endanger the lives of others. Now, get ready my Son, remember, we, the gods in heaven have chosen you to be the best among the best, the blessed one to carry out our wish. Many saints and gurus go through several births to attain such a blessing."
With that Lord Indradev vanished before the eyes of Sethji. The room remained in the after-glow of the divine presence for a few minutes and got dark again. Sethji woke up and looked at the watch. It was 4.15 in the morning, he took a quick bath and sat in his puja room for several hours, trying to relive the divine experience. He felt that his body, being blessed by the Lord of the heaven was emitting a rare glow. The task before him was enormous, but being the chosen one he knew he would be able to carry out the God's wishes.
The representatives from the media were stunned at Sethji's words. This was absolutely unprecedented. A direct ascent to heaven! The ultimate goal of thousands of years of penance and devotion by dozens of Saints, ascetics and gurus! A glorious testimony to India's hoary spiritual past! Dozens of hands were raised, there were so many questions!
"Sethji, how will you select the devotees?"
Sethji tried to recollect if Indradev had given any hint on that. He knew he had to improvise, he smiled,
"First come first served basis, but they have to observe the year long restrictions."
One more question,
"Will senior citizens be given preference?"
"It is purely voluntary, whoever can climb ten thousand steps should come forward, men or women, young or old, black or brown, no problem."
"How much will it cost Sethji, to build the ladder"?
Seth Dharam Chand smiled and looked at everyone through his benign glasses,
"When I am the chosen one by the Gods at heaven, does cost matter? I am prepared to spend crores and crores to send 10,000 devotees in the first batch and 100,000 in the first year."
A smart, young girl asked coyly,
"Will young boys and girls be able to practice abstinence for one year?"
The audience broke into a huge laughter.
Sethji thundered,
"Those who try to join the queue without strictly observing the restrictions are bound to die a painful death. Lord Indradev has clearly said such sinners, fraudsters and liars may die or lose their limbs"
A young journalist, known to be a rabble-rouser raised his hand,
"Will Muslims and Christians be also allowed?"
Sethji started sweating, he wished he had asked all these questions to the Lord of heaven. Here the media would flash whatever he said. He muttered,
"Heaven is the abode of the pious, and the devout. All are welcome. Jai Indradev, Bharat Mata Ki Jai. Thank you my friends, please enjoy the lunch in this Gharib's home."
There were many hands still raised, many questions still not asked, but Sethji left hurriedly through the back door of the podium. He was good at counting profit but at a loss with words when people ask tough questions.
The news spread like wild fire all over the country and crossed the national boundary to become an international sensation. The idea of climbing a few thousand steps to reach the gates of heaven was simply stupendous. The believers were overwhelmed with joy, the unbelievers turned their faces away. But for full two years the news remained alive, media reporting the developments with a religious fervour.
Sethji was true to his words. He purchased twenty acres of land at the outskirts of the town, fenced it off and started the construction of the ladder. The best structural engineers of the country were invited to prepare the design. They decided to make it a spiral ladder, broad at the base and tapering off at the top. They imagined it look like the Eiffel Tower, except that the top would not be visible to the naked eye. There would be a small platform at the top, where the pilgrims would stand at the end of the journey. From there fairies and angels will hold their hand and lead them to the gate where Apsaras would welcome them with flowers, lamps and incense. It took a year and half to complete the construction of the ladder. Finally the construction was over two months before Kartik Purnima.
Sethji opened ten counters outside the compound a fortnight before the auspicious day for registration of the pilgrims. Big banners were put near each counter requesting devotees not to register themselves if they had not observed all the restrictions diligently, lest it would lead to disastrous consequences for them and others. The queue was to be orderly, strictly as per the serial number of registration. Those who were sick or too old were requested through the banner not to register themselves.
Finally the big day arrived. Sadhus, gurus came from different corners of the country to bless the pilgrims before they commenced their journey to heaven. Seth Dharam Chand had made all arrangements with meticulous care. Five hundred volunteers were drawn from the schools and colleges run by the Family Trust. Three days before Kartik Purnima big tents were erected outside the compound. Religious groups conducted Sankirtan, Bhajan and loud singing of hymns. The sound of dozens of conches blowing in unison every few minutes electrified the atmosphere.
The mega puja started at 5 a.m. on the morning of the Purnima. It was to continue uninterrupted till all the pilgrims had climbed unto the ladder, on their way to heaven. The Maha Yagna that commenced at eleven would last for more than two hours. When the supremely sacred moment of 01:01:01 p.m. arrived, the crowd of around forty thousand devotees went into a frenzy. The sky reverberated with mantras, shlokas, religious songs, and the sound of cymbals, dholaks and conches.
After the first pilgrim, one chosen by the priests, stepped onto the ladder, there was a wave of excitement among the crowd. So, finally the journey had begun, history had been created. The day would be recorded among the most sacred days in human civilisation. Never before a living human had tried to ascend to heaven by climbing ten thousand steps.
The second pilgrim followed, there was a delay of a minute for the pooja and Arati to him, a garland was put by the priests standing at the bottom of the ladder. Gradually the process got into motion and a few hundred climbed the spiral ladder. But the men and women in the queue were getting restless. At this rate when would they get their chance? Won't the gates of heaven close down after dark? Announcement in the loudspeaker assured them not to worry. Once the climb commenced, everyone will get a chance. There is no day or night in heaven, it is timeless. The divine glow of gods and goddesses kept heaven bright all the time. It never gets dark there. The volunteers and organisers were trying their best to control the crowd. More than 500 police men had been deployed to maintain law and order.
As the flame from the Yagna rose, the noise reached a crescendo. More than thousand devotees had climbed the ladder, yet people were getting more and more restless. They had started pushing their way into the compound through the only gate which was wilting under pressure. The thousand odd pilgrims were continuing with the laborious climb. Suddenly one of them, perhaps the ninety fifth pilgrim, imagined he heard the cry of a child calling him. Ah, his sweet grand daughter! Overwhelmed with emotion, he wanted to look down to see his grand daughter one last time in the crowd. When he looked down his head reeled and he fell down. Because it was a spiral staircase there was a cascading effect. One by one dozens of pilgrims started falling down like comets from the sky. The panic was instantaneous, more and more people tumbled to the ground. The onlookers outside saw them falling and there was a stampede to enter the compound. In just a few moments everything went out of control. When bodies were tumbling from the high ladder, there was a melee on the ground, people running like crazy, some of them trying to gatecrash into the compound. Many fell down and got trampled by running men and women.
At the site of Yagna there was panic. Sethji stopped chanting divine mantras and slipped into gutter language - "the idiots, the donkeys, the xxxx, the xxxxxxx, I had repeatedly told them not to attempt the trip to heaven without observing abstinence for a full year, otherwise the consequences will be disastrous. Some of these bastards, the xxxxxx, xxxxxxxxx, did just that, they committed a sin and everybody has to pay for it!"
The relatives, the dignitaries, tried to console Sethji, he had done his best, followed due diligence, so why should he blame himself?
Sethji was inconsolable. He started sobbing, "See, my reputation has become mud, my Bharat Mata has been hurt. All these phoren bastards will write all kinds of muck. All because of a few insincere xxxxxxx who tried to cheat and go to heaven! From a hero I have become a zero!"
The DySP ran to the spot of the melee and started giving directions to the inspectors and sub-inspectors, the DMO rushed to the hospital to arrange treatment for the injured and depute all the ambulances to the site.
One hour later, the DySP returned to the place of Yagna and drank two full glasses of pomegranate juice to quench his thirst and rejuvenate himself. A police man in plain clothes came running to him and saluted, "Gopi from Special Branch Sir"
"Yes, I know. Tell me what is the count?"
"Around three fifty dead bodies sir, but more and more are being brought in. More than four fifty injured sir. The count will definitely increase."
Hearing this Sethji's wailing rose to the sky, like the flame from the havan an hour back.
x x x x x x x x
Six months after the disaster of the failed ascent to heaven Seth Dharam Chand was sitting in his office room with a broad smile, which looked like a split moon plastered on a fat canvas. Two young men stood before him, smug and proud of the success of their mission. This specimen was called C.A., also known as Chartered Accountants, who can manipulate a few zeroes to make a prince a pauper and a pauper a prince in exchange of a suitable fee. Clad in elegant suit and shining boots they looked like Wall Street professionals. They beamed at Sethji. Sethji beamed back at them.
"Is the job done? What is the latest, boys?"
The two young men overflowed with pride,
"All done sir, thanks to our diligence and your blessings. Last night Chief Minister signed the closure report on the enquiry. Today Government will place it in the assembly. The case will be closed for ever The enquiry report finds you not guilty at all. You had taken the maximum precaution humanly possible and observed all due diligence. The blame has been put on the Police department, who were found to be unprepared and got clueless by the unexpected disaster. Government have decided to depute a squad of senior police officers for advanced training of three months on Crowd Management at Canada, USA and Sweden. Another group will go to Australia, NewZealand and Singapore for Disaster Mitigation. Both the groups will meet at Scotland Yard, London, to get a joint training of a fortnight. So all clear Sir, not a single spot on your snow white reputation"
Sethji beamed with effervescent joy.
"Tell me, what is the final count?"
"415 dead and 528 injured Sir."
"Idiots, I am asking about the count of money, the balance sheet after deducting expenses. Don't talk of the dead early in the morning. Ram, Ram, let the dead lie in peace wherever they are. Tell me the tally that really counts."
"Sir, from the day you held the conference after your famous dream till we settled everything the expenses come to two crores, thirty-one lakhs eighty seven thousand."
Sethji had to pretend to be pained at the expenses, a Seth is no Seth if he doesn't lament at expenses, the face contorted in grimace, resembling the experience of extraction of a tooth without anaesthesia.
"Ah, you have been lavish with my money, tell me broadly what you did, how you spent so much like a Sheikh's bounty from the desert which would never dry up?"
The young men were anticipating the tantrums,
"All in your best interest Sir. The major costs have been to pacify the barking dogs. We have shut the mouth of everyone Sethji, everyone has been bought over. You should see the report of the Enquiry Committee. We made them eat laddus out of our hands like dogs licking juicy bones."
"Yes, yes I know that, my laddus are famous all over the state. Now give me a rough break up of the expenses."
The young men were ready with answers.
"Starting with the Press Conference two years back, to the erection of the stage for Havan, arranging Prasad, mikes, loudspeakers, payment to priests, all these cost two crores thirty one lakhs eighty seven thousand. Out of this one crore ninety two lakhs are under the table expenses. As we said earlier, we have shut all mouths and you know some mouths are quite big, despite your feeding them sumptuously from time to time. We had to make sure no dog would bark in future. "
"Ok, ok, what is the profit? A Seth should be more concerned with that."
"Yes Sir, we had taken insurance for two lakh rupees for every death and fifty thousand rupees for injury. By God's grace we had a tally of 415 deaths and 528 injured. The Insurance Company has credited ten crores ninety four lakh rupees to your account. Of course we had to 'persuade' them to do that without any hassles. That persuasion cost you thirty lakhs, but all is well that ends well. When you are aiming for the stars a few flourocent lamps will burn out in the process. Hope you don't mind."
The Sethji's broad smile was infectious, lighting up the room for a while,
"Not at all, notatall, my dear boys. You two are real genius. In future if any Baba or Seth wants to create a miracle I will strongly recommend you to them. Well done boys, I will ask the office to write a cheque for fifty lakhs to each of your account."
Sethji looked at the two young men with indulgence. He regretted he had no more daughters for marriage, he would have gladly given them to the two young geniuses. The whole idea was theirs, they wrote the script for the dream, and guided Sethji at every step.
The boys were happy, they were smart guys in whose dictionary impossible as a word did not exist. Sethji was not done with them,
"Boys, I have read somewhere that a traveller went to Kashmir and exclaimed, 'if there is heaven it is here, it is here'. Please book air tickets for me and my whole family to visit that heaven for a fortnight. Let's fly to heaven, these ladders are too dangerous."
And Sethji broke into a thunderous laughter.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . 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. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
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