Literary Vibes - Edition CXIV (25-Feb-2022) - POEMS, SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES

Title : Gaia 3 (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)

Dear Readers,

I have great pleasure in presenting to you the 114th edition of LiteraryVibes with plenty of beautiful poems and interesting stories to keep you entertained for the next four weeks. We are privileged to have six new contributors with us this time. Ritika Pradhan, a student of Class V from Pune is an incredibly talented budding poet whose felicity with language looks highly promising. Shruti Iyer is a High School student in Chennai whose poems reverberate with profound thoughts and deep meaning. Binsha Anas, a young poet from Ernakulam, Kerala, is gifted with a rare quality of poetic splendour. Major Antony Thomas is a veteran of the Indian Army, who has settled in the U.S. after retirement. His anecdotal story is truly outstanding. Ms. Alexandra Psaropoulou, from Greece, Europe, is a versatile poet with an international presence. Her wonderful graphic poems in today's edition belong to a new genre being introduced in LV for the first time. Col (Dr.) Rekha Mohanty has served the Indian Army as a distinguished doctor and after retirement has dedicated herself to social causes, mainly women's upliftment. She is passionate about writing poems and stories based on her love for nature. Let us warmly welcome the new members into the LV family and hope that their beautiful writings will adorn the pages of our eMagazine in all our subsequent editions.

February 2022 will cast a long shadow on history, because it has taken away the most divinely talented Lata Mangeskar from us. My friend Anil Upadhyay, a music enthusiast (he runs the highly erudite, informative, enjoyable blog Songs of Yore) and a regular contributor to LV, has written a lovely piece on The Nightingale of India. More than a hundred articles have appeared in print media and social media paying tribute to her. I would like to add a few lines just to say what her songs meant to me, as a person.

Having said that, I am thrown into a perplexing conundrum - where do I start, writing about someone whose ethereal presence pervades our everyday life like a rare perfume in the air. My earliest childhood memory is sanctified with Lataji's music. My father, a government official, was an ardent lover of songs. Every morning at 4.30 he would get up and tune in to the Urdu service of All India Radio to listen to four songs of exquisite beauty. To me, it had a dreamlike quality - listening to Ye jindegi usiki hei, Gujra hula zamana aata nehin dubara, or Terey sur aur merey geet and many more. And these songs have remained with me for the last sixty years.

It was much later, as a young man, I started "feeling" the songs. I understood why songs filled the heart with a melancholic void or their beauty transcended everything around us - the sky, the multitude milling around us or our proximate concerns. Why a Lataji song like Tumharey bulaneko jee chahata hei or a Rafi song like O durkey musafir, humko bhi saath leley would keep playing in the heart for days after I heard it.

And then, around the early nineties, I discovered the joy of listening to my favourite songs through video clips. A song like Ajeeb dastaan hei ye, Tera mera pyaar amar, Lag ja galey, or O sajanaa barkha bahar aayi, assumed a new beauty, watching the extraordinary background in which the songs played on the screen. A twenty three year old working as a young lecturer at Banaras Hindu University, I used to bicycle eight-nine kilometres to watch a movie just for the lovely songs. I remember Badi Behen, Tajmahal, Anarkali were the few movies which mesmerised me with their immortal songs. Such was the magic of songs that whenever a good movie was to be screened in Varanasi the walls will be plastered with posters listing out the songs and hundreds of admirers will rush to the movie halls, attracted by the songs like bees to to honey-filled flowers. And the rarest of the rare movies where a wonderful film was equally enriched by matchless songs - Anuradha, Anadi, Bandini, Sujata, Seema, Pyasa - all had stamps of the great Lata Mangeskar, the unsurpassed Melody Queen of India.

Account of my personal tryst with Lataji's songs will be incomplete without a remarkable incident from my event-filled past. There was an incredibly touching song of hers which used to move me powerfully every time I listened to it - Chhup gaya koirey durse pukarkey, dard anokhi hai de gaya pyarkey....By the 1990s I was hooked to video clips of old songs. Despite my best efforts I could not get the clip of this particular song and it kept nagging me, more so because I came to know that on the screen it was the matchless Suchitra Sen who had played the lead actress of the movie. In a moment of madness I had promised to my wife Geetanjali that the day I get to see the video clip of this immortal song I would give her whatever she asked. She had smiled and kept quiet. At last, somewhere around 1994 when I was a student at Penn State, USA, pursuing a Ph.D. Program, I found the video cassette of the movie Champakali (1957), in the Indian store there. I borrowed the cassette and rushed home, all excited. I showed the cassette to Geetanjali and reminded her of the promise I had made. So I grandly announced that she could ask for 'anything' and I would give it to her. She thought for a few seconds and said, "Ok, let's all go to the Chinese restaurant and have a nice dinner." I was stunned. I told her, "You could have asked for a gold necklace, a costly dress or anything! I would have begged, borrowed or stolen to fulfil my promise to you, why did you ask for a simple dinner?" She replied sweetly, "I didn't want you to beg, borrow or steal. I know how much you earn from your stipend. So I asked for something which the entire family can enjoy and you can afford."

Lataji, like the above episode, you come into our life everyday, in some form or the other. I can never forget a cold, winter evening in December 1977 when I was returning by bus from Haridwar to Mussourie after attending the funeral rites of a close relative. Throughout the way one of your songs played in my heart with recurring pathos - Janaathaa humse dur bahaney bana liye, ab tumney kitney dur thikaney bana liye...As the poet Hasrat Jaipuri has so tragically said, Jaane waley kabhi nehin aatey, jaanewalonki yaad aati hei.... And you have yourself put it in your song so eloquently, Meri awaj hi pehchaan hei, gar yaad hei. Your divine voice is your everlasting presence for us. It is a rare coincidence that another Music great Bappi Lahiri passed away a few days after you. Who can forget his immortal composition - Chaltey chaltey, merey ye geet yaad rakhna, kabhi albidaa naa kehna. A grateful nation can never say albidaa to you Lataji, you will always remain with us.

Dear readers, hope you will enjoy the offerings in today's edition. Prof. Gangadhar Sahoo, the eminent doctor has written two interesting articles which have been published at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/421 and http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/422 The poems and short stories section of LV114 are at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/423 Young Magic, writings by budding talents, is at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/424.

Please share these links with all your friends and contacts with a reminder that all the 114 editions of LV are available at http://www.positivevibes.today/literaryvibes

Take care, enjoy life. We will meet again on Friday, the 25th March with the 115th edition of LiteraryVibes.

With warm regards

Mrutyunjay Sarangi

Table of Contents :: POEMS

01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
A LETTER FROM PATRALEKHAA
02) Haraprasad Das
THE PRISONER (BANDI)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
OLD FLAMES
DON’T WAIT TILL I AM DEAD
04) Bibhu Padhi
GRAVEDIGGERS
05) Madhumathi. H
A SONG FALLEN INTO A SILENT POND...
06) Sundar Rajan S
WHAT AM I
07) Molly Joseph M
A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER!
08) Shruti Shivkumar Iyer
WHEN WE’RE ALL DEAD
NO MEANS NO
INVIGOURATING HUES
09) Binsha Anas
WHEN I HIT YOU
10) Alexandra Psaropoulou
FLYING
11) Runu Mohanty
EKTARA
12) Setaluri Padmavathi
THE STORY OF A STONE SCULPTURE
13) Dr. Snehaprava Das
THE DEW DROP ON THE LOTUS LEAF
14) Ravi Ranganathan
SHIVA – ‘THAT WHICH IS NOT’
15) Dr. Thirupurasundari CJ
MEMES - BRAIN TWISTERS
16) Abani Udgata
WINDOW
17) Professor Niranjan Barik
RUN RUN RUN, RUN MILKHA RUN
18) Kabyatara Kar
ROARING WAVES - MY VALENTINE.
19) Sukanya V. Kunju
LAND OF IMAGINATION
20) Col (Dr) Rekha Mohanty
WINGS OF FEATHER
21) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
A CITY ABNORMAL

Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES

01) Ishwar Pati
THE WOMEN IN MY LIFE
02) Anil K. Upadhyay
LATA MANGESHKAR LIVES FOREVER
03) Chinmayee Barik
AN ELOQUENT SILENCE
04) Dr. Radharani Nanda
THE JOURNEY
05) Sundar Rajan S
THE PRIZE
06) Lathaprem Sakhya
BIRDS AND CHILDREN
07) Gourang Charan Roul
ON THE BANKS OF THE HISTORIC NILE
08) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: A TOWERING MAN ON A TOWERING TOWER
09) Maj Antony Thomas
THE ANGEL FLIGHT
10) Shruti Sarma
MOI KOTKORAI KOISU
11) Sunil Biswal
A DARK NIGHT AND THE MYSTERIOUS CO-PASSENGER
12) Asha Raj Gopakumar
ENLIGHTNMENT OF HARIPRIYA
13) Prof. (Dr.) Viyatprajna Acharya
INDIAN CLASSICAL MUSIC- THE POWERFUL HEALER
PRACTICE OF HUMILITY
14) Meena Mishra
CHHOKRI MAST HAI
15) Ranjana Chowdhary
ROMANCE OF A DISTRICT OFFICER'S TEA CLUB
16) Sheena Rath
RAHUL & HUSHKOO MUSINGS
17) Ashok Kumar Ray
MY UNTOLD STORY
18) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
WHITEWASH

Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC

01) Trishna Sahoo
IGNIGHTED MINDS
02) Ritika Pradhan
A MEMORABLE DARK NIGHT

A LETTER FROM PATRALEKHAA

Prabhanjan K. Mishra

Again the easterly wind

stirs into my memory your essences

with the aroma of mango blossoms.

The winter is slithering out

like a thief to shadows, shivering

in itself, looking with envy-filled eyes

at the poor people

keeping themselves warm,

hugging little fires in streets,

sharing beedi-stubs and chai,

sitting in the sun rising from the mist,

a pink oblong balloon.

And the footsteps of April

sound faint from afar,

signalling the mango flowers

to step over the threshold

to puberty in their cloistered hideout

beneath the layers

of self-conscious coyness.

Your words steal away behind

parentheses sounding innocent

but your 'butter won't

melt in mouth' stances

betraying your naughty intention.

The brown sheets of handmade paper,

sepia-mahogany, speckled, looking antique,

that could be your aging skin. Your 'U' for 'you'

among your lines, Patralekhaa,

bring back the smoothie of your smiles.

The splotches on your letter, are they

stains of tears, coffee or sweat(?), fill my nostrils

with the scents of nostalgia ripening in me -

that mango-sweet June, your sighs

preparing to open the womb

to receive the downpour from the lips

of the indigo cloud grunting in baritone.

Your old letter crackles like new flames

in my hands. A penny drops far away somewhere.

The heart grows desolate,

body lonely. In my bed, you shift, roll,

a sleeping empty shape, timeless.

I place the old letter tenderly

among my memorabilia smelling of you,

musty with age, dank with teary memory.

A pair of anklets, an ear-stud,

a ladies rumal, all yours, I stole decades ago.

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 PRISONER (BANDI)

Haraprasad Das

(Translated by – Prabhanjan K. Mishra)

Keep your feet firm on the ground,

hands raised into air.

What freedom are you expecting

for yourself, my dear prisoner?

You have accepted

to live lifelong in captivity;

your thumb impression and signature

blaze on the dotted line.

Do you expect miracles

in future? The ‘future’

that deceives all by receding

away to unreachable distances?

The ‘past’ has written you off,

the ‘present’ cares two hoots for you.

But if you keep still,

you may morph into a lovely plant,

striking roots from your feet,

leaves and flowers

growing out of your fingertips.

SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES

THE WOMEN IN MY LIFE

Ishwar Pati

I don’t mind confessing, at the fag end of what people would label as a ‘blemishless’ existence, that I have had more than one woman in my life! My flummoxed friends will dismiss my scandalous admission as pompous grandstanding to kill post-retirement boredom. But they couldn’t be farther from the truth. So it’s time I revealed the truth about the women whose lives crossed my path.

The first girl came into my life when I was barely ten, not even a teen, studying in school. She was a college student more interested in pursuing her bachelor’s degree than in pursuing a bachelor like me! She was the star actress for that year’s annual drama, in which I was roped in to play her young brother-in-law. She enacted the role of a new bride thrown into the hostile household of her husband. Needless to say, the home was ruled by a ruthless mother-in-law. I was her sole solace and support in that alien world. I don’t know whether the script called for display of plenty of affection towards me, which I found pleasantly discomforting. The feeling of being near an attractive woman was new to me, especially when she hugged me to her bosom at crucial moments to heighten the dramatic effect of her inner suffering. But there was nothing indecent about it. Her impassioned acting won over the strict guardians of the college—with no censorious rebuffs! If I recollect correctly, she was wearing a strong perfume whose intoxicating fragrance remained at the tip of my nose for many a day after the play was over. In course of time it evaporated into some forgotten recess in my past.

There was no meeting point between me and theatre after that till I finished school and then college. Ironically, the monotonous bank job I joined after my studies were over facilitated my re-entry into the dazzling world of lights. I was persuaded by the bank staff to join their annual drama. From a bit child player of yesteryear, I was elevated to the role of the side hero—a do-gooder like Michael Cassio who is wrongly accused of courting the heroine. But unlike in the Shakespearean tragedy, our drama ended on a happy note when I was instrumental in removing the hero’s suspicion and uniting him with his beloved. In the next annual event I was offered the protagonist’s position, perhaps as a recompense for being left out of romantic escapades with the heroine! I made full use of the opportunity to woo her (on stage of course)! I found I could breeze through the tender scenes with seasoned actresses with aplomb, but without compromising on my proper rectitude! I quickly learnt how to flirt without crossing the Lakshman Rekha.

There was an interesting footnote to the play staged in the following year. By an uncanny coincidence, the heroine’s name was the same as that of the girl who was slated to come into my real life for life, i.e. my future wife! How this little but subtle twist of fate influenced my acting on stage with her can only be conjectured upon. Suffice it to say, my acting career came to a premature end.

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.

LATA MANGESHKAR LIVES FOREVER

Anil K. Upadhyay

Lata Mangeshkar is no more – her mortal body that is. She was over 92, she had been in and out of hospital in recent times, and had been on ventilator support during her last couple of days. This was bound to happen some day. But can she ever go out of our lives? I don’t remember a time when I was not aware of her songs, nor can I think of a time when her voice would vanish from the face of the earth.

My abiding romance for Lata Mangeshkar happened despite my early upbringing under the tutelage of my grandfather, firewalled from any bad influences. Dadaji had a modern university education, he was also employed in the education department, but he was renowned as a traditional Sanskrit scholar and astrologer. He ran his household as an austere gurukul. His idea of a child’s education comprised assorted shlokas and mantras, texts like ‘Amarkosh’ and ‘Hitopadesh’, Samachar from Devaki Nandan Pandey and Chakravarty’s Ankganit. Distant relatives, too, would drop their children for different periods for learning some good values from Dadaji, one of which was that films and film songs were ashleel.

At some stage the parents would realise that the child also needs to go to a school. Thus, when I was taken for my first school admission at the age of 9, I was a strangely-abled child, far ahead in some strange areas, but clueless about some basic facts about the world around me. My first exposure to the real world came when a boy in the class sang, Mori chham chham baaje payaliya. I suspected that this song was ashleel, because the next line went, Aaj milenge mohe saanwariya.

Even a starker exposure to the real world came my way soon after, when I had to represent my family in a baraat party, as all the elders were similarly with different baraats in the busy marriage season. As this was the baraat of a big Babu Saheb, a Baiji from Banaras had been engaged to entertain the guests. As the baraat settled in the janvaasa, the Baiji emerged from her green room with a melodious, Do hanson ka joda bichhad gayo re, Gazab bhayo Rama julam bhayo re. But the baraatis found it tepid, and there was a clamour, Kuchh phadakata hua ho jaaye. The Baiji went inside and came out with a swift gyration, Dhoondho dhoondho re saajna dhoondho re saajna, more kaan ka baala. The baraatis erupted in joyous whistles and yells.

Dadaji could no longer stop the songs from falling into my ears. Those were very loud and public days. If a new film was released, its publicity was through streets on a hired rickshaw with loudspeaker mounted on its top blaring the film’s songs, and the announcer describing the story in his colourful language, ending with a suspense, ‘Kya Rajesh aur Sunita mil payenge? Aage ki kahani ke liye dekhiye aaj se Avantika ke rupahle parde par...’ He would throw coloured pamphlets at the children running after the rickshaw.

The market nukkads always blared film songs. No mela, religious festivity, or family function was complete without this contraption – a rickshaw would arrive with a loudspeaker, a couple of boxes, wires, battery etc. The man would mount the loudspeaker on some pole or housetop. Down below, one box would contain gramophone records in sleeves, another box, the disc player which would start rotating after a few turns of the handle. He would take out the record with some ceremony and put it on the player. Out came the song. The children swarmed around this wonder. The sleeve contained the name of the songs and other details. One voice reigned over others and I was able to put a name to it – Lata Mangeshkar.

College was my own coming out of shackles as the radio played Kaanton se kheench ke ye aanchal, tod ke bandhan baandhi payal/ Koi no roko dil ki udaan ko, dil wo chala. But I was also getting ensnared by a Pied Piper of Radio Ceylon, called Manohar Mahajan, who would inexorably draw me to the radio every week in the night to his ‘Hamesh Jawan Geet’ programme with:

Khushiyon ke din manaaye ja, dil ke taraane gaaye ja
Tujhko jawani ki qasam, dil ki lagi bujhaye ja
Aaja piya, aja piya, abhi to main jawan hun
Abhi to main jawan hun, abhi to main jawan hun

After college, getting a job meant it was time for marriage those days. A protest that I was not yet ready was met with incredulous looks. Among several worthy suitors, I, a mere I was getting married to her! But what ultimately mattered with me was what her cousins told me, that she sang Tum na jaane kis jahan mein kho gaye and Aaja re pardesi, main to kabse khadi is paar/ Ye ankhiyan thak gayi panth nihar.

Marriage meant courtesy visits. Our first port of call was Mr and Mrs Bhagawat Prasad. After pleasantries, we made a tentative request to Mrs Prasad to sing us a song. She was a shy person with a thin voice, but her demur suggested that she would sing with some pleading. And once she started with one after another song – Rahate the kabhi jinke dil mein hum jaan se bhi pyaron ki tarah/ Baithe hain unhin ke kooche par hum aaj gunehgaron ki tarah; Mere sapne mein ana re sajna and Nigahon mein tum ho, khayalon mein tum ho, jidhar dekhti hun nazar aa rahe ho – it was a divine experience. Her voice was untrained, there was no musical instrument for support, but she was living the emotions, Lata Mangeshkar’s spirit pervaded there. Thanks to Mrs Prasad, many decades later, I remember the songs and the lyrics.

In larger gatherings whenever Shipra Biswas was sighted, there was a collective roar, Shipra, Tumhein yaad karte karte. And one may forget her name, but that didn’t matter because her identity was Tumhein yaad karte karte, jayegi rain saari. Many years later, in our social get-togethers of tennis court families, Mrs Sarojini Pathak would render a most melodious Jo dil ko sataye, jalaye. dukhaye/ Aisi mohabbat se hum baaj aye. And Pathakji, when he was at his highest point, always ended the evening with Tere sadke balam, na kare koi gham, ye samaan, ye jahaan phir kahaan.

My bonding with Lata Mangeshkar was complete. Later, I read many things about her, some quite unflattering, that she was haughty, she was vengeful and used her might to squash competition. These were written by learned people and I had no reason to disbelieve them. But did I care how she was as a human being? She was a pure voice, unsullied by what others wrote about her.

Then when I started writing the blog Songs of Yore, I was seen as a Lata Mangeshkar-partisan. I was surprised, how could one be a Lata-partisan? She was The Female Playback Singer, up above others. One could be an Asha Bhosle-partisan, or Geeta Dutt-partisan. But there is one and only Lata Mangeshkar, there never was a Lata Mangeshkar before her; there would never be another Lata Mangeshkar.

Lata Mangeshkar lives forever with me and most music lovers with her songs. I end my tribute with some songs which have moved me beyond words, gave me enormous joy over the years.

1. Khushiyon ke din manaye ja…Abhi to main jawan hun from Afsana (1951), lyrics Gafil Harnalavi, music Husnlal-Bhagatram

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9Qkw35wZc8

2. Na main jaanun aarti bandhan, na puja ki reet..Ae ri main to prem diwani mera darad na jaane koy from Naubahar (1952), lyrics Meerabai/Saryendra Atthaiya, music Roshan

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-ZvWTz8SJU

3. Aaj mere man mein sakhi bansuri bajaye, koi pyar bhare geet sakhi baar baar gaaye from Aan (1952), lyrics Shakeel Badayuni, music Naushad

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6jUIxOhkoE

4. Tumhare bulane ko ji chaahta hai from Laadli (1949), lyrics Bahzad Lakhanavi, music Anil Biswas

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WKKzRexymc

5. Main to tum sang nain milake haar gayi sajna from Manmauji (1962), lyrics Rajendra Krishna, music Madan Mohan

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kISh6TGbCjc

6. Dil ki dunaiya basa ke tum na jaane kahan kho gaye from Amar Deep (1958), lyrics Rajendra Krishna, music C Ramshandra

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klZrViVo4G8

7. Rang dil ki dhadkan bhi laati to hogi from Patang (1960), lyrics Rajendra Krishna, music Chitragupt

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pzYbkjSA5Xg

8. Haaye jiya roye from Milan (1958), lyrics Prem Dhawan, music Hansraj Behl

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0tj6m2_w7ew

9. Pyasi hirni ban ban dhaaye koi shikari aaye re, Chori chori fanda daale baanh pakad le jaaye re from Do Dil (1965), lyrics Kaifi Azmi, music Hemant Kumar

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7lDblZzbn0

10. Raja ki aayegi baraat, rangili hogi raat. magan main naachungi from Aah (1953), lyrics Shailendra, music Shankar-Jaikishan

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLFAAYUHML4

Note: For reference to Tennis Courts and Pathakji, please see my article, Tennis, Pathakji and ‘Tere sadke balam’. It has been published earlier on this forum.

Disclaimer: The song links have been taken from the YouTube only for the listening pleasure of music lovers. The copyright over these songs rests with the respective right holders.

(The story of my deep romance for Lata Mangeshkar (28.9.1929 – 6.2.2022) - (This was published earlier on my blog www.songsofyore.com. On Mrutyunjay’s earnest request I am presenting it before the erudite readers of this forum. My story is everyone’s story; Lata Mangeshkar has been an integral part of our lives, and she will forever be a part of us through her songs)

Anil K Upadhyay is a retired IAS officer. He has wide-ranging interests in music, literature, sports and current affairs. He writes a well-acclaimed blog www.songsofyore.com, devoted to old Hindi film music. This article is slightly modified from an article earlier published on the blog Songs Of Yore.

AN ELOQUENT SILENCE

Chinmayee Barik

(Translated from Odia by Mrutyunjay Sarangi)

Jojo kept looking at his mother. She was bent on the table, writing something. He knew it was her diary and the words must be heavy with the sorrow she has been carrying for years in her heart. Jojo was hungry, so was Janu, the small puppy who was the darling of the mother and the son. Yet he didn't want to disturb her. Janu was licking his feet to convey she was hungry. Jojo lifted her and whispered in her ears, "You know I can't disturb Mama now, her broken heart will shatter to pieces at the slightest touch. We will have to wait for some more time."

After a long wait Mama finished her writing and tucked the diary among her used clothes in the cupboard. She tried to hide her tears from Jojo and ran to the kitchen to make food for everyone. The moment she went out of the room Jojo hurried to the cupboard, took out the diary and read the fresh entry - she had used some really strong words against "The Man" today - his name was Rashid - it was as if her words had the power to turn the abominable man into a stone. Jojo's eyes filled up with tears. He caressed the fresh writing with his fingers, taking care to avoid the exact spots where Rashid's name appeared. He lifted Janu again and walked towards the kitchen. Mama looked at him and bent her head, busy in making rotis - she knew, as usual, he had read what she wrote in the diary a few minutes back.

There were only a few rotis and a plate of daal for dinner. Jojo and Janu ate quietly. He was disappointed, he had hoped for some paneer or at least a dish of kheer. Now he imagined the rotis to be poori and the daal to be paneer and licked the plate clean. Mama was watching them eat, her face sad, the eyes swollen with the tears she had shed.

Jojo was equally crestfallen,

"How long this shadow of Rashid will darken our life Mama?"

Suddenly Mama went crazy, she screamed at him,

"As long as you live Jojo, you are the imprint of his presence in my life."

Jojo felt as if he had been stabbed by a sharp knife, inflicting painful wounds on his delicate body. He washed his hands and quietly went to the bed. He felt cold and covered himself with a tattered quilt. Janu came running and got under the quilt, glued to the forlorn boy. Without Mama Jojo felt lonely, although he tried to drift into sleep with the knowledge that in the morning when he got up, he would be sleeping wrapped by his dear Mama's arms.

Sleep eluded Jojo. Somehow Mama's words in the diary were quite disturbing. Jojo kept thinking of Rashid. Like an unwelcome storm the man had come in Mama's life and left a lifelong scar. In one careless moment of anger Mama had told Jojo that he had forced himself on her and Jojo was the unwanted product of that dreadful rape. The thirteen year old didn't know the meaning of rape. The day one of his friends in the school told him, from an innocent adolescent he bacame an angry young man. He, who had never hated anyone, started hating Rashid wth all the accumulated frustrations of life. He felt as if he had suddenly become big, very big, and henceforth the duty of protecting his Mama was entirely upon him.

Jojo started helping his Mama at home. He swept the floors when Mama would be sleeping, folded the clothes and gave a bath to Janu. Mama used to work as a janitor in a hotel five kilometres away. She would leave Jojo at school and collect him back on her return from work. Janu, the brave little puppy would be guarding the house. Jojo used to study in a small English medium school. He was handsome and good in studies. Many girls would try to come closer, but Jojo never looked at them. Mama had strictly warned him not to talk to any girl in the school. Once Jojo had asked her why she put the restrictions on him. Mama got very upset, gritted her teeth and in a strange way whispered, "You have Rashid's blood in you. No girl will be safe with you." Jojo hardly understood Mama's words, but it hurt him. He would look at himself in the mirror, his strong, handsome face would stare back at him. He would wonder, did he really look like Rashid? Was Rashid's blood flowing in his body? Why should a rapist's blood be a part of his body? Why couldn't he be a normal person? Then Mama would not put any restriction on him. Like other boys in the school he would be talking to the girls.

jojo's grandmother used to visit them once in a way. Sometimes she and Mama would be talking nicely, laughing, enjoying and sometimes they would quarrel, shout at each other in a loud voice. Jojo wouldn't understand what they were quarrelling about. Grandma would throw a big tantrum and leave the house angrily, Mama would hit her head on the wall and burst into a wail. Jojo would hold her tightly and try to console her. He would wonder why did Grandma come and give so much pain to his Mama. He wished Grandma would stop visiting them and if she came again, Jojo would shut the door on her face. Mama would get tired, crying for hours, take some medicine and go off to sleep. Jojo would sit at her feet and press her legs. Janu would sit on his lap and look at them with soft, unblinking eyes.

The neighbours were not very fond of Mama. They would tell anyone who would care to listen, that Mama was a crazy person. Jojo never believed them. In his small world, he knew, if anyone could cook properly, could keep account of household expenses, dressed nicely when going to work, such a person could never be crazy. Those who call her crazy, must themselves be crazy.

Sometimes Jojo tried to imagine how Rashid looked like. And drew a picture of the man in his mind - curly, sparse hair, a white cap on head, a beard and a thin moustache, a chain with a talisman hanging on the neck, a white netted towel on the shoulders, a dirty white kurta and a striped lungi. Jojo felt like spitting on the picture, he knew if he met Rashid any time in his life, he might jump on him and tear him to pieces.

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One day Jojo's grandma came to their home. Mama was away at work. Jojo wondered why Grandma came, knowing that Mama would not be at home. That day the old lady started gushing with affection for her grandson. She gave him lots of chocolates, and a piece of cake, and told him,

"Just outside this town there is a nice house, lots of children live there. Good food is served every day and children are giving nice clothes. If you want I can take you there."

Jojo was fascinated,

"Is it your house grandma? Can Mama also come with me and live there?"

Grandma shook her head,

"No. No, how is it possible? It's an orphanage."

"But Grandma, why should I go to an orphanage? Am I nothing to you?"

The old lady got angry, she bared her teeth like one of those witches he had read about in some stories,

"No, no, you are nothing to me or to any of us. You are a curse upon us, because of you our life has become a hell. You should leave all of us and go away to the orphanage."

She stormed out of the house leaving Jojo heart-broken. But her words did not leave him. In the night he hid his face in the thin, hard pillow and shed copious tears. He looked at his Mama's tired face, asleep, her eyes had closed, the dark ring under the eyes quite prominent. He touched her hand, long back it was soft, now it had become rough. How much his Mama must be struggling to provide food to him and Janu! He almost felt as if he should go away to an orphanage, at least to give some relief to his Mama. Tears started flowing again and wetted Mama's hand. She got up, startled,

"Jojo! Why are you crying? Are you hungry"?

Between sobs he asked,

"Mama, will you be happy if I go away to the orphanage? I promise I will do anything to make you happy."

She broke into a loud wail,

"Orphanage? What orphanage? Who told you, you are going to an orphanage? Did someone come here when I was away at work?"

Jojo told her about Grandma, the chocolates and the cake. Mama started sobbing. In a couple of minutes she telephoned her mother and shouted at her angrily. Jojo had never seen his Mama so angry. She forbade the old lady to visit her home again. She slammed the receiver and told Jojo he should never open the door to his Grandma. And she told him she would never send him to an orphanage. She gathered him in her arms and they went off to sleep, Janu lying peacefully at their feet.

Jojo was happy, the Grandma would not come again to visit. He wanted no one to come home. His world should be confined to him, his Mama and the cute Janu. He didn't talk to anyone in the school, the girls made fun of him. But he didn't mind. He used to borrow lots of comics from school and read them at home, loudly, so that Mama would also listen to them and enjoy. Often they would roll in laughter if the story was really funny, Janu would be happy and start yelping in joy. He would help Mama in cutting vegetables and making noodles. But once in a while Mama would return from school, irritated and upset. She would look at him in a strange way, mutter something to herself, hurriedly make some roti and daal. No curry that day. She would gulp down couple of tablets and go off to sleep. Those days Jojo would feel lonely, he would keep talking to Janu and sleep would come very late to him.

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One day someone came to meet him at the school during the mid-day recess. He told Jojo his name was Rashid. Jojo turned away and stood at a distance as if he didn't want even Rashid's shadow to touch him. He looked at Rashid from a distance. To his surprise he didn't find him the way he had imagined. In fact Rashid was an extremely handsome, tall and healthy looking man, his eyes were slightly brown and he had thick, long eyebrows, exactly the way Jojo himself had. He was not in a lungi and dirty kurta, the safari suit on his muscular body looked quite elegant. He had come in a big, black car which must be pretty costly. Jojo never thought Rashid would be so handsome. Still he kept his distance from him.

Rashid spoke to him and apologised for not meeting him earlier. He had broought many gifts, but Jojo didn't touch them. Principal of the school was also quite impressed with Rashid's personality and spoke to him with respect as if he was some big man. Jojo ignored him. After this it became a regular routine for Rashid to visit the school during the mid day break to meet Jojo, but the boy never spoke to him, nor came anywhere near. He didn't accept any of the expensive gifts that Rashid brought. Gradually Rashid stopped trying to talk to Jojo. He would still come and stand at a distance, watching Jojo play. Often their eyes would meet and Rashid would smile. Jojo would run back to the class. As the midday recess hour would draw near Jojo would be curious, would Rashid be there, like everyday. He will glance through the window, his eyes scanning the gate to check if Rashid had arrived.

For many days Jojo did not tell Mama about Rashid's visit because he knew it would upset her. But when he returned from school his mind would be elsewhere, he won't play with Janu like he used to do earlier. Mama noticed his changed mood and asked him what was the matter. He knew he could never lie to his dear Mama. So he told her about Rashid, how he had been coming for the last few days trying to speak to Jojo and be close to him. He also assured her that he had never spoken to Rashid, nor accepted a single gift from him.

Mama was stunned. She just couldn't believe her ears. She stared at Jojo, her face broke into a thousand pieces of agony and the eyes filled up with tears. Jojo was shattered, he followed Mama to the bedroom and lied down with her, his face tucked into her tummy, like Janu used to do sometimes with him. There was no dinner that night. Everyone remained hungry, a deep, disturbing sadness eating away their heart. Janu slept glued to Jojo as if he wanted to absorb some of the tension and sadness from the young master.

Mama didn't go to work for a week after that. Jojo also skipped school. Mama remained totally silent, not talking to Jojo at all. She would sit outside and keep muttering to herself. Jojo didn't go near her, but did most of the work at home, taking care of Janu also. And amidst all this gloom of sadness, one day Grandma landed up like an unseasonal rain. She had come to plead for Rashid, forgetting that she had always spoken against him. She announced grandly that Rashid had met her, he was genuinely sorry for what had happened and would like to start a new life. She advised Mama to forgive Rashid and instead of wasting her life crying over the past she should marry Rashid and set up a happy future. Looking at Jojo Grandma also said how nice that would be for the young boy, because Rashid had come to love him.

Mama lost her cool. She screamed at her mother, rushed to her as if she wanted to throw her out of home. She broke into loud wailings, tore her hair and hit her head against the wall till blood came out of her forehead. Jojo was shocked, he wanted to go to Mama and console her, but she asked him not to come near her. He failed to understand who was right - Grandma or Mama? But before he could think of anything Mama suddenly rushed to the cupboard, took out a bottle and drank half the liquid from it. In two minutes, she fell on the ground, foam came out of her mouth. Jojo was scared, he screamed, Mama...Mama...get up Mama.......

Grandma went out and called the neighbours. They rushed Mama to the hospital. She survived, but just by a hair's breadth. The doctor said a few minutes delay would have killed her. When Mama opened her eyes, Jojo was sitting there with Grandma who had wrapped her hands around him. Mama looked at him and said,

"I am sorry Jojo."

"It's ok Mama, I am glad that you didn't leave me."

"Jojo, my dear, like others do you also think I am crazy?"

Jojo gathered Mam's frail hands,

"No Mama, you are not crazy, you are just different from others."

Mama's eyes closed. A sense of peace spread over her. Jojo whispered to her,

"Mama, I love you too much, please don't leave me."

Jojo felt, in his small world, Mama, only Mama was the truth, everything else was incidental.

The nurse came in and said someone was waiting outside and wanted to meet Grandma. She went out, Jojo accompanied her. It was Rashid. He held Grandma's hands and said he was sorry for all that happened. He begged for forgiveness. Grandma had nothing to say to him. She kept quiet. Rashid knelt before Jojo, took the boy's hands in his and said he was sorry. He also said he was leaving the town next morning, and would never come back.

Jojo looked at Rashid, it was difficult to believe he would never see the man again. Rashid gathered him close to his body, touched his eyes, the nose, the cheeks and the thick hair. He lifted the boy's hand and kissed it. Eyes brimming with tears, he said, "I love you Jojo."

The boy was bewildered, on a strange impulse he touched the man's eyes, the nose, the cheeks and the hair. He hugged the man and with trembling lips, eyes overflowing with tears, he whispered, "But I hate you Rashid"

Chinmayee Barik, a modernist writer in Odia literature is a popular and household name in contemporary literary circle of Odisha. Quest for solitude, love, loneliness, and irony against the stereotyped life are among the favorite themes of this master weaver of philosophical narratives. She loves to break the monotony of life by penetrating its harsh reality. She believes that everyone is alone in this world and her words are the ways to distract her from this existing world, leading her to her own world of melancholy and to give time a magical aesthetic. Her writings betray a sense of pessimism with counter-aesthetics, and she steadfastly refuses to put on the garb of a preacher of goodness and absolute beauty. Her philosophical expressions carry a distinct sign of symbolic annotations to metaphysical contents of life.

She has been in the bestseller list for her three outstanding story collections "Chinikam" , "Signature" and "December". Chinmayee has received many prestigious awards and recognition like Events Best-Selling Author's Award, "Antarang 31", Story Mirror Saraswat Sanmam", "Sarjan Award by Biswabharati", "Srujan Yuva Puraskar", and " Chandrabhaga Sahitya Samman".

Her book 'Chinikam' has been regarded as the most selling book of the decade. With her huge fan base and universal acceptability, she has set a new trend in contemporary storytelling. By profession chinmayee is a popular teacher and currently teaches in a school named " Name and Fame Public School" at Panikoili, a small town in Odisha. She can be contacted at her Email id - chinmayeebarik2010@gmail.com

THE JOURNEY

Dr. Radharani Nanda

Sanat was studying in 2nd year engineering at Burla Engineering College, one of the premier institutes of Odisha. He hailed from district Jagatsinghpur. His father was a teacher in Jagatsinghpur High School. Sanat was the third child of his parents. They were leading a mediocre life. His two elder sisters got married after completing their graduation. Sanat was a bright student and passed +2 Science exam in first class. His father had high ambition for his future. Sanat secured good rank in JEE entrance examination and got a seat in Burla Engineering College. He took admission and came to stay in hostel. He had to share a room with a third-year student who was a decent boy and also diligent at his studies. Sanat had a good time with his roommate and he could focus on his studies without any hindrance. Two years passed smoothly. His roommate completed his final year and left the hostel after the exam was over.

Bijoy who was his classmate came to stay with him after his senior left. Sanat was at first a bit apprehensive about how to adjust with Bijoy. As Bijoy was staying in a mess before he came to hostel Sanat had very less acquaintance with him. Sanat was quiet, sober and reticent by nature. Nobody could hardly hear him saying anything or commenting while a discussion was going on amongst friends. But yes, he was giving a patient hearing to everybody. Bijoy was the son of an O.A.S.officer. He was smart, classy and frivolous. Though it was a difficult task for Sanat to befriend Bijoy, it did not take much time for both to come close. Bijoy was amused with the stoic character of Sanat.

Sanat got a message from his uncle that his daughter who was studying in +3 second year in G.M. College Sambalpur had come to stay in hostel as his uncle had been transferred to Balasore, a faraway district. He had requested Sanat to meet her and check her wellbeing as an elder brother. One Sunday morning Sanat set out to the Girls’ hostel of G.M.College Sambalpur, which was 10 kms away from his Engineering college at Burla, to meet his cousin sister Rima. He waited for a while near the gate and saw Rima coming to him accompanied by a girl whom she introduced to him as her roommate. Sanat was astounded at the very sight of the girl. She was tall, fare complexioned and beautiful. Her elegance was so ravishing that Sanat could not avert his eyes from her at the first sight.

Sanat controlled his feelings. He wished her modestly and asked her name. She replied, ‘’I am Sweta. Rima and me are roommates’’. What a mellifluous voice she had. Sanat was enthralled. He tried to focus on his discussion with Rima about her hostel life and problems, if any, but he could not concentrate much. Sanat returned to engineering hostel after a formal talk. He tried to relax on bed for a while before it was time for lunch. As it was Sunday there was a bit noise and gaiety and students were in joyous mood. But nothing allured him. The nostalgia of the beauty, gesture and magical voice of Sweta had held his heart in rapture. Was it love at first sight? He questioned himself but could not find an answer.

That was the beginning. Sanat started meeting Rima at weekends and, on this pretext, tried to find a chance to meet Sweta also. Rima also could understand the passion that developed in Sanat’s mind for Sweta. Whenever she was coming to meet Sanat she persuaded Sweta to accompny her and Sweta had no reluctance to meet Sanat, rather she showed her interest in it. A sober guy like Sanat became so much obsessed with Sweta, he hardly missed any chance to meet her. A formal meeting subsequently turned to a regular visit and they started seeing each other more frequently. Rima was apprised of the situation and preferred to stay away to give them a chance to have their privacy. Sweta was talkative, openminded and bubbling with enthusiasm. Sanat was amazed at her exuberance and zest for life. She had yearning for a living in affluence where money, luxury and comforts would be at her feet. Adding to her beauty, and elegance her dashing personality mesmerized Sanat. But in spite of meeting for several times he was not able to express openly his feelings towards her because of his silent nature. Sweta was well aware of his passion for her which was quite evident from his attitude and behavior. Though Sanat was an introvert he had confidence on his own self. He was maddened with love for her and made up his mind to try his best to fulfill all her wishes by virtue of his talent and perseverance.

A year passed with love, thrill and romance. The love birds were roaming in their utopian world and weaving colourful dreams about their future. By this time Sanat’s roommate Bijoy had a good friendship with him. Bijoy became his trusted confidant with whom he could share his feelings. Bijoy came to know about Sanat’s affair with Sweta. Sometimes Bijoy was also accompanying Sanat to meet Sweta at her hostel, park, coffee shop. They would sip coffee, gossip, and rejoice. Bijoy encouraged Sanat to go ahead in his relationship as Sweta was an amazing girl as far as her beauty and personality was concerned and her attitude towards life would have a positive impact in their journey. Sanat was overwhelmed and thankful to him for his moral support.

Bijoy called her Bhauja. Gradually it became a habit and Bijoy became more and more free and frank with Sweta. She also became cordial with Bijoy as time passed. They would cheer, laugh to their hearts and many times Bijoy would crack jokes. He would not leave a chance to praise her beauty and glamour. At first Sanat was not paying any attention to it.But as time passed it did not escape his sight that Sweta’s friendliness with Bijoy was deepening. She was becoming upset when Bijoy was not with them and did not show much interest to enjoy Sanat’s company as she was doing before. She would try to leave earlier on the pretense of being busy for some other work. Sweta’s inclination towards Bijoy shattered Sanat. He tried to give a subtle hint of his suspicion to Bijoy, but Bijoy tried to laugh it away by explaining that it was just a formal chit chat with his Bhauja and he had no intention to intrude into their personal affair.

With passage of time Sanat could notice Sweta’s indifference towards him. The thrill, the ecstasy and overwhelming spirit with which she was greeting him earlier was missing. Sanat was bemused when he heard about the secret meeting of Swewta and Bijoy. One day he ventured to ask Sweta about her indifference towards him. He was aghast by her stern reply. Sweta had a frank answer that she loved Bijoy, who was smart, dashing, jubilant and hailed from a well to do family. His friendship was so enthralling. Any girl of her age will long for such a guy to be her husband. She put down Sanat telling him that he was shy, introvert and most unromantic. No girl will be fascinated to marry him. Sweta's life will turn into hell to get a husband like him in her life. She loved Bijoy and they were serious about their relationship. Sanat was a fool not to notice their closeness even after spending such a long time with them.

Sanat was baffled. He felt so belittled that he could not utter a single word. His eyes welled up. He could not believe Sweta, for whom he was head over heels in love, could betray him like this. He felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him by the person whom he trusted so much. It was like a crushing blow. Loss of trust, love, passion and pleasant dreams they wove together made Sanat think very low of himself. He was completely broken and lost confidence. His parents, sisters and all relations tried their best to restore him to normalcy but it was not an easy task. Immense mental trauma and tormoil led him to depression. His father consulted a renowned psychiatrist and in his competent hand Sanat could recoup from his tumult and was able to come out of his depression completely, almost after a year.

Sanat developed strong hatred towards girls. His emotional feeling for Sweta eventually began to fade from his mind. He stabled himself, reassembled all his study materials and started his preparation for final examination. He was intelligent and didn’t have difficulty in passing out the final examination in Engineering. He searched for an off-campus job and to his good luck got a job in a startup company at Pune with a nominal salary. He gladly accepted it as a challenge. His hard work and technical skill brought him success and after 3 years of experience he joined in Infosys at Bhubaneswar. He took a vow not to marry and indulged himself working for upliftment of poor and downtrodden of the society in addition to his assignment in Infosys. He did not have any information about Sweta and Bijoy, neither he had any interest to know about them. He was whole heartedly absorbed in his job as well as in his social work. After five to six years working in Infosys he was selected for onsight job at U.S.A. He accepted the assignment and got ready to move to U.S.A. Though the parents did not want their only son to leave them alone and work in a foreign country they could not oppose it as the satisfaction and mental peace of their only son was more important to them. Sanat promised them to return back soon after his purpose was fulfilled.

He stayed in America for ten long years. He was quite aware that his parents were growing old. His purpose of coming to US was almost fulfilled. One day he decided to come back to India winding up everything that he had in U.S.A.Though he was offered higher post in his company at Mumbai he preferred to stay nearer to his parents and accepted the job of a Senior Manager in Infosys at Bhubaneswar. Now he had no dearth of money to start his dream projects for which he was toiling hard for such a long time. Though he had a long list of projects for social upliftment his preliminary plan was to establish an orphanage and an old age home for those unfortunate children and old people who are abandoned by their family. Before leaving for U.S.A. he had started taking up projects like teaching the small children in slums and orphanages to build up their future with the help of some N.G.Os. Now he got ready for the bigger projects with support of his family, old friends and some dedicated social workers who could understand him well and voluntarily came for helping him. In U.S.A. he was associated with many voluntary organizations and gathered much innovative ideas in this field which helped him to start his project independently. All the formalities and paper work were completed and constuction work was in full swing.

On a winter morning Sanat was reclining on the sofa and enjoying the fragrant fume of hot tea served by his faithful cook cum caretaker Sambhu. He looked at the letters of the previous day which he could not see last night. His eyes stuck on a letter. Sender’s name written on the envelope confounded him. Who is this Sweta Pattnaik? He opened the envelope and started reading it. It was an application for the job of a manager for his project which he had published in a local newspaper. He targeted to functionalize his old age home and orphanage within six months and was in search of a dedicated person who can serve wholeheartedly the old and destitutes. He could see the photo of the girl on the top of the letter head. He didn’t have any doubt that the girl was Sweta. He was bewildered. Many years had passed. He didn’t have any communication with her. Although the heart wrenching memory had faded away, the scar still flashed like a nightmare to remind him the treacherous act she played with him and the unimaginable suffering he had to undergo in the past. He wanted to take his mind off Sweta out of utter disdain and was on the verge of throwing the letter to dustbin when he heard an unknown voice reverberating in his drawing room.

“Namaste Sir”, he heard somebody addressing him. He impulsively looked towards the door. A middle-aged lady wearing a light coloured chiffon saree, two pieces of glass bangles on her wrist and a tiny dark Bindi on forehead was wishing him. His eyes didn’t fail to reconise she was none other than Sweta. Her sweet voice carried a tinge of melancholy. She looked haggard and woeful. Sanat was puzzled at her unexpected presence in his house. He could not believe that she was the same charming, bubbly Sweta whom he had met decades ago. All the malevolent memories of the past suddenly became alive and his mind was not agreeing to respond to her at any cost. But the goodness and sensibility within him persuaded him to talk to her. He offered a chair to Sweta and ordered Sambhu to bring a glass of water for her. Silence pervaded in the room. Both of them were in a fix how to begin with. Sweta broke the silence and started in a quavering voice "Sir, I understand your confusion about my presence all on a sudden at your house without your permission and my calling you Sir must be worrying you. I beg excuse for putting you into trouble like this and I know I don’t deserve it.The pain, mental stress and turmoil you have undergone for my insensitive and heartless deeds in the past is not worth forgiving. I knew your dejection for me is so intense you would not read my application which I had written to you. I came to you to meet you once and tell you everything about me which is perturbing me since long. I cannot set myself free from the burden that I am carrying in my heart since so many years". She took a deep breath and looked towards Sanat in a mournful gesture. Sanat was not interested but somehow thought it relevant to listen to her silently.

Sweta narrated her story. After completing her graduation, she did not continue further study. Her marriage with Bijoy was fixed. Bijoy after B. TECH joined in a multinational company at Mumbai. They got married and Sweta went to live with Bijoy at Mumbai. They started a happy married life enriched with love, thrill and enjoyment. Sweta was overwhelmed with Bijoy’s care and concern. He didn’t have any family burden and Sweta had no restraint to spend money lavishly. She could afford all modern amenities for her dream house and led a high standard of living. Bijoy was much interested in party, picnic, food in classy restaurants in weekends. The comfort, luxury and glamour that Sweta once dreamt off seemed to come true. Two years passed happily.

Bijoy’s behavior changed with time. His love, care and concern for Sweta was fading. He came late from office, got involved in late night partying, dance and wine and it became his usual habit to return home drunk. He started avoiding her to come to such parties and had affair with his lady friends. Sweta was alone at home tolerating his weird behavior. But day by day the things became unbearable for her. Any suggessions, advice and emotion didn’t have any impact on Bijoy. Life became hell for her when Bijoy didn’t even hesitate to manhandle her on her objection to his vices. Bijoy’s obsession for wine and women and his rude behavior was increasing but Sweta could not express her plight before her parents as it was a love marriage. Their luxurious living started declining due to extravagance.Three to four years passed. Sweta was not a type of girl to sob silently tolerating his oppression for indefinite period. She decided to take divorce from Bijoy and filed a case in a Mumbai court. Case was finalized after two years.They were legally divorced and she returned back to stay with her parents, brother and sister-in-law in her house at Dhenkanal.

Her parents were very much in dismay for this untoward incident and it was like a bolt from blue for a middle-class family like them.They tried to stand by her at this hour of her frustration and support her. They encouraged her to persue B.Ed. But it was not an easy task to get a seat in B.Ed. Her life in her own family became difficult day by day because of the misunderstanding and conflict arising with her brother and sister-in-law. She made up her mind to lead an independent life and not to be a burden to the family. She tried for a job and with help of her relatives she could get a job as a warden in a ladies’ hostel in an Engineering college at Bhubaneswar. In spite of her parent’s discouragement, she moved to Bhubaneswar to stay in the hostel with the hope of leading a peaceful life but her past did not allow her. From time to time, it reminded her about the dirty game she played with Sanat and spoiled miserably the life of a decent, brilliant guy like him. She was repenting for her inhuman behavior towards him and regretting for her acquisitiveness for wealth and luxury which left her in such a precarious condition. All her dreams of leading a life in splendor and abundance was lost in oblivion.

Sweta finished her story. Her eyes filled with tears, her lips quivering. Sanat was becoming commiserative after listening to her. His anguish and hatred were melting down. Sweta continued gloomily 'God has rightly punished me for my wrong doings. My vanity, audacity and swagger has led me to such a disgracing state today which I truly deserve.' She lamented again. Sanat steadied himself. He tried to pacify her and tried to convince that she has made a blunder coming to him and seeking his sympathy. The stream of love, passion and thrill has dried up from the core of his heart. It is better if she would marry somebody else who can care for her and support her in her journey of life. Sanat was about to get up from sofa when Sweta uttered with a mournful voice "Sir you misunderstood me.I have not come to gain your sympathy, love and, affection by enumerating my plight before you. After facing such atrocities and seeing life from close space I have understood the real meaning of it. I don't have any emotion left in my mind except the wistful experience of my past deeds. That Sweta is dead. What you are seeing is a new Sweta who wants to live for others, live for the poor and hapless of the society, to laugh with them, to love them and to cry with them. That will be the actual punishment for me. I spoiled your life and see; God has punished me for it. The work you have started with such noble intention inspired me to approach you. I want to be a part of it and dedicate my service for this purpose. Can I find a better person than you whom I can trust wholeheartedly for this noble cause? I have adopted a girl from orphanage. She is 5 years old and stays with me.” Sweta took a pause. She told him “I have told you everything about my life without concealing any fact. If you believe in it, please consider my application. I will join in your project anytime you call me and I promise I will work with dedication, sincerity and wholeheartedness for the upliftment and emancipation of the underprivileged of the society." Sweta got up from the chair, bade goodbye to Sanat and stepped outside to find an autorickshaw.

Sanat closed the gate and stood for a while in his front yard. He was feeling relaxed. The mental agony, dejection and anguish which he was bearing in his mind since decades were wiped out. Sanat was thoughtful. Probably this was God’s plan. The life of Sweta and Sanat were not meant to be bound by the worldly bond. God had planned something better for them in their journey of life. Their first meeting, friendship and separation were destined for a worthy cause. With their combined effort they will be able to bring smile on the lips of the poor, needy, and deprived souls of society. It was almost 12 noon. Sanat threw a glance to the sky above. The dazzling sunlight was reigning over the earth, dispelling darkness and pouring light of hope, bliss and perpetual happiness.

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.

THE PRIZE

Sundar Rajan S

The cool evening breeze,soft and mellow,blew gently across: the leaves rustled in the breeze providing enchanting and enthralling music that was pleasing to the ear; the weather was as pleasant as could be and it seemed to synchronize with our gay and buoyant spirits as well.we could not but be gay and buoyant considering the turbulent period we had surpassed and the storm we had weathered ,which broke through our window of happiness,almost drowning us into despondency and despair which would have very well wrecked the peace of the family shattering it into smitherness of nothingness.

We were just ambling along that straight stretch before negotiating the bend that led us to our flat,with Romit,in his teens,in an endless prattle with his father, a handsome,cleanshaven,heavily-built man,standing a little under six feet—an Executive in a firm of repute – and Rohit,a Strippling,fast asleep on my shoulder. I just shudder to think of the consequences but for that thoughtful decision that seemed to be ludicrous and the most ridiculous act of indiscretion even to talk about until the fateful day but which ,in the long run, proved to be the wisest move that steered our family to the ambit of safety and thence on to an even keel.

* * *

My joy knew no bounds: those months after the wedding were the happiest, I had spent in my life-time.It took me but a couple of days to adapt to the new set-up. Every evening he would pick me up at my Office and we would take long walks, arm- in – arm, oblivious of the world around us, recounting our experiences .He very rarely allowed me to test my culinary abilities on him and few chances that I got , I assisduously turned out the best dishes of which he was proud and roundly lauded me for my ability to ‘handle the ladle’ . As days rolled by into months , we had forged a thorough under standing between us that was very spontaneous.

Romit came along after a couple of years which brought a vivid change in our routine., My parents-in-law very understandingly moved into our place to relieve me of my dual role –- an office Goer and a house-wife—which really ameliorated the situation even as we were debating as to how best we could tackle the whole situation.

With both of us earning ,we were fairly well-off monetarily and were able to go in for in a refrigerator, a Television set and the like, which a couple of years ago seemed next to impossible and a luxury.

As years rushed by, Romit was old enough for schooling. By now, we had made substantial saving for a flat and it was then that Rohit joined our family to share our love and affection.

The boys were very much attached to my parents-in-law and they in turn tended them with monumental patience, putting up with their childish pranks with a lot of perseverance and understanding.

I must add here that though they were young in spirits, in the company of their grandchildren, old age and infirmity took its toll on them and when Rohit was old enough to be hustled off to school, my parents-in-law departed from this world – each within a space of a month.

Now I began to realize it took super-human efforts to shoulder the horse-hold chores after a long stint at the office, though my husband gave me a helping hand, which upto now had been scrupulously and efficiently carried out my mother-in-law. So much so, I became very irritated and impatient. My temper began to fray and ‘incidents’ were frequent. Not infrequently, I gave vent to my feelings, by yelling at the children for all and sundry. My husband tried to calm me down but it was of no avail. There was a marked transformation in me that reflected on the attitude of the children too: they become sullen and morose and hardly spoke a word except where necessary. They confined themselves to their play things and studies.

My husband tried to persuade me to quit my job. But I tried to stall him saying “we must provide our children with everything possible so that they could grow without being deprived of anything and money is the only solution” and hence it is imperative that I too continue to work, for atleast some more time, to earn that extra bit necessary to supplement for our family requirements. My husband nodded his head without a demure.

* * *

All through the day, I worked at a frenetic pace; file after file moved out of my tray but I knew for certain that I was fighting a losing battle and that I would never reach the school on time to witness that grand spectacle – the most cherished moment in my chequered life-time. I telephoned my husband and told him so; and as I had hung up I had lost count of the number of times my son had asked me ,almost pleadingly, to reach the school well in advance to witness the prize receiving at the school’s Annual Celebrations ,for their meritorious and noteworthy performance academically as well as on the field .Of all the days, why this particular day, I cursed, for, that was all I could do as I resumed my work.

* * *

A feeling of guilt engulfed me as I stepped into the house. I eagerly called out for the children to bring out their “catch” but not a stir did I hear. Throwing down my hand-bag, I rushed to their room. I threw open the door and stood aghast. The prizes they had received were strewn all over the floor. Both the children were in bed weeping bitterly. I tried to pacify and console them. “Mama” they blurted out but they could not proceed as more tears welled up, which almost choked them.

A cord snapped in me and I could just visualize what they wanted to convey. What they could not articulate was expressed in their emotions. An accusing finger seemed to stab me saying: “in that blind belief to provide your children with all material comforts to keep them happy you have failed to provide them with what all children yearn for and which not all the gold in the world could provide”

“Aren’t you late for your office today? “ my husband asked me as I took my time to ready the children for school the next day. I just gazed up at him: he nodded understandingly and left for his work as I sat down at the table to pen down my RESIGNATION

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.

BIRDS AND CHILDREN

Lathaprem Sakhya

The other day looking out of her window Kanaka saw the Mulberry bush outside her gate being shaken violently and Amini shouting, “Aye don’t break the branch”. She saw two small legs scuttling away, the mission fulfilled. She felt happy. This was what she had wanted. When she had planted the bush outside her gate in the no man’s land - a tiny space outside her wall she had answered Niranjan’s quizzical gaze, “This is for birds and children”. The bush had grown and started bearing lots of fruits. She had hardly seen any child picking it. Sometimes she would pick them for herself and kunjatta her neighbour' s eight year old, almost a chocolate baby, who would eat the purple berries fearfully as if it were poison. Today she felt her wish had come true. Children are picking the fruits.

Her mind wafted to those good old days when she had trailed behind her Appa eating fruits she picked from the trees. She had once asked him why he left so many fruits unpicked in the trees - mango, guava, chikoo, jamun, butter fruit, jackfruit, to list only a few. He would answer that it’s for the birds and the children. That if he did not leave fruits for the birds and the squirrels how could they survive and of course, for some children like her who are satisfied only when they pick directly from trees. She had been carrying this in her heart.

And when she bought a bit of land she too planted trees that bore fruits for birds and children. By the time they started bearing fruits her child had flown far away As the present children led a closeted life and her only one far away from home she planted the mulberry bush for strange children who passed by her gate. They had found the mulberry bush and were picking fruits and she was surprised to see almost all the slender branches heavy with fruits. And her Appa’s words echoed in her mind “killikalkkum, Kuzhanthaik kallukum kuduthal than marath ille nirayya pazham Kaikkum” (Only if you give to birds and children, trees will bear plenty of fruits).

Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.

Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony

ON THE BANKS OF THE HISTORIC NILE

Gourang Charan Roul

A couple of years ago, during our visit to Nairobi, the Kenyan capital, we made a detour to Masai Mara National Reserve for an awe-inspiring African safari. We had memorable experiences from the stampeding herds of the Mara to the cultures of Masai, Rendille, and Samburu, and pink flamingos of the Rift valley lakes against the backdrop of the majestic Mount Kenya. After that enchanting once in a lifetime experience in the African Safari, we proceeded to the Nile Basin bordering Uganda on the shore of Lake Victoria in the country’s west. The Nile Basin is extremely important to Kenyan economy. We could watch adventure sporting activities like river rafting, currently one of the best adventure sports in a stretch of 28 km of a tributary of White Nile. We were tempted to visit the origin of Nile River, as there are various assertions before the time of Dr.David Livingstone in the late nineteenth century to find the source of the Nile River, considered the longest river of the world, runs through 11 countries: Uganda, Ethiopia,Burundi,Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania, Eritrea, Chad, Sudan South Sudan, and Egypt. Explorers had looked for it,

since Herodotus attempted a search around 460 B.C. In the 5th century BC, the Greek historian Herodotus visited Egypt and summarized the importance of the River to the Egyptians by saying ‘Egypt is the gift of the Nile.’ David Livingstone (1813-1873), a Scottish missionary, physician, abolitionist, and one of the greatest European explorers of Africa whose opening up the interior of the dark continent contributed to the ‘scramble for Africa,’ between the European colonial powers.

Already, the enchantress River Nile had cast a spell on us, and we proposed to visit the source of Nile diring the last leg of our African Safari tour. On a fine Sunday morning we took a Kenya Airways flight to Entebbe in Uganda – The Pearl of Africa - barely a 45 minutes air travel. The landing at Entebbe international airport on the shore of picturesque lake Victoria offering a panoramic view over the Entebbe airport, which brought back the harrowing picture of Operation Thunderbolt - a hugely successful counter-terrorism hostage rescue mission carried out by commandos of the Israel Defense Forces at Entebbe Airport on 4th July 1976, supported by Kenyan logistics.

After completing visa formalities,we proceeded to check into our pre booked accommodation in the ‘The Speke’ resort. We rested at the resort and enjoyed authentic Guajarati delicacies and mouthwatering dishes. In the afternoon,we went for sightseeing in the city of Kampala. Next morning, we left for Jinja, the second largest city of Uganda located along the North-Eastern shores of Lake Victoria at a distance of 81 km from Kampala to locate the fabled source of the Nile River. As our mission was mainly driven by our quest to see the origin of river Nile at Jinja, we drove straight way through the town to the iconic point on the brink of north shore of Lake Victoria.

It has taken centuries to locate the source of Nile, a subject that is an issue even today due to various theories. As White Nile is the longer of the two tributaries, it is generally considered that its source is the source of the greater Nile. It is gathered that many expeditions in the 1800’s centered on the search for the source of Nile with Organizations such as the National Geographical Society paying huge sums to finance these expeditions. David Livingstone (1813-1873) launched 4 expeditions over a period of 32 years. Livingstone made 4 great journeys into Africa, three of them starting from Cape Town, South Africa, and the last at Zanzibar. He first made to Africa, theDark Continent in 1841 as a missionary and physician. Then he pursued his expedition in Africa - 3 times between 1855-73 to bring into light the dark continent through his journals. He crossed the continent from east to west and would ultimately come across many bodies of water previously unchartered by Europeans including the Zambezi River and Victoria Falls. During his last expedition, Livingstone was missing in the wilderness for 4 years and the western world did not get any information. At this point the editor of the New York Herald newspaper sent his reporter – Henry Stanley to find out the missing explorer. Mr. Stanley assured his editor in his first dispatch from Africa- “If alive you shall hear what he has to say. If dead, I will find him and bring his bones to you”. On reaching the soil of Africa, Henry Stanley soon learned, Livingstone had been languishing in the heart of Africa for several years. His Nile expedition had been beset by thievery and mass desertions by his porters, and a succession of tropical diseases had sapped his vigor and forced him to travel with Arab slave traders. On November 10, 1871, after hearing rumors of a Whiteman living in Ujiji, Stanley donned with his finest set of clothes and entered the town with a small band of followers. As crowds of locals gathered around them, Stanley spied a sickly looking European with an unruly beard and white hair. Sensing that he had found his man he approached, extended his hand, and asked the now famous question: “Livingstone, I presume?”. When the stranger answered in the affirmative, Stanley let out a sigh of relief, “I thank God, doctor I have been permitted to see you’’, he uttered. To his utter disbelief, Henry Stanley found the dedicated explorer was wasting away in a small hut when the relief operation finally reached him. Despite his falling health, Livingstone refused an offer to return home and resumed his search for the source of the Nile. After being resupplied by Stanley, he parted way with his rescuers in March 1872 and made his way south to Lake Bangweulu in modern Zambia. His illness later caught up with him however, and he died from Malaria and dysentery on May 1, 1873.

Nile is considered the longest river running 6693 km from Lake Victoria basin to the Nile delta in Egypt and finally empties into the Mediterranean Sea. Direction of flow of a river is determined by elevation of the drainage basin, not geographical (North, South etc.) direction. It is often reported that St. Johns River, Florida,U.S.A, and the Nile River are the only two rivers in the world that flow North. Contrary to popular belief, more rivers run north than any direction. Direction of rivers has less to do with magnetic forces than gravity, topography and geomorphology. As the source of river is higher than the mouth, it will follow a path of least resistance along its course. Dr. M. Kamiar, a professor of Geography at Florida State College at Jacksonville has well researched and has identified more than 245 rivers that flow north. There are some interesting facts about the Nile River - it is the longest river on earth; there are more than one Nile - White Nile (Uganda,Rwanda, Kenya, Burundi,Sudan), Blue Nile (Ethiopia), Red Nile (Ethiopia), Yellow Nile (Chad); people spent centuries searching for its source; it takes a strange detour in the desert; its mud helped shape human history; a haven for wild life etc. In addition, once upon a time as per popular belief, it was home to a crocodile God and a crocodile city. The White Nile, which is the longer of the two, begins at Lake Victoria in Uganda and flows north until it reaches Khartoum, Sudan, where it converges with the Blue Nile. The Blue Nile begins near Lake Tana in Ethiopia. Finally, the Nile benefitting Egypt empties into the Mediterranean Sea in north Egypt near the city of Alexandria said to be founded by Alexander the Great in 331 BC. The river became known as the ‘Father of Life’ and ‘Mother of All Men' and was considered a manifestation of the God – Hapi, who blessed the land with life, as well as Goddess Ma’at, who embodied the concept of truth, harmony, and balance. Egypt is called the gift of Nile because - The Nile provided an easy means of communication between different localities along its banks. The Nile valley is fertile because of the yearly floods. The river made the ancient Egypt to survive in the land. The gifts of Nile included water, transport, trade, papyrus plant,fish and other animals, and rich black soil.

After briefings by the guide and gathering information from the brochures and handouts, we were extremely thrilled and overly satisfied with our visit to the source of River Nile, near the coastal city of Jinja. At that point the guide generated river rafting interest in my son with other fellow tourists. River rafting in Uganda is currently one of the best adventure sports. As my son does not know swimming, we were reluctant. However, the guide of Nalubale Rafting club explained the safety measures and we yielded. Our son joined the rafting team with two alert boatmen in their quick maneuvering speed boats sailing alongside the raft for almost two hours until they completed 3 rapids. Previously, the length of rafting was 46 km with 7 rapids and was considered one of the top rafting facilities in the world, but due to the construction of Bujgali Dam on the Nile, the stretch has been reduced. After a memorable,and a thrilling rafting event in the Nile we came back to our resort and took our lunch. In the afternoon we did some local sightseeing. We visited the Gandhi memorial park on a picturesque location on the shore of Lake Victoria at Jinja. To our utter satisfaction, we could see two statues of Mahatma Gandhi in the park. The standing statue was unveiled on 18th September 1948 as a mark of respect for the father of nation whose sacred ashes were immerged in the Nile on 14th August 1948. A bronze statue was unveiled on 5th October1997 by the then Prime Minister Sri Inder Kumar Gujaral. It was gathered that as per Gandhiji’s wish, his sacred ashes were immerged in seven great rivers of the world and starting point at Jinja on River Nile was an obvious choice. These Mahatma Gandhi monuments are being efficiently maintained over the years by the Bank of Baroda, Jinja.

Man has lived on the banks of the historic Nile since the dawn of humanity, utilizing its fertile plains and plentiful of water, and the river has been source of numerous explorations through out history. The Nile delta is often called the “Cradle of Civilization”. Nile shipwreck discovery proves Herodotus right. A couple of years ago, Guardian reported that Nile shipwreck discovery proves Herodotus right after 2469 years. Seeing the origin of Nile, the ancient lifegiving river of Africa is truly an unforgettable experience. The once in a lifetime experience is spectacular. Our tryst with Nile ended on the 3rdday, and we took our return flight to Nairobi in the morning relishing the moments spent at the source of the amazing Nile.

Gouranga Charan Roul (gcroul.roul@gmail.com) : The author, after completing post graduate studies in political science from Utkal University, Odisha in 1975, worked as a senior intelligence sleuth in the department of Customs, Central Excise & Service Tax and retired as senior superintendent. As a staunch association activist, he used to hold chief executive posts either as General Secretary or President of All India Central Excise Gazetted Executive Officer's Association, Odisha for 20 years. Presently in the capacity of President of Retired Central Excise Gazetted Executive Officer's Association, Odisha, coordinating the social welfare schemes of the Association. Being a voracious reader, taking keen interest in the history of India, Africa, Europe and America. In his globe tottering spree, widely travelled America and Africa. At times contributing articles to various magazines.

A LEAF FROM HISTORY: A TOWERING MAN ON A TOWERING TOWER
Nitish Nivedan Barik

First about the Towers ! Petronas Towers are twin skyscrapers or buildings in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia another symbol of prestige and pride for that country. Petronas are one of the tallest buildings in the world . It was my fortune to see a little bit of Kuala Lumpur in 2017 soon after I completed my engineering and had qualified for a handful companies in on campus selection though the academic result was still not out. Spirit was soaring so high into the sky in a holiday mood soon after I had boarded the Air Asia at Biju Patnaik International ,Bhubaneswar.The Slogan of AirAsia that 'Now Everyone Can Fly' was yet to go that viral . Air Asia the leading airline established in the year 2001 was fulfilling the dream of making flying possible and achievable by everyone around any corner of the world. I was going to fulfill my dream of seeing a part of Malyasia ,a country or region with which my native state Odisha (variously known as Udra,Kalinga or Utkal ) had long cultural and trade ties .

From the Kuala Lumpur International Airport down to the Downtown I was struck with its Palm dotting roads. Palm plantations line up the highways. I was truly enthralled by the first glimpse of the palms that are ubiquitous across that country. And the Skyline ? Both the trees and towers were kissing the Sky in their own way, but surely complementing each other.
What a development, what a country! As a child in Middle School I had seen a bit of America about which Vivekananda had jocularly remarked, if I am not wrong , that no one should visit that country for the first time. That observation was in the closing years of the 19th Century. I had seen the Washington DC and the New York and the high rising competitions - from Transamerica Tower in Baltimore to Washington Monument in DC to still so many defiant Towers and big buildings around the ground Zero in the Big Apple with Empire Building not far off. But here I was equally awestruck with an Asian Tiger with its graceful material management. But I am no Viekanada to say that don’t visit this country for the first time.

Well, are we missing Petronas ? Yes, it is said that the Petronas,I mean the twin towers by that name , is as meaningful to Kuala Lumpur as the Eiffel Tower is to Paris and the Statue of Liberty is to New York. The iconic, soaring Petronas Towers are unquestionably the symbol of modern Malaysia. It is the heart of that nation . It is also gleefully noted that Petronas Towers have played in KL’s continuing evolution into a world-class city.

Need to be stated that the name of the building came after the Petronas, the national oil company of Malaysia. Petronas were the tallest building in the world from 1998 to 2004. It was said at a point of time that it had been overtaken by a building named Taipei 101 in Taiwan. Perhaps in today’s date the current tallest building is Burj Khalifa in Dubai, UAE. Petromas is a tube structure tall building. The design of the building was done to represent the Malaysia’s predominant Muslim culture. To build the Petronas tower it took almost 1.6 billion US dollars. Interestingly a bridge connects the two towers on the 41st and 42nd floors, making it the world’s tallest sky bridge. There are 88 stories in the building. Its length is 830 m.

Out of these two towers, Tower One is occupied by Petronas, the Malaysian Oil Major , and a number of its subsidiaries and associate companies. In Tower Two there are companies like Microsoft, IBM, etc. Indian multinational IT companies like TCS, Wipro, HCL also find place there. At the center of the Petronas Tower is Suria KLCC. It is regarded as one of the largest shopping malls in Malaysia. There is also KLCC Park which is of 17 acres, below the building with jogging and walking facilities. It has a fountain where light shows take place in the evening The whole scenario is really amazing ,beautiful and mind blowing especially in the evening or night.

Not very far from the twin towers , in a sort of open restaurant I could take my fond Bada,Itily & Dosa.The shop was being manned by men and women of Indian origin –the Malay Tamils. The so-called South India cuisine has become not just part of the Asian Culture ,but that of world culture. These were too good ,no less than the bigness or smartness of Dosas I had devoured in Indian restaurants from Birmingham to New Jeresy some ten years back (2007-8). I felt to be in India . Kulala Lumpur has many Hindu and Budhist temples ,the famous Batu Caves being harldly 15 kms away.

It is not about the tallness of towers ,that I am going to make this presentation. It is the tallness of the spirit of a man , rather known as a Spiderman . The interesting story related to Petronas tower is that in 20th March 1997, a French climber Alain Robert tried to climb the tower from bottom to summit. He was arrested in the 60th floor, 28th floor away from the destination. In his second attempt also he was arrested, on a different tower but ironically in the same floor. Finally in his 3rd attempt 1st September 2009, he climbed to the top in 2 hours by using only his bare hands and feet.

Robert’s dangerous adentours have without surprise attracted crowds of onlookers who stop to watch him climb. The Human Spider has been arrested so many times, in various countries, by law enforcement officials. But his spirit cannot be arrested , it deserves a place in History.

THE ANGEL FLIGHT

Maj Antony Thomas

The medal was on display in the glass cabinet along with the beautiful crystal ware, and the bright red ribbon with its thin, white vertical line caught the eye of one of the guests during the barbecue dinner as they were about to leave. She was a colleague at the hospital where Tony worked, and she asked with curiosity, “What is that medal for?”

Tony replied, “That is the ‘Sena Medal’ also known as the ‘Army Medal” awarded by the President of India on January 26, 1990.”

She leaned over to take a closer look and then asked with increased curiosity, “Were you in the Army?” The surprise in her tone was obvious.

Tony, who worked as a physical therapist with her replied, “Yes, I was. It was quite a while ago though. Maybe the next time we all get together, I will tell you about it.”

The guests soon departed and Tony and his wife settled in for the night. His wife went to sleep immediately and although Tony was tired, he lay in bed thinking. The incident brought back the memories of the days when he flew helicopters in the mighty Himalayas in the Tawang sector. It was so long ago, and yet the recollection seemed quite vivid…, and then he recalled the incident with the Swami.

The three officers could see the Swami trudging up the slope slowly. His hair and beard were matted and unkempt. He had probably not had a bath or washed himself for a long time indeed. He wore saffron clothes, draped loosely around his gaunt and lean body; and he trudged up the hillside, almost bowed and stooped. The officers encountered the Swami just as they were walking down the Officers’ Mess atop the hill at Tawang after lunch. It was no coincidence that they happened to come across him at this particular time.

As the Swami came close, Maj Sharma, the Divisional Supply Officer, was the first to speak in Hindi, “Namaskaar, Swamiji. Do you know astrology?”

The Swami turned his piercing gaze at Maj Sharma. Capt Handa and Maj Tony looked on with curiosity. All of them were quite skeptical of such fortune-telling, but one never knew what the possibilities were. There was no more flying to be done for the day, and a little entertainment was in order.

The Swami replied nonplussed, “Yes, I do know Astrology.”

Their curiosity now fully aroused, they decided to have a discourse with the holy man. Maj Sharma took the first draw, being the one who had accosted the Swami initially. He drew the Swami aside and settled down to listen to what the Swami had to say. They spoke in hushed tones for almost five minutes, and Maj Sharma beckoned to the other two officers with an amazed and fascinated look.

“You won’t believe it, Tony and Handa; he was pretty accurate in some of the things that he said. I don’t know about the future, but the things about my family were quite true.”

Tony asked Capt Handa if he would like to speak with the Swami next, but Handa declined.

Tony, who was also very skeptical, said to himself, “There is no way that anyone can tell of the future or the past, except for coincidences. Anyway, let’s see what he has to say.”

Maj Tony walked aside to the Swami and looked him in the eye. He was amazed by his gaze, which was piercing and intense. It was as if he was almost peering into his soul, and he felt strangely uncomfortable. The Swami paused for a moment, and lightly brushed his fingers on Tony’s forehead and closed his eyes in deep thought. Then, almost trance-like, he chanted some words in a language that no one had a clue about. After about 20 seconds he opened his eyes and spoke.

“You are not really interested in continuing doing this kind of work anymore, and you are actually planning to leave this line of work.” He then continued in a low voice, eyes half closed, “But you will also be greatly recognized for what you are doing here.”

Maj Tony was taken aback! How could the Swami know that he had submitted his premature retirement papers a few months ago, and that his papers were in the process of being processed for his release from the service?

As he was pondering those words, the Swami spoke again. This time he said, “Your father was a very well respected man and has a lot of property, but lately he has had a lot of problems and he needs your help in this regard.”

Tony was flabbergasted, and his hairs began to stand on end! The Swami was quite right actually. This was exactly one of the reasons that he had submitted for his release. His father was having some dispute with the local authorities over his property and his coconut farm had been ravaged by a massive drought. Under such extenuating circumstances Maj Tony was required to stay with his old folks to help settle the property. He had no idea how the Swami could have had any knowledge of all this, but Tony had to reluctantly admit that he was right, after all.

Tony could not keep his thoughts calm after those words. He was also disturbed by the fact that there were a lot of uncertainties about his getting out of the Army. All his colleagues had told him previously, “There is no way you can get a release, being from the Aviation branch!”

The Swami then reached inside his worn, threadbare satchel that was hanging by his side and pulled out a faded group photograph and showed it to them. They were astonished to see him standing in the presence of a group of very senior officers, including a previous Chief of Army Staff, Gen OP Malhotra! They then gave the Swami a little money and he then clutched his meager belongings and continued trudging along on his way up the hillside. Soon his frail, stooped figure was hidden from their view, as he rounded a bend in the road.

Both Maj Sharma and Tony were quite excited about the encounter with the Swami and along with Handa, they tried to make sense of his words. The focus of their attention was mainly on what he had told Tony, who could not get the Swami’s words out of his mind. He was also puzzled about the Swami’s words that kept coming back, “But you will also be greatly recognized for what you are doing here.”

This did not make a lot of sense to him because it was common knowledge in the Div HQ that he was planning to leave the Army, and the only thing he knew was to selflessly serve with his team to the best of his abilities.

Then Capt Handa filled in, “Tony sir, you have been a Detachment Commander here at Tawang for a pretty long time now, and everyone is so happy with the work that you are doing here, and are feeling really bad that you have actually put in your papers for release. You will be missed a lot.”

It was true that he loved his work of flying with a passion. It was extremely unusual for a pilot to continue to be actively flying missions after applying for release from the Army. Stopping of flying was quite normal for one who had put in one’s papers for release. Tony thought about that silently for a moment and felt a deep sense of gratitude. He was full of admiration for the fellow pilots and the maintenance technicians who helped them launch their missions. He had done numerous flights with different officers in incredible operating conditions. He had been doing these detachments for nearly two years now and every time he flew a mission, he experienced a thrill that could only be felt as man and machine came together in unison as a perfect blend; to pit themselves against the overwhelming odds of high altitude and the treacherous terrain of the mighty Himalayas!

That evening he could not sleep and the Swami’s words kept coming back. He was restless and kept turning and tossing in his cold bed as the dying heat of the bukhari tried to keep him warm in the tiny shack of a room. Being still awake, he had a last look around for the presence of any leeches that were lurking around. His mind slowly drifted back to the time when he had settled in as the Detachment Commander with a Cheetah helicopter, to provide Army Aviation support to the Infantry Division there. Sometimes the missions were simple ones, and the weather would be beautiful, bright and sunny with clear skies. There were other times when he would be filled with trepidation, as they would have to wait for the fog to lift and enable them to take off. And then there were times when they would be flying at heights of over 20,000 feet to get a glimpse of the Chinese side, and the helicopter would get tossed about in the clear air due to severe turbulence. But it was the casualty evacuation missions that were the most fulfilling.

His thoughts drifted back to an incident during his early days as the detachment commander. The weather had been very bad for three days continuously. The fog had permeated through the entire valley and hung like a wreath. The requisition for evacuating the casualty from Hathungla West helipad came on day one, and was still in limbo due to the bad weather. This was a heart attack case, and his survival depended on reaching the hospital at Khirmu. Capt Arvinder was on detachment with Tony then. They had just completed the trial landing of the tiny log helipad situated at about 14,000 feet a week earlier. The helipad was on the ridge that faced the Chinese deployment on the opposite side of the valley, which was in plain view from the Indian side. The approach was very tricky, considering the proximity to the enemy; and the dense jungle of pine trees all around the helipad were no comfort at all! There was no margin for error even on a good weather day. Moreover, there was always the possibility that the Chinese would open fire if the helicopter happened to stray too close to the LOC.

The requisition for the second casualty came in at around noon on day three. This was a case of Pulmonary Edema at Kyapho, again at around 14,000 feet altitude; and if he were not brought down to a lower altitude soon, his lungs would fill up with fluid and he would drown in his own secretions! There had been no let up on the weather as yet. The pilots had had their lunch and were resting in their rooms when the telephone rang. Capt Arvinder answered the call.

He spoke slowly, “Sir, the Colonel GS has just received a call from the FDLs that the weather has cleared up a little, and the casualty at Kyapho is getting worse.”

Tony looked outside and noticed that the fog had thinned a little and it was actually beginning to lighten up around the huge Tawang helipad. He told Arvinder, “Well, why don’t you tell the ground crew to get the helicopter ready, and we can see if it gets any better, then we can take off. Also let Doc Sharma know that he needs to get ready to accompany us.”

The pilots were both hopeful that there would be a decent break in the clouding soon. They were permitted to fly mercy missions till 1630 hrs, which was about an hour before sunset. It got dark pretty quickly as soon as the evening sun went behind the mountain ranges. The effect of the shadows in the valleys was also quite disorienting. They continued to wait. Tony planned the sortie again in his mind. Tawang to Lumla along the valley, head North over Lumpo and make either Hathungla or Kyapho depending on the weather, pick up the casualties, head to Khrimu hospital and return to Tawang by last landing time. If they could take off by 1530 hrs, they would just make it in time. They would have to carry just the right amount of fuel, considering the altitude and the weight of three passengers and two crew members to permit landing and taking off safely from the helipads at the FDLs.

The time was 1515 hrs. The tension was building up among the pilots. It was always a tough decision to make, and there were two lives at stake, whose survival depended completely on the helicopter getting airborne. This was weighing heavily on Tony’s mind. He had flown in the mountains from Bareilly in the past, and had a nasty encounter with bad weather and barely survived it. He was not into taking any chances with the weather. Moreover, it was common knowledge to them that the weather could be drastically different in different valleys.

He told Arvinder and Capt Sharma, the medical officer, “Look, I can take off if there are enough breaks in the clouds. Right now the clouds have still not cleared the helipad, and we have no idea what the route is going to be like. If we take off, we need to be able to at least see Khrimu, which is at 7,600 feet, so that we can at least land there if Tawang is covered up.”

The time was 1525 hrs and as if their prayers were answered, the cloud base suddenly lifted above the helipad, just as they were thinking that there was no possibility of taking off.

Tony started up the helicopter, and Arvinder completed the checks as Doc Sharma strapped up behind in the passenger seat, and away they went. Tawang helipad was at 10,000 feet. The clouds were breaking up as they flew on Westward towards Lumla. They would cross Lumla in five minutes and head northwards to Lumpo. No telling what the weather would be like there. Tony had meanwhile commenced climbing, and the sky above them was a clear blue. The valley north of Lumla was clouded up from below with scant breaks showing through. They were now passing through 12,000 feet and estimated that they were above Lumpo. Hathungla East was barely visible as they approached it. The clouds seemed to be much denser along the ridge. There was an eerie, mystical appearance to the surrounding mountainside, as wispy white clouds could be seen hugging the dark green canopy of the dense pine jungle. They would have to climb to 15,000 feet and cross over the ridge to the other side to make it to Hathungla West and then descend for the approach, where the first casualty awaited his fate.

The adrenalin was pumping in Tony’s blood and as he cleared the ridge, they could clearly see the Chinese FDLs on the other side of the valley. He tried to put the thought aside and focused on his approach to the little log helipad that was barely visible through the breaks in the clouding. He landed smoothly, and disengaged the rotors.

The platoon commander was waiting eagerly with a few more jawans and they brought a steaming mug of tea for the pilots and the medical officer, who quickly checked out the casualty and determined his fitness to be transported. He looked weak and nervous, and his anxiety could clearly be felt, but he was in safe hands for now.

Tony spoke to Arvinder, “Man, it never fails to amaze me that there is always a smile on their faces and a steaming mug of tea whenever we land at these helipads.”

Arvinder replied, “Yes sir, and look at the sheer joy on their faces. Makes it all really worthwhile.”

Tony then asked, “Ready Doc? Let’s go get the next one.”

Within five minutes they were airborne and this time headed for Kyapho. This was where the serious casualty was located. He would have to squeeze in the back seat with the other one. Tony had never evacuated two casualties in one trip before, because of the small size of the helicopter. He thought quickly as they approached Kyapho that they had just about enough power available to come to a hover at Kyapho considering their all up weight. It was going to be close, real close! They had to have the required amount of fuel for the trip, with a little margin of reserve, but they also had an extra casualty on board as well! The cheetah helicopter slowly climbed to 15,000 feet and Tony could make out Kyapho on the edge of the ridge. From a distance, it looked so tiny, as it was dwarfed by the sheer size of the massive ridge; and the troops waiting along the helipad were barely able to be made out. Tony thought to himself, “What a place to live!”, as he came in carefully for the landing.

Tony disengaged the rotors and Capt Arvinder alighted with the Doc to check out the casualty. He looked in real bad shape. His breathing was labored and his eyes had a dull, glassy look about them. The expressions on the faces of the soldiers were so full of gratitude that Tony was deeply moved. The casualty was lifted up into the helicopter by his comrades and the rotors were engaged again. Tony wondered if there was enough power to hover with the added weight of the casualty on board.

Because of the wind direction, the only way he could take off would be by almost overflying the Chinese FDLs, and immediately making a hard left turn which would lose them a good deal of altitude in the turn. It was also a sheer drop of over three thousand feet from the edge of the helipad to the valley below! The turbine engine whined, and the rotors changed sound as all available power was applied to get the skids off the helipad. The helicopter seemed to struggle to get off the ground. Tony paused momentarily and looked at the makeshift windsock and gently skimmed the ground, the skids barely leaving the surface, as he inched forward towards the edge.

The sudden loss of ground effect would cause the helicopter to sink rapidly and there was always the danger of hitting the tail rotor on the ground! As soon as the cabin crossed the helipad, Tony pushed the cyclic control forward to tip the nose down, thereby lifting the tail higher. The helicopter seemed to dive down suddenly, but they were clear of the helipad. He made a tight left turn as the helicopter continued to lose altitude rapidly, but the valley was very deep and as the helicopter picked up speed, it also continued to gradually gain altitude. He breathed a sigh of relief as they put more distance between themselves and the Chinese positions!

The valley around Lumpo had covered up completely and the ground was not visible anymore. Hathungla East had covered up as well, as they rounded the ridge southwards. Things sure happened fast with the weather. He did not want to think of what could happen to them if the engine would fail! Weather was always a tricky phenomenon in the hills. Surely it was a Divine hand that had opened up the valley for a brief moment in time, and thus enabled two lives to get a second chance.

They crossed Lumla, and as they flew eastwards the clouds began to again break up, and the green valley was quite visible below them. In ten minutes, they were approaching Khrimu, and they could see that Tawang was clear of clouds as they flew past. The medical teams were waiting for the casualties as they landed, and ten minutes later they were back at Tawang. One more mission accomplished!

Tony felt drowsy as the heat of the bukhari had finally died down, and he fell into a deep slumber.

Capt Handa was up early, and he knocked on the door and said cheerfully, “Tony sir, wake up. There is a requisition for 2 Nagas from Point 4722 to transport a casualty back to Tezpur.”

It was just business as usual.

Two months later it was the day after Republic day 1990, and Maj Tony was at Guwahati airfield, waiting to board the Assam courier for Delhi to find out about his papers for release. To his surprise, he met one of his old regiment colleagues from his YO days. He said, “Hey Tony! Why aren’t you wearing your ribbons for the medal?”

Tony replied with surprise, “What ribbons?”

“Well, congratulations, man. Didn’t you see that your name was on the list of awardees for the Sena Medal? That was awesome!”

Tony was taken aback and replied, “Heck no! There must be some mistake. Why would I get a medal? I’m leaving the Army.” And then he suddenly recollected the meeting with the Swami, and he thought to himself, “How on earth could he have known then?”

Maj Antony Thomas, (Retd), SM is a veteran of the Indian Army, with 14 years of distinguished service as a Gunner and Helicopter pilot. He is a graduate from the NDA and IMA and was commissioned in 1976. He immigrated to the USA in 1991. He is a Physical Therapist and practices independently. He is also currently a Flight Instructor on Gyroplanes, and continues to pursue his passion in both Healthcare and

Aviation. In his spare time he indulges in writing.

MOI KOTKORAI KOISU

The legend of Joymoti Konwari in the perspective of the Kotkora tree

Shruti Sarma

(Illustrated by Shruti Sarma)

It is said that time is the greatest destroyer. Almost everything that appears in this world, no matter how powerful or despotic one day gets erased by time. But there are a few chosen ones who were born to win against time and remain immortal forever. Till date, their name has been present in golden letters on the pages of history. I myself have seen such a warrior who sacrificed her life not only for her husband but also to establish a peaceful kingdom struggling against oppression, corruption, mal administration etc. prevailing in Assam during 17th century. Oh listener! Do hault for a moment and listen to the undying tale of the Ahom princess Joymoti.

I stand old and gnarled, watching helplessly as they bring her to the Jerenga pothar (field). The frail looking lady, her hair reaching up to her waist, dressed in mekhela sador( traditional dress of Assamese women ), her hands chained up and weakness prevailing in her eyes drawn with kajal, the smudged vermilion marking on her forehead. Looks like the lady has been starving for many days. Yet even in this hard time the determination and courage showing up on her face is just unbeatable. They brought her closer to me and tied her down to me. I, the Kotkora tree could do nothing but stand and watch helplessly at her who is now being bound to me with ropes. “ Tell us the whereabouts of your husband! Where is he hiding? Tell us or else get ready to face dire consequences!“ I heard the henchmen say to her. “ No matter how hard you try, I will never reveal the whereabouts of my husband”, she replied and snap! A whip lashed at her delicate skin and her screams piercing my heart. I wish that instead of thorns, I bore flowers which I could lay at her feet.

The sun has set and I can hear Joymoti sing her evening prayer while being bound to me. “ Whatever is happening is not right. But we are helpless. What else can we do? We are bound to follow Sworgodeo's ( king) orders. “ I hear the henchmen saying among themselves.

You see listener, Joymoti Konwari was born to Lai Thepena Borgohain and was married to Ahom prince Gadapani of Tungkhugia family. Gadapani was young, dynamic, robust and capable of taking appropriate decisions. Though he did not have any formal education, he proved himself worthy of a leader with political acumen and foresight. Sulikphaa was the twenty eighth king of Ahom kingdom and was only fouteen years of age when Laluksola Borphukon, the Ahom viceroy of Guwahati and lower Assam raised him to throne. Sulikphaa was generally known as Lora Roja or the boy king. His reign was characterized by attrocites committed by Laluksola Borphukon who held the real authority behind the throne in his name. The most notorious act which occured was the mutilation of the Ahom princes belonging to different clans of the Royal Ahom Dynasty so that no other prince could replace Sulikphaa. While most of the Ahom princes suffered mutilation, prince Gadapani managed to escape to Naga hills (Nagaland) due to the efforts of his illustrious wife Joymoti, who refused to divulge any information regarding her husband's whereabouts even in face of the tortures inflicted by henchmen of Lora Roja.

The sun has risen and the henchmen is once again asking her the same question. But she is determined not to bow before the tyrannous rule of Sulikphaa and Laluksola. Lash after lash is being inflicted upon her. Her white mekhela sador has turned red with stains of blood. Her screams are soaring up to the sky and yet she is determined not to give up.

Another day has passed but the henchmen could find no whereabouts of Gadapani. Here I stand helpless, cursing myself for not being able to help this lady who has the courage to stand up against the regime all by herself. “ It’s of no use, we have to find other methods. “ I heard the henchmen discussing. This time along with whips, they also brushed her body with Sorat leaves. These leaves if comes in contact with the skin, causes unbearable scratching sensation. Her agony of being whipped and scaratched is something which I will never be able to describe. I want to stop them. I want to pierce them with my thorns but I have no other way but to stand at one spot and watch. To my horror, they are bringing red hot iron rods this time. Mercilessly they are touching those iron rods to her body. The screams… blood curdling screams, the gore and the inhumanity. It is all too much for me to bear.

Almost a week has passed but the brave lady refused to get defeated. At a distance, I can see Lora Roja arriving in his royal silk robes, riding the royal elephant being accompanied by Laluksola and other courtiers. I can hear Joymoti whispering out for water. She has become too weak to speak properly. “ Haven’t you all given her anything to drink? “ Lora Roja asked the henchmen. To my shock, one of them has splashed a big cauldron of boiling water at her. Her screams of agony are piercing my heart. I want to fall at her feet and beg her to tell the whereabouts of her husband but I know, I just cannot. Sulikphaa and his courtiers left Jerenga pothar and I see his henchmen moving back to their resting shed. Now I am looking back at Joymoti, her entire body has been lashed and burnt, covered in blood, her face is now almost unrecognizable. The villagers empathizing but none of them are brave enough to free her. Many advicing her to tell the whereabouts of Gadapani but I know that my princess will never do that.

Another four days have passed. The villagers are continuing to visit their princess, paying their respects and empathy. Admist those people, I hear a male voice saying out loud, “ Oh dear lady, why suffer so much pain. Tell the whereabouts of your husband. “Gadapani who had been hiding in the Naga hills, disguised himself and has come to see his wife. Upon hearing his voice, my princess replied, “ No matter whatever happens, I will never tell the whereabouts of my prince, Gadapani. “

The silver moon has cast it’s silvery veil all across the sky. I can see Gadapani coming back with tears in his eyes. Seeing his wife’s condition, he cried out, “ Why did you took so much pain for me, my goddess? Why didn’t you tell them about me? You know I am strong enough to defeat them single handed and yet you chose to suffer! “ . I can hear Joymoti saying out the same answer. Finally not being able to make her understand, Gadapani is walking away with a heavy heart. The moon above is getting covered with dark clouds.

It’s the fourteenth day, I can see Sulikphaa coming back to Jerenga pothar along with Laluksola and other courtiers. The henchmen once again asking Joymoti the same question. But this time, she is standing motionless. Upon not getting any response, the henchmen have started whpping her again, but still she is standing motionless with closed eyes. Lash after lash is being inflicted upon her. I can see even the Royal horses and elephant shedding tears at her fate. Still she is standing motionless. One of the henchmen shook her and her body being bound by ropes, bent forward, lifeless. The brave princess who suffered heinous torture of the regime left for the heavenly abode, thus winning her side of the battle.

Oh listener, our princess Joymoti Konwari, though basically a householder, epitomises spontaneous sacrifice which will enthuse the womenfolk to follow her ideal. Her greatness lies in the manifestation of her selflessness, heroism, patriotism and self respect. Her sacrifice was not only to protect her husband but more importantly to protect a patriotic hero who could restore peace and tranquility in the society fighting against tyranny of contemporary rulers.After Laluksola Borphukon was assassinated, the nobles got rid of Sulikphaa and Gadapani was nominated for the throne who then assumed the name Gadadhar Singha who then restored peace and harmony in the Ahom kingdom.But unfortunately, our Joymoti did not live to see her dream come true. Joymoti and Gadapani's eldest son Rudra Singha succeeded his father. In memory of his mother, he constructed the Joysagar tank. He also built Fakuwa Dol in 1703-04, a pyramid shaped temple. Inside it, he placed a golden idol of his mother. It was actually the Moidam ( grave) of Joymoti.

And I stand here in Jerenga pothar till date, telling the undying tale of my princess who sacrificed her life for the sake of her people and the kingdom and finally defeated the rule of tyranny.

Shruti Sarma is currently an MBBS student of IMS and SUM hospital, Bhubaneswar. She is from Guwahati, Assam and is also an artist, a Sattriya dancer and a writer. She completed her schooling from Delhi Public School, Guwahati and her higher secondary studies from Sai Vikash Junior college, Guwahati. She has also been awarded the Mofizuddin Ahmed Hazarika Literary Award in 2016 for the best junior Assamese author.

A DARK NIGHT AND THE MYSTERIOUS CO-PASSENGER

Sunil Biswal

The train stopped abruptly in the outskirts of the town. It was late evening and passengers were about to retire to their berths after taking the food served by the pantry. Raju was half sleeping, half reclining on his berth looking out of the window. That was his favorite pastime on such long journeys. He barely slept on such occasions and wished to get a co-passenger who shared same temperament as his so that he could go on talking and enjoying the moment. His fellow passenger this time was a senior citizen, who had draped a blanket hours back and was now in deep sleep.

The train screeched to a halt.

“Someone must have pulled the chain. This area is notorious for such local passengers who are a big menace for the railways” A passenger remarked from the adjacent compartment.

Raju looked out through the window. The lights inside the compartment were already switched off and it was semi dark inside. He could see open fields adjacent to the tracks and since there was no street lights anywhere near this area, it was fairly dark outside. Far off beyond the open field, he could see some burning fire creating a silhouette of trees and shrubs around it. He was just thinking about the reason of the fire when a voice from the front seat answered “that’s a cremation ground and the fire is a burning funeral pyre.”

Raju was startled to hear it because his fellow passenger was already asleep. He looked in the direction of the speaker and could see a young man sitting at the edge of the seat in middle of the row. Raju thought the new passenger just boarded the train because his face was not familiar since boarding the train hours back. Now, the train had started moving again and the inside of the compartment was time to time illuminated from stray light sources along the track. Raju looked at the new passenger and thought “may be, he is waiting for the TTE to come and allot him a seat”.

Raju looked out through the train window again and found the burning pyre still visible, though getting fainter and fainter by the minute. The train gave out a loud whistle from time to time and the clatter of moving train filled the compartment. Raju’s attention was drawn by the sound of someone sobbing and he looked at the new passenger again, was it he who was sobbing or iwas it the sound of something else? Raju mused.

“My friend is dead” the new passenger was heard saying, Raju could see him not very clearly though.

“What do you mean, your friend is dead?” Raju asked.

“The pyre that you saw just now, my friend’s dead body is laying there.” There was a muffled sound of sobbing drowned by a clatter of the train picking up speed.

“You mean the pyre was for cremation of your friend?” Raju asked.

“No, the pyre was of a stranger. My friend went there because we asked him to go there” the new passenger said.

Raju could not comprehend anything from what he heard.

“But how come you are here? I am confused” Raju asked the new passenger and though he was secretly happy that he now had a co passenger who he could spend the night talking to.

“We live in the hostel a little away from the cremation ground. From our hostel the cremation ground can be seen. This evening we saw a funeral pyre burning and we threw a dare among our hostellers. Who can go to the burning pyre and come back” the new passenger said.

“What’s your name?” Raju asked.

“Bunty, good name Biswajeet” the new passenger answered.

“Well Bunty, what happened then?” Raju prodded the new passenger to carry on with his story.

“I was the first one to accept the dare. My friends asked me how they would know for sure that I have actually gone near the pyre and come back. They thought I might hide somewhere and turn up claiming to have performed the challenge.”

“And what did you tell them?” Raju asked.

“My friends suggested that I should light my cigarette in the funeral fire and come smoking it back to hostel” Bunty said.

“So did you do that?” Raju asked in excitement.

“I was always a known daredevil in my village and I was not a bit scared. I scaled over the boundary wall separating my hostel building and the stretch of land that had the cremation spot at the extreme end. It was a dark night and I felt little apprehensive and was in doubt, if I should have accepted the challenge. But now there was no going back” The new passenger, Bunty said.

Raju tried looking closely at Bunty’s features but it was not visible due to the semi darkness inside the train. Most lights of the bogie were turned off as passengers slept in their berths, except for Raju. Raju was happy to have a co-passenger who may stay for sometime till he gets his berth and goes away when the TTE turns up. So Raju made the best use of time and listened to Bunty with rapt attention.

“Soon I reached the funeral pyre and found no one there. On occasions where a dead body had no claimants, the municipality people cremated it and that's what this body might be, I thought. I had no time to dwell any further on the issue. I approached the pyre with a throbbing heart. I could almost hear it's pounding. Very quickly I touched the tip of my cigarette to the flames and once it was lit, I quickly retraced my steps and ran back to my hostel. I was scared to look back. I was sure someone was following me and if I looked back it would be the end of me. As I scaled on the boundary wall of my hostel, I felt safe and jubilant that I accomplished a challenge I had accepted” Bunty said this but didn’t look happy at this accomplishment.

“That’s very brave of you, I probably could not have done that” Raju complimented Bunty.

Bunty took no notice of the compliments and was lost in his thoughts. He took a deep breath and started a long narration of his story.

“The next friend to go on the task was a non-smoker and we asked him to plant an iron rod near the funeral pyre so that we know for sure that he had actually went to the funeral pyre. He was handed a piece of iron rod and a stone with which to hammer it into the ground.

Off he went and we started discussing our apprehension that he would run back any moment, surrendering before us for failing to complete the challenge. We planned on ways to humiliate him and make fun of him. We were so busy having fun that we did not notice half an hour go by. When one of us pointed out about time, we all thought may be our friend was sitting somewhere outside the hostel unable to face us and admit his defeat.

“Let’s all go together and find him.” Someone suggested.

So all of us went out and searched every nook and corner where he could have hidden from us but couldn't find him. We called out his name ridiculing him, making fun of him. There was no response. Now we were scared to face the warden of the hostel who might turn up any moment hearing all the shouting.

We all decided to go to the cremation ground to check. When we reached the funeral pyre, we could see our friend sitting just in front of the pyre and we called him aloud. He didn’t budge. We ran to him and shook him by shoulder. He toppled to a side and we saw his eyes open wide. Some white liquid was running from his mouth. The iron rod was deeply lodged into the ground, the stone still in his hand. Corner of the lungi that our friend was wearing was also lodged into the ground along with the rod. It took us no time to understand that our friend was dead, dead from the shock he might have received when he tried to stand up and his lungi pulling at him as it was stuck to the iron rod.

The sky fell on us, what to do now? Every one turned at me accusing me to have started it all. I was responsible for the death of our friend.

I felt guilty and responsible for the death. It will become very difficult for me to take this blame and face my friend’s parents, my parents and the college principal, and the police. I ran and ran in the direction of the train track that was at the other end of the field” said Bunty.

All the while Raju was listening intently not missing a word of what Bunty was saying and he had to be very attentive as the compartment was filled with noise of the running train.

Raju was too touched by the words of Bunty. He also became a little confused about the timings, and Bunty’s sudden appearance inside the bogie.

“And when did all happen? How come you are here inside the train if the story you are telling me is true” Raju asked Bunty in half belief.

“What I told you is true my friend, Now I need not tell any lies. I have become liberated from any guilt. No one can accuse me now” Bunty said, barely suppressing his sobbing.

“Bunty, hold on a minute, what are you telling me? Are you going away from the place right now in this train? Oh now I understand, you found the train standing due to chain pulling and you boarded the train. Right?"

“Wrong, I came and stood right on track seeing the train approach. I looked straight at the blinding light of the train approach at ferocious speed towards me. I could feel the ground vibrating at the hundreds of wheels rolling towards me.

I knew the approaching train will relieve me from the burden of blame and guilt I was saddled with” Bunty answered, looking remorseful.

Rajus’s heart skipped a beat. He asked “And?”

“And, the driver tried to stop the train when he saw me on the track, not moving this way or that way.” Bunty said.

Sunil Kumar Biswal is a Chartered Engineer, Town Planner, Energy Auditor, Renewable Energy Consultant & Zero Defect Zero Effect Consultant for MSMEs. He is based in Sunabeda in Koraput District of Odisha and is an Entrepreneur. His other interests are HAM Radio (Callsign VU2MBS), Amateur Astronomy (he conducts sky watching programs for interested persons/groups), Photography and has a passion for writing on diverse topics including fiction (in both English & Odia). He loves communicating science to common man in simple language and often gives talks in Electronic media including All India Radio, Radio Koraput. He can be reached at sunilbiswal@hotmail.com and Cell No.7008580528

ENLIGHTNMENT OF HARIPRIYA

Asha Raj Gopakumar

Time: 5.30 AM

“Oh! Lord
Hold my hands tightly
Lead me ceaselessly through unerring ways
Help me to be buoyant forever
I strongly believe in you
You are my only boon companion”

[Haripriya is invoking God]

Indira Rani: Haripriya, do you know, to whom you are praying?
Haripriya: [with an innocent smile replied] : Oh! Yes, amma He is my God.
Indira Rani: Do you know his name?
Haripriya: No I don’t know his name
Indira Rani: Today, what the astrologist told about you become a reality.

At the age of 38, enjoying all the serenity of life, Haripriya was recollecting her ways that took her to spirituality and her insight about Guruvayoorappan [Lord Krishna]. Haripriya, a pure innocent girl, daughter of Indira Rani, a Govt. School teacher and her father Hareendran Nair, a business man commenced her days with her innocent prayers. It was from her Class Teacher, Deepa she learnt the worth of prayers and how one can get God as a bosom friend.

During a festival season while Priya was playing, she turned the pages of a news paper as if she was reading it, to tease her father. Instantly her eyes locked at a beautiful portrait of a deity on the corner of that daily. Since she was only a primary class child she didn’t understand the matter clearly, which was written under that image. But she realized it was an image of a Hindu God. She left the paper there and became busy with her own world.

At night, before Priya went to sleep, she sat on her bed, as it was her wont and thanked God for all the blessings He had given her. This was also a good practice she gained from her Deepa teacher. When she closed her eyes to pray, a gorgeous image, like the one that she had seen in the newspaper, persistently came to her mind, like a spark of lightening. Thinking about that deity she slept that night. Next day as soon as she woke up, she found the newspaper again and with the help of her brother, cut that picture neatly. Later she pasted it on the wall of her bed room in the way she wanted to see it when she woke up in the morning. From that day onwards she started to pray and talk to that image.

When her mother perceived this for a week, she asked her whether she knew, to whom she was praying or the name of that God. Innocent Haripriya never bothered about all such things. She knew He was her god so she made obeisance to Him daily, that was all for her. Then her mother disclosed the truth, “Today what that astrologer had told had become a reality. The one who wrote your horoscope had told me that this girl would start to offer prayers and poojas to her favorite Lord Vishnu even before she comes to know His name. Now, look, every day you are praying and keeping flowers in front of the image of Lord Vishnu” or “Sree Guruvayoorappan”.

From that day onwards, Priya loved that deity more and more. She herself considered Guruvayoorappan as her best friend. She shared every single matter in her life with that image. Slowly, through many small incidents that happened in her life, Priya realized that her friend is not only a good listener but also a bounteous giver.

With the grace of God, at 38, she learnt to be passive and enjoy the tranquility of life. She also started to lay out the positive vibes and knowledge about the abundances of this universe to all who needed it by telling the stories and singing the kirtans of Lord Krishna. Today thousands of people are following her by accepting her as a spiritual motivational speaker. God is always showering His blessings upon Haripriya and she is sharing the ecstasy she gained by offering obeisance to Lord, just to console many of His devotees who are engulfed in the material world.

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 creating a personal vlog for bajan lovers. She had been a teacher for almost six years and gave it up for family matters.

INDIAN CLASSICAL MUSIC- THE POWERFUL HEALER

Prof. (Dr.) Viyatprajna Acharya

Music is the language of our soul. If we listen around, we can find music in the rustling of wind, cooing of dove, swooshing of grasses, continuous flow of the river water, tinkling of the bride’s anklets, chirping of birds, so on and so forth. These sounds make music by rhythm which is nature’s calculated mathematics. Based on nature’s laws and the brilliance of ancient musicians of India, Indian classical music has evolved. It’s bound by mathematical calculations of Taala and Laya.

If we trace back the history of Indian classical music, then we can find the roots in ‘Natyashastra’ by ‘Bharata muni’ but definite description is found only in the 13th century. The clear definition was found in the scriptures written by Sarangadeva which both Hindustani and Karnatik classical music follow.

Indian classical music has been defined into many ‘Raagas’ based on ‘Melas or Thatas’. Melas can be of 12 types and each of them will contain 7 swaras Sa- Ni with different permutations and combinations of ‘Shuddha’ and ‘Komal’ swaras. Mela or Thata is not sung instead Raagas based on these Thatas/ Melas are sung. If Thata is mentioned then it is needless to mention which swaras would be present. There again some dominant and less dominant swaras known as ‘Vaadis’ and ‘Samvadis’ are used. Each raga has a time of its own as to when it should be sung. For example Raaga Bhairav- it has to be sung early in the morning to get its optimum phonetic effects. Hence it is not a simple art form, but actually a science.

In modern medical science, researchers have started venturing into this field to explore the possibilities of the healing power of music. The penetration of music is visualized through ultrasound. The Raga Research Centre in Chennai, India, is currently making a comprehensive study of Indian ragas and evaluating their therapeutic potential with the help of musicians, doctors and psychiatrists. By diverting the mind from its concentration on a pain location (or a painful experience) music can work like a pain-reliever without any side-effects. It is believed that classical Indian ragas can benefit a host of conditions like Indigestion, Arthritis, Epilepsy, Insomnia, Hypertension, Asthma, Chronic Headaches, Hemorrhoids, Arrhythmia, Ulcers and Cancer Rehabilitation etc.

Diseases and Ragas to listen

Tuberculosis –Meghmalhar

Chronic Headache –Darbari, Jayjayvanti, Gunkah

Hypertension – GorakhKalyan, Bhimpalasi, Puriya

Depression – Natnarayan

Cold, Cough – Gurjantodi, Bhairavi

Paralysis – Jayjayvanti

Loss of Appetite – Deepak, Chandrakauns

Rheumatoid Arthritis – Bhairav, Ahirbhairav, Gunkali

Flatulence, gas – Malkauns, Jaunpuri

Skin disorders – Asavari

Apart from this, some ragas like Darbari Kanhada, Khamaj and Pooriya help in defusing mental tension, especially cases of hysteria. For those who suffer from hypertension, ragas such as Ahirbhairav, Pooriya and Todi are prescribed. To control anger and bring down the violence within, Carnatic ragas like Punnagavarali, Sahana are very effective.

But one should listen to the above Ragas, when one is totally relaxed, alert and should focus his attention on the sound of music.

What happens at molecular level when we listen to such music? Though exact studies have not come up in Indian contexts, in certain western studies they have found music to relieve stress and anxiety before going for any operational procedures if they are put on some music of their choice or some smoothening music. Due to stress and anxiety blood cortisol level (stress hormone), blood pressure and heart rate are increased. With music therapy sympathetic nervous system is activated and limbic system of brain triggers release of endorphins which creates a sense of well-being.

However, we need to do extensive research on the healing power of Indian classical music by studying each raga and its effect on human physiological system. Since it is a highly scientific system, its deviation from the rules may also cause some adverse effects which we can sense in modern raucous music. Ultimately it is advisable to use this powerful and divine tool of classical music, the Nada Brahma in the health of humanity through extensive research.

PRACTICE OF HUMILITY

Prof (Dr.) Viyatprajna Acharya

Shalini adjusted her short hair once again and smiled at the mirror, satisfied with her image. She donned a pair of denim jeans and a polo necked T-shirt with full sleeves. She adjusted her golden rimmed spectacles, pushed the curls of hair a bit backwards and mused about the last evening's incident, a half smile spreading to the angles of her lips .

Bored of her long plaits that hung till mid back she had decided to have a very short hair-cut and went to the beauty parlour and asked for short steps. The beautician held up her hair and marvelled at their thickness. She asked her whether she was sure about the hair-cut. Then Shalini sat straight with closed eyes and nodded ‘yes’.

When she opened her eyes, she'd been transformed into a teen again. Satisfied with her new look, she paid and returned home humming the latest Hindi film hit song. When her mother saw her, she stood aghast and started whining, "Oh, dear! What have you done to your hair! I'd tended them so carefully… And just look at the mirror! You look like a child, just out of school! Who will believe that you are a full pledged doctor now?"

Shalini felt a bit guilty inside but said, "Oh, Mama! Come on, I was bored with those long plaits and needed a change. And why do you worry? It'll grow back soon."

Her mother continued, "And what if your marriage is fixed and people come to see a bobbed hair bride?" Shalini retorted, "Oh, Mama! Who's going to marry now? Why is it so necessary to get married so soon? And this is not bob cut Mom, this is step cut --steps, steps --- “, She said teasingly adjusting her curls in a model-like style.

Mom said "We call if bob-cut, whoever crops her hair up to shoulder length. And what is so early about marriage, what do you mean, so early? You are 24 years now, my dear. At this age we used to be a mother of two….."

On and on she went till Shalini interrupted in the middle and said, “Oh! Ok! I won't cut my hair so short next time but now let me pack my things for tomorrow’s journey. Give Didi a call and ask her to send Jeeju to receive me at the station in time. I haven't seen much of Delhi yet."

And the altercation between Mom and Shalini stopped.

Mother's call to leave for the railway station shook Shalini out of her reverie. She took her handbag and rushed downstairs to the car where her Papa gave her an appreciative smile and said, "Oh! My daughter looks so smart. " Just then her mother darted from the behind, "It’s you who's spoiling her. Now don't get late for the station" Shalini sat back silently and smiled to herself.

Two years back Nalini, who is Shalini's elder sister, had got married to Sameer who is a Software Engineer earning well and loved Nalini a lot.

Shalini didn't know why she felt a bit depressed this time while leaving her parents. She thought how lonely her parents would be, when she’ll leave them for higher studies or when she gets married. She pushed these thoughts to back of her mind. After all who is indispensable to whom? This is all 'Maya'. Her Philosophical thoughts came to a halt when their car screeched to a stop near the station.

After waiting for half an hour, the train arrived. During that period her mother gave her all kind of advice----how not to talk to any stranger, not to take any food from outside, check her luggage from time to time, lock them properly, brush early before others started using the toilet etc etc. When Shalini got irritated, her father came to her rescue and said to her Mom, "Oh, stop it darling! She's a doctor now, probably you have forgotten. You won't be there for her always. Let her explore the world by herself, I've faith in my daughter”.

Shalini's mom brushed him off saying that Shalini would always be a kid for her.

When the train blowed the final horn, Shalini and her parents bade goodbye to each other. As usual her mother's eyes dampened a little.

Inside the train Shalini comforted herself, checked the luggage and her ticket once more. The reservation chart read Dr. Shalini Dash, age 24 years-- smiled Shalini. She toiled so hard to add this prefix “Dr” to her name and now she felt very proud about it. The next moment she became cautious about her mental thoughts. Is it right to be proud for having bagged the MBBS degree? Isn't this pride tarnishing her soul?

She remembered a story about a King who had helped a poor man and when asked, gave his identity in a very humble way. He had said - ""I don't know who I'm. I'm in search of my true self." What humility! Only great men can do so.

Then she admonished herself - "And look at yourself, you silly girl! It is not even a fortnight that you completed your internship and so much pride has gone to your head!"

Suddenly a strange idea came to her mind. If she could manage to conceal her qualification during the entire journey, then it would be a great victory in her life.

For the first time she was travelling without her heavy textbooks and was in a holidaying mood. Who knows, this might be her last holiday. Next, she must prepare for the PG entrance or join somewhere in a job.

She sat back comfortably with her Robin Cook novel.

After some time, she noticed a handsome young man near about her age sitting opposite to her and throwing secret glances towards her. Shalini marked from the corner of her eyes that the guy was wearing a pair of cream-colored trousers and a blue check shirt. He too was bespectacled and sported a thick moustache "Ummmm….. quite handsome!” Shalini mused to herself.

Suddenly their eyes met and Shalini felt caught. The guy bent a little forward and confidently said, "Hi, I'm Abhay. Can I take a look at your book?" Shalini passed on the book without saying a word. "Smart guy, huh!", she said to herself and handed over her novel.

Abhay read the back of the cover page and then said, “Can I borrow the book when you finish reading it? I've seen that, you have got a tremendous reading speed and by evening I hope you will be finished. I too have a fascination for medical fiction."

Shalini smiled quietly and nodded an ok. Then Abhay asked her name and with a bit of hesitation she gave it. She planned to practice her humility with Abhay and cancelled the recently earned Dr. prefix which was so dear to her. Conversation flowed endlessly, totally washing away her Mother’s advice of not talking to a stranger.

After talking a lot Shalini came to know that Abhay is an engineer and has also completed MBA after the B.Tech. degree. He is going to Dehli to join an MNC with a handsome salary. He'd stay with his brother who too is working as a manager in a reputed company.

Shalini gave her details except her career. She deliberately told a lie that she is doing her graduation with Economics honours in a local college. Her younger looks matched her statement too.

When Abhay asked how she liked Economics, she said “Oh! No studies please. I'm in a holidaying mood”.

Abhay said, "O.K. No studies. I too am in a similar mood." Shalini heaved a sigh having been saved from Economics. God known only, why she chose Economics in front of an MBA graduate and realized that truth is much more comfortable than a lie.

Now to practice humility, she must tell a series of lies. Then told to herself, “O.K. Shalini Baby, let's see how far it goes. Let the adventure flow."

From then Shalini and Abhay talked on anything & everything. They enjoyed each other's company. Earlier Shalini had thought how she would spend 24 hours' journey time in the train and now time seemed to fly, talking with Abhay.

Abhay was frank, jovial and a sensible person - that's what Shalini could guess. Abhay found Shalini very smart, intelligent yet humble. "The girl is not quite the show-off type" Abhay thought. "But she should have been in a better place with her kind of intelligence. Perhaps she is going to top in her exams."

Both talked together, laughed together, shared each other's food and left the bookmark intact in the middle of the novel, waiting for a glimpse of another page but in vain.

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The next day they were to arrive at Delhi by evening but then a twist came into the story.

In the afternoon a panting T.T.E rushed to their coupe and asked - who is Dr. Shalini Dash?"

Shalini came to a jolt on hearing her name and when the T.T.E repeated the question in urgency, Shalini hesitated a bit whether to give away the truth or not.

Somebody asked what was the matter?

T.T.E told; it was a pregnant lady. Suddenly her labour pain has started. The next station is at least one hour away, and the railway doctor has taken off due to his sudden illness.

Now again when he asked for Dr. Shalini Dash her conscience didn't allow her to sit quietly anymore. She stood up and said, “That's me." T.T.E stared in dismay at this young doctor looking like a teenager and asked her to follow him.

Shalini turned to the awestruck Abhay and asked him to keep an eye on her luggage and without waiting for any reaction followed the T.T.E.

On reaching the patient, she found that the other ladies had made a small cabin by tying sarees all around the berths. The male members had left the coupe making space for them.

Shalini thanked God for she had well-mastered the labour room tricks during the one-month internship due to her immense interest in Obstetrics & Gynaecology. She examined the patient's pulse. She missed her stethoscope badly. She did an internal examination to find that the membrane had already ruptured. Head of the baby had engaged and well-felt. When asked about the history she came to know that the membranes had ruptured well before her expected date of delivery. This was her second pregnancy. On getting the news of her mother's illness she was travelling urgently with her husband and son to see her mother.

Shalini checked from time to time to see the baby's position. In the meantime, she prepared a small bed for the baby with neat gauge and saw into other minute details with the help of other women. Finally, the head crowned and it did not recede back with further contractions.

She knew that time has come for delivery of the baby. Pelvis was adequate and episiotomy may be avoided for a 2nd pregnancy. Finally, the head came first. With the help of gauge pieces that she had collected from the first-aid box wiped the face of the baby. The mother relieved a sign of relief when the head came out. Shalini checked for the cord around the neck. Then the whole baby was delivered. Oh! It was a sweet little girl! The cry of the baby echoed around the coupe and the crowd waiting outside cheered. She then clamped the cord with threads and cut in between. She sterilised the cord with antiseptic and handed over the child to another woman to wipe it clean. After five minutes, the placenta was delivered. Bleeding was quite minimal.

She padded her well and asked another woman to wipe the mother clean. She thanked God for not having any kind of complications and washed her hands thoroughly. She had done it all without gloves for the first time. But the success made her forget the blood stains. When she came out of the bathroom a large crowd gathered to congratulate her. Just then the train halted at a station.

She wrote down the delivery note and instructed the husband of the woman to take the latter to a nearby hospital and have some rest. The Railway employees also assured her to help. The family gave Shalini a touching goodbye and promised that they would christen their new-born after her name. Their eyes were wet with gratitude. Their smile was reflected on Shalini's lips.

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When she started to move back to her coupe, she remembered Abhay - knowing not how to apologise to him. When she reached her seat, people all around her congratulated and thanked her. But she was deaf to those and kept looking at Abhay who didn't even look at her once, let alone congratulate her. Shalini was afraid to confront him. She sat back very still, till the train arrived at Delhi after two hours averting gazes with Abhay. The silence was very painful for her.

Her 'Jeeju', Sameer had come to receive her at the station. She secretly glanced at Abhay but soon he disappeared into the thick crowd. They parted ways as complete strangers. She felt guilty but the next moment she rationalised by saying to herself, “After all, who is Abhay to me? Why should I bother so much about him?”

Yet she could not push away the thoughts of Abhay out of her mind. Her brother-in-law saw her upset and asked her about it. She waved it off by saying that it was the strain of journey and diverted their conversation to how she delivered the baby in the running train. Her brother-in-law was quite impressed and blurted out this story to Shalini's sister Nalini on entering the house. All of them chatted happily till late night with intermittent supply of tea and goodies.

Again, the sullen face of Abhay danced before Shalini's eyes when she came to bed. The more she tried to sleep, more the thoughts of Abhay troubled her. Had Abhay given her a single chance she would have explained it all. Her eyes welled up with tears and she decided not to practice such humility with anybody else.

With tumultuous thoughts she went to sleep and woke up at 8 am the next morning. Nalini had sent her hubby to office and was waiting for Shalini to wake up. She had planned a lot for the day. Shalini felt a little lighter than last night with the cheery sunshine.

A week passed by. Shalini was to return four days after. That day Nalini and Sameer had arranged a small party for their friends on the occasion of Sameer's promotion in his office. Among the invitees there were four colleagues of Sameer's and an old friend of Nalini's and a family from the Neighbourhood.

By 7 pm in the evening guests started pouring in. Both the sisters had arranged the home and had prepared a good number of dishes spending the entire day. Nalini wore a soft green coloured Lachha and Shalini donned a sea green suit with long sleeves & a high neck. The well-tailored suit reflected her curvaceous figure nicely. Both the sisters looked stunning.

Shalini was introduced to all, one by one. Nalini was waiting for her friend Reena anxiously. As Shalini was giving the last touch to the dishes, she could hear her sister shrieking with pleasure and she knew it must be Reena Didi. Nalini gave a loud cry "Shalini darling" look who is here! Shalini took the sherbet tray and entered the room. At the door she stopped, rooted to the ground.

She felt as if her feet were suddenly tied with stones. Her eyes widened with surprise to find Abhay with Reena Didi. Nalini dragged Reena, her husband Ajay and his brother Abhay to introduce them to Shalini. Shalini was half-hearing them and could muster up some courage to smile at them. Reena introduced Abhay as her Devar (brother-in-law). Oh! Shalini could see the hatred in Abhay’s eyes for her. He came forward and said, "So, how do you do Dr. Shalini Dash?" Shalini murmured in a low tone, "Fine, thank you."

After that she failed to mingle with the guests. She felt as if Abhay’s hatred-filled gaze followed her everywhere. Amidst the hustle bustle neither Nalini nor Sameer could mark the change in Shalini. Shalini excused herself from the crowd and went to the darkness of the balcony to get some fresh air and to remain alone for a few minutes. Her head throbbed with pain; her whole body burnt like fire. She didn't know the physiology of such changes, nor she wanted to remember anything. Few minutes later Abhay followed her to the balcony. Shalini felt like getting choked. Abhay looked starkly handsome in a pair of denim jeans and a black blazer.

Shalini could hear her heart thumping loudly and was afraid it could be heard by Abhay. She turned back to get out of there, but it was late. Her wrist was in the strong hold of Abhay's. She couldn't dodge from her position. Abhay came nearer and demanded, "Why did you do it?" Shalini was already on the verge of tears. Abhay went on. "I liked you at the first sight and poured myself out before you and you kept on telling me lies, why?". Shalini meekly looked up into his eyes. He looked dangerously handsome. The cologne was intoxicating. He was four inches taller than her and she felt overpowered by him.

She found her voice somehow and heard herself saying, "But it was all true."

“Oh! Was it? snapped Abhay, "And out of the blue you, an Economics graduate, got an MBBS degree and performed a delivery in the running train. Is that what you want to say?"

“No... yes... I mean ...Oh! My wrist hurts…. leave me and I'll tell you everything."

Abhay loosened his grip. Shalini examined her reddened wrist and then explained how she wanted to practice humility and how she felt guilty during the last few days.

A smile spread on Abhay’s lips that extended to a guffaw "Oh! You little foolish girl! I've made such a nasty impression against the whole woman race during the last few days."

He kept on smiling and when he stopped, found Shalini smiling too. Then she said slowly, "Another point was also there. My mother had told me not to talk much to strangers."

"So, I looked like a rogue to you, huh?" Abhay said mockingly, “So now you'll get the behaviour of a rogue." Before Shalini could realise what Abhay meant, the latter pulled her to his side and occupied her lips with his own. Shalini's heart thumped again.

She'd never been held by a man so close, let alone kissing. The fire burnt her body from the tip to toe. Automatically, her hands searched for the back of Abhay. She felt like melting in Abhay's arms. Finally, when Abhay released her lips and caressed the hollow of her neck, Shalini could manage to whisper "Please Abhay don't do it. You make me feel wild" She rested her head on Abhay's broad chest and quivered like a bird. Abhay murmured into her ears, “Oh! how I love you darling. The moment I saw you on the train, I fell in love with you. I felt so possessive about you that I couldn't bear the thought of your deceiving me. Oh! Shalini, would you like to marry this mad rogue?”

Shalini quivered with joy. For a moment She thought she was dreaming. Then she found her voice and mumbled a small 'yes' to Abhay. And again, her head rose and their lips met.

When finally, they parted and stood hand in hand Reena, Ajay, Sameer and Nalini came into the balcony. On seeing them, Shalini and Abhay freed their hands and stood apart. Nalini came forward and took Shalini’s chin, raised her face and asked, "So, should I announce the engagement of my dear sis’ if you people have liked each other?" Shalini leapt forward and embraced Nalini and said, "Oh Didi, you are so naughty” and ran into her room.

Dr. Viyatprajna Acharya is a Professor of Biochemistry at KIMS Medical College, who writes trilingually in Odia, English and Hindi. She is an art lover and her write-ups are basically bent towards social reforms.

CHHOKRI MAST HAI

Meena Mishra

When I was a little girl, I would often look at the world map and trace my fingers around the countries. The countries seemed to be illuminated with a plethora of rainbow lights, and upon beholding this sight; I would be overwhelmed with a desire to tour the entire world. Having lived in one village ever since I was born, the entire world was defined as any place outside the boundaries of my village. Like every other girl, I managed to live this dream of mine, only after marriage. I moved to Mumbai, the dream city of millions of Indians, and I had no idea what exactly was in store for me. It was almost evening when I reached our tiny flat in Mumbai. The moon lingered overheard – neither half, nor full – a possible symbol of the confusion that was going on within me. The next morning when I opened the door to take the milk packet, delivered by a small boy, the first statement that I overheard about me was simply pleasing and gratifying in a way. It had a vernacular touch to it and was fragrant with the scent of local language. Perhaps that is why it was so special to me.

One of my neighbours was asking the other, “Chhokri ko dekha? (Have you seen the girl?)”

“Kaunsi chhokri ko?” (Which girl?) the other replied, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Humari nayi parosan!” (our new neighbour) answered the first one, shrugging his shoulders as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Haan, dekha hai. Mast hai!” (She looks amazing!) replied the other neighbour.

This one statement resonated within the dimensions of my soul, like the welcome bell which heralded my presence in this city of vibrance and colour. For the first two months I relished the life of a housewife that included keeping everything at home in order, doing the laundry, cooking different dishes, packing my husband’s tiffin, listening to old songs on the radio and chatting with neighbours. These tasks were simple and subtle, yet they gave me not just a sense of belonging and homeliness, but also a sense of purpose. Tasks like peeling vegetables, setting clothes to dry, and at times, trying to quest for my green thumb in the garden, took my mind off the initial uneasiness and ambiguity I had faced, whilst venturing into this city.

To fill the little place that I had at the window, I thought of keeping a bottle filled with water and putting a money plant in it. My next-door neighbour, Akka (this is what everyone called her. It never crossed my mind to ask her name) had thick creepers of a money plant. I informed her that I wanted it.

“Mangta hai?

Toh lekar jaanaa (If you need it, just take it.).”

There was so much warmth in her words and gesture. The smile on her face and the comfortable twinkle in her eyes made me feel as though I had known her for ages. Her eyes were moist with emotions of soft fondness, something one would only possess while looking at one’s younger sister, and when I looked into her eyes – I felt as though I am looking at a mirror, clouded with emotions of maternal and sisterly love. For me, this was the most beautiful sites in the world.

One evening, I heard my favourite song blaring from her kitchen window. The song pulled me towards it like a magnet, and a moment later, I found myself singing and dancing to the beat of the song. I felt as though I was transported back to my homeland, and my heart was filled with a sense of satisfaction mingled with pure, unadulterated joy. A moment later, the song stopped. She was standing by the windowsill and watching me enjoy, a silent smile on her motherly face.

“I see you play Marathi songs every day – and that too, the most popular songs. Do you even understand them?

I know that you are a newcomer here, and want to fit in. Maybe you think that your neighbours will undermine you for listening to your favourite songs, that stem from the heart of your homeland, and maybe listening to Marathi songs is your attempt at fitting in, but believe me, this is not the case, and as long as I am alive, I am here…. for you. Always remember, that if you need to change yourself to fit in, the place isn’t right for you.”

These words of wisdom moistened my eyes, and I felt so elated that day. It was at that moment, I realized that I did not merely find an elder sister in Mumbai, that day. I had found a mother too.

My husband is from a scientific background, with a specialization in chemistry, and worked as a Supervisor in the textile industry. Our income was meagre, and if living a life stretched within the tightly knit bandwidth of our very limited budget was not enough, the number of shift duties was overwhelming. By the time he returned home he would be exhausted, so much so that it seemed as though the words on the tip of his tongue were covered with a layer of rust, creaking and cracking, as they yawned and dawdled. Seeing his limbs cloaked in this slow-moving exhaustion, I began to ponder over my purpose of coming to this city.

What have I come here for?

Am I here for cooking food, waiting for my husband to return home, waiting for weekends when I can trouble him to take me out, listening to music on radio and carrying out other household chores?

Am I here to limit my debating skills and eloquence, to mere bargaining – am I here to win arguments and debates only against a vegetable seller?

Are my fingers which once wielded the pen like a warrior, meant to spend their days washing fruits and vegetables, and cooking vegetables, and stirring gravy?

Suddenly, I felt as though I was a bird whose flight had been limited, mapped to the boundaries of her house. I felt as though I was caged, and soon, there was this overwhelming desire pulsating within my wings, to spread themselves and scale the sky. I was unable to decide my course of action and was lost in a dark tunnel of thoughts when my husband was offered to take tuitions at Thakur Complex, Kandivali (East). We were then going through a major financial crisis but did not want to seek help from parents for it would be like sharing our worry and anxiety with them, and to be more specific, we did not want to heap our burdens and worries upon their already fragile shoulders. He was offered Rs. 800 for tutoring a girl named Soni, a 7th grade student. The day he went for his meeting and demo, I was waiting excitedly and eagerly for him to return home. I stood at the gate, as the Sun spiralled into the sky, the crimson hues of the sunset intermingling, blazing and finally melting away.

As the night polished the edges of its sky, with its brilliant, black shades, I felt as though I had reached the zenith of my patience. In the distance, I saw my husband emerging. I craned my neck, straining myself to see if I could spot a smile on his face, but unfortunately, all I could see was slumped shoulders, and a face clouded with worry.

He had returned home, somewhat despondent, and dispirited. “The parents want to employ a female tutor and not a male,” he said with a huff. “They were asking me about your qualification, but I said you are too new to the city to travel all alone from Jogeshwari to Kandivali,” he remarked.

I looked at him in astonishment. “Do you mean to say that only travelling will be a concern for me? Won’t the teaching itself be a problem for a fresh graduate like me? I am a small-town girl. I hardly know which books are assigned here for the students. And what about Maths? I have a phobia for this subject since childhood. I have no brain to understand the calculations and summations. I feel constantly entangled and entrapped by this labyrinth of division and multiplication. Sometimes, I feel as though the minus sign will transform into a sharp stick and beat me. I feel as though the ends of the multiplication sign will curve themselves around my neck and strangle me. Trust me, numbers rattle me.”

He looked at me with utter surprise, and I could see his eyes brim over with laughter. He cocked his head in amusement and asked, “If I teach Maths, can you handle the rest of the subjects?” I gave my usual mischievous smile and nodded in affirmative. “Let me try once.” Upon beholding my mischievous smile, my husband’s face brightened. For some reason, my mischievous smile was a connecting point between us, an unwritten agreement where I promised my husband to do the best I could.

For me, my smile was a symbol of my strength, resolution and determination, and my husband had utmost faith in it. My husband dropped me the first day and warned me to be very quick in alighting from the double-decker bus as it halted for a short while. He told me that the double-decker bus came and went in the blink of an eye, and it was essential for me to understand that, otherwise it may circumstance in disaster.

I was exultant with the response I received from Soni and her mother. Both of them liked me very much, and the smile on their faces after I taught, made my teacher’s heart brim over with love and joy. Soni’s mother was a well-built, middle-aged lady, her eyes sparkling with ambition. She had a tough, passive face and to me, it seemed as though there was a story hidden in her eyes – beautiful, almond eyes that brimmed over with concern for her daughter. She was surrounded by a scent of herbs and leaves, and had a soft, melodious voice that constantly spoke about how she wanted her daughter to touch the skies. Soni, on the other hand, was a golden-eyed girl, who was tall for her age. She had lanky limbs, and was seemingly very conscious of her height, because she had this tendency to stoop. I looked at her hunched shoulders and smiled to myself. I knew that these shoulders had to stand tall someday. I had hardly taught Soni for a week when another parent from the same building approached me and offered me to tutor their children for a promised tuition fee of Rs. 1200. So, in a month I started earning Rs. 2000 and it was not a small amount for me, back then, in the year 1996.

I was in high spirits – not just because of the increased amount, but also because people considered me to be an apt tutor and came to me in search of knowledge. The essence of success is warm and fulfilling, and once you obtain it, you feel as though a rush of sunshine is invading every cell of your body, but the essence of being deemed as capable surpasses the essence of success by leaps and bounds. When you are considered capable, you are filled with an assertion and conviction that you can do just about anything in this world. I was transported to my childhood, when my father had cupped my face in his hands, planted a kiss on my forehead and told me that I would make a difference in this world. These golden words were my father’s legacy, and I clung onto them with all my strength. I made this conviction and faith my strength and clung onto it just the way Jhansi- Ki- Rani clung onto her sword, as she marched into the battlefield, ready to vanquish those who threatened the sanctity of her beloved Jhansi. Yet, that day when the bus stopped with a slight jerk and I tried to alight with other passengers, the bus moved forward, and I fell flat on my face. Not a single soul came forward to offer help. I felt the sharp edged pebbles cut through my soft skin, carving wounds as deep as minute valleys into my flesh. The grit and the dust that veiled the road, rubbed into my wounds, deepening them, and multiplying the pain. I felt as though someone was pushing a knife through my being.

I had tears in my eyes and excruciating pain in my bruised hands and elbows. I felt something wet and sticky on the bottom of my chin, and as I raised my hand to touch this wet and sticky substance, I realized I was bleeding. Getting up, I cleaned myself, cried a bit, wiped my tears, and decided to carry on with my schedule. On reaching there I excused myself, went to the washroom and washed my wound that was hurting badly. Yet, I had only managed to clean the physical bruise. The internal bruise that had ebbed itself into my heart was still prominent and throbbing. It was only after I taught Soni for some time that she observed my fresh wound. As her little fingers touched my wound, I felt as though the warmth of luminescent sunshine was soaking my skin. I was reminded of an incident I had read in Mother Teresa’s biography – wherein the writer had described how Mother Teresa had once given a street urchin a bit of food, and the street urchin had kissed her hand. The writer had so beautifully written that – “Mother Teresa felt the child’s kiss nestle in her palm, like a little bird that had finally found its home.” These lines resonated in my heart, as I looked at Soni with loving eyes. “What happened to you, teacher?” she asked with real concern. Her hands were still on my wound, and for me, they felt like the best healing touch ever. “I fell from the steps,” I lied controlling my tears. As soon as Soni informed her mother, both of them applied medicine on my wounded feet, hands, and elbows. They blew on my wounds and dabbed at them ever so gently. Yet, the most significant part was when Soni’s mother dabbed at the wound on my feet with her pallu, just the way she would have done for someone who was close to her.

They ensured that I was at ease, before propping me up on bed. Soni applied oil on my feet, and her mother made a glass of haldi doodh – turmeric milk, for me. “Drink this up, and it will heal your wounds,” she said, as I screwed up my nose. I never liked the taste of turmeric, and just as I started to shake my head in refusal, Soni’s mother raised her eyebrow and said – “Now, I don’t want to scold you, teacher! Not in front of your student. Tell me, teacher. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’’ I was completely touched by their humane gesture. I experienced a sense of belongingness in this city with caring and loving people around me.

It was only after travelling for a fortnight did, I understand that where I had alighted in a hurry following others was the traffic signal, right before the bus stop. No wonder no one came forward to help me. The small-town girl that I was, I had seen traffic signals only in movies. I examined myself in the mirror the other day and noticed how well my wounds had healed. But was it because of the medicines that had been duly and dutifully applied, or was it the touch of the person applying the medicine?

This was something I was yet to figure out. I had found people who were concerned about the one who imparts knowledge to them. I had found people who treasure relationships and the feelings that goes into building a relationship. I had found people who relish the joy of building a relationship with someone – and also understand the importance of preserving it. Today, I find myself to be exceptionally strong with the onset of a new era amidst the tall skyscrapers and traffic lights of Mumbai.

After all, I have found the brightest light to illuminate my path. This light is the light that I give to others. But, at the end of the day, it all begins from the light within me.

Meena Mishra is the Founder & CEO of The Impish Lass Publishing House. An award-winning author, poet, short-story writer, social worker, novelist, editor, an educator and a publisher, are just some of the words which describe Ms. Meena Mishra. Her poems, stories and book-reviews have been published in many international journals and magazines. She is the recipient of several prestigious awards. . Her poems are published in many magazines, including the prestigious periodical Woman’s Era. She has been a contributing author and poet for more than 100 books. Her books include- The Impish Lass, Emociones Infinitas , Within The Cocoon of Love and The Impish Lass Book 2.

ROMANCE OF A DISTRICT OFFICER'S TEA CLUB

Ranjana Chowdhary

A district officer's life during the days of the Raj was socially lonesome. there were few fellow compatriots in the remote proverbial one horse carriage district towns. Necessity being the mother of invention and ingenuity, social institution like the district officers' club, the officers' tea-club, were the homespun outcome of a small community of expatriates desire for social inter course with their kind. The tea club of the Collectorate is one such institution, a throw back to the Raj days.

My first taste of the flavour of the officers' tea club was at Hoshangabad where I was posted as A.C. My Collector made it a point to ensure that all members if they happen to be in the H.Q. attended the tea club. I fell in love with the lunch club (after all it had history and romance behind it) as I am wont to do with any institution, howsoever humble, if it is borne of a desire of fellow-beings to share their cup of teas and their joys and sorrows, with like minded decent folks! The building of the Hoshangabad Collectorate is more than a century old. It is housed in rectangular blocks and almost gives the impression of a Regimental Centre - venerable, awe inspiring, made with geometric symmetry and mathematical precision. The tea club was housed in a small room. In fact it must have been a corridor or Verandah, which was subsequently barricaded with two cut outs passing for windows. It was almost Spartan and as empty as Mother Hubbard's cupboard! The walls were lime washed, the floor was of flap tone, set in wedges. As for furniture, in keeping with its Spartan character, in the centre was an old teak table, ordinary chairs were arranged around it and in the corner was a modest cupboard which housed the humble tea - service, glasses, jug etc! But I've always felt that the humblest of places can be enchanting and magnificent palaces desolate, since what makes a place happy or sad are the people who happen to live or temporarily occupy it and not its inanimate objects. As soon as one stepped into the modest tea-club, our inscrutable, impassive and dull official facial masks fell and we became 'us'. After the usual exchange of pleasantries we settled down to the happy business of the lovable tea-club that of leisurely sipping tea and savoring conversation. If the Collector was in head quarter he occupied the high chair at the head of the table. The A.C. a la the Prince of Wales was faithfully seated in the first chair to his right. The tea club was like an oasis in a desert of dull, musty and dusty files. Like a typical assistant Collector, I was a raw mare, a maverick almost being 'broken in' the cult of a district officer. Learning the paces and being made to fall in line, as it were! I was, always game for a bit of a chat and a laugh, and it was the welcome tea-break of the officers tea-club that provided me with the opportunity of breaking loose, as it were!

The Deputy Collectors like the shining knights of the order of the Royal Garter came next and occupied the chairs as per their seniority. The district heads of department which came under the direct supervision of the Collector for e.g. Treasury Officer, Food Officer were seated further down the table. It was a convention that any out-station officer who happened to be in town, were invariably invited to grace our tea-club. they were like a breath of fresh air, bringing the flesh and blood flavor of frontiersmen. Senior officers from the formidable fortress of the State Secretariat, when prodded, discreetly updated us on 'Secretariat' news - the usual trivia about who is likely to be elevated or dumped. These guests, whether from the remote fastnesses or from the nerve centre of the Secretariat, were like exotic birds of paradise, who stopped a while, like birds of passage, graced our modest tea-club and added an ephemeral spot of colour and character to our provincial club!

The peon would bring in the tea, as if by intuition, just when the thought of it was upper most on our minds. The amiable and personable treasury office would make the tea for us with the finesse of an artist. One of the pleasantest scene and setting is of a gathering of friends for a cup of tea. No wonder, the Chinese and Japanese with their finely honed cultural sensitivities held tea service with the reverence which attends a religious ritual. We would like-wise relish the cup that never fails to cheer and the eclectic conversation that it induced and engendered. Along with tea, good ole homely glucose biscuit would be served. To get into the spirit of bon-homier I would always dip my biscuit in the tea - mannerisms and stiff upper lip be damned and forgotten a while. Outside the tea club room we were always on stage, here at least, one could be oneself! After all the success of a tea club is to be measured by what degree, discreet tongues could be loosened and restrictive, encaged spirits could be seduced to be expansive. There would be the usual charming trivia and desultory yet in its own way rather delightful,

Chit-chat about postings, happenings on the domestic front, anecdotes about colourful characters, and just about anything that happened to catch one's fancy.... We talked, to quote, 'Alice in Wonderland':-

                        'Of ships and seals and
                        sealing wax,
                        Of cabbages and kings'

Whenever good fortune chose to smile on some member - a promotion, a posting after one's heart, he had to stand a treat - succulent saccharin sweet jalebies and gulabjamuns, crisp samosas and kachories! I would many a times, dreamer that I am, go into a reverie, tranced by the soporific gurgling of tea being poured, the dulcet tinkering of spoons stirring the sugar, through the windows, the spiritually edifying view of eternal blue Narbada and the bluer Vindhyachal mountains as old as the hills....... the serene foliage of the 'Shireesh' tree.....I'll whisper to the cavernous recesses of my psyche that before I will realize. I'd have to pack up my bags and go elsewhere, and Hoshangabad, the Narbada, the Vindhyas, the tea-club. would all be but a memory and I'd say, 'oh you know, when I was A.C. in Hoshangabad" to strangers with even stranger psyches who would not share the tugs of heart strings... But then nostalgia is romance with a capital R and Hoshangabad would be Nostalgia personified......

As with Institutions with a history, stores abound about countless tea clubs. the Britishers with their Roman predilections for order and systems, always had a club Register for keeping accounts of the monthly subscriptions. One of the eternal story was of an I.C.S. Collector who had failed to pay his monthly subscription of Rs.2/- for quite some time, being warned in writing by the Secretary of the tea club, that if he failed to pay up, the club would be compelled to cancel his membership! History has it that the same black sheep 'defaulter' member of the humble tea club, later on held exalted officers - Secretaryship of a few important ministries in Govt. of India being just of them!

Ranjana Chaudhury is a retired civil servant and a former judge in the Central Administrative Tribunal. She is a Nature lover, she loves all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small. She loves flowers and gardening and has very eclectic taste in reading from Leo Tolstoy to Dalphne du Maurier. She loves meeting like minded people. She writes by accident, not by design.

RAHUL & HUSHKOO MUSINGS

Sheena Rath

Heton Bouncy!! What is it? Why you hovering around Rahul Bhaiya.

I quickly look at the man of the house,the huzzband and say..

Me....."he's trying to say something."

He.....Oh!!, he just adores Rahul and always shows his concern for him.

Me....."Hatuni Patuni!! Is Pluto (neighbour's pet) coming home today, it's Friday, the weekend.He wags his tail with utmost pleasure, but in reality he just doesn't have a liking for him.

Me..."Hatun!!, can you leave Pluto alone for a while, he's having his weekend bath, must you watch the entire process, it's not good gesture to peep into other people's home.

Suddenly a thought crossed my mind. Oh goodness gracious!!, is he trying to tell Rahul that it's TGIF!! Are we ordering food from outside?

Smiles exchange,yes absolutely!!

TGIF!!, we all go together, at last the weekend is here, although ever since COVID happened with everyone working from home, the concept of weekend has gone, each day seems the same, with working hours longer now.

Heton Bouncy!!, Mommy Koli Koli (calling), but first you good doggy.

What's up!! Harry Uncle's been telling me that you having loosies - how many times to tell you that you can't eat food that the swiggy boy delivers at our gate, in fact any food coming from outside, as they are loaded with salt,onions,sugar.... it's poison for you and extremely harmful for your intestines.(whoof, whoof).

Hey Rahul!! Mommy will do anything for you, for that beautiful smile you flash on your face everytime I look at you.

"I think we could order out tonight"... said the man of the house, much to everyone's relief, well, how can I not admit that I was the happiest - to stay away from the kitchen chores. Hushkoo gives me a slight push as though he understood all, and moreover he will get pieces from his adorable Bhaiya while he eats. I too start swaying and singing to the tune..."Maula Maula Maula mere Maula," still focussing on which song i could select for my next show coming down end of February.

Hushkoo, every time it's TGIF you cannot be cajoling Bhaiya for goodies.

Moreover it's not snowing (his imagination since it's very cold in mumbai this year) anymore, the days are getting longer and warmer now, but for me i still continue to wear my socks and cardigan to keep myself warm everytime the wind blows, the last thing I want is a sore throat.

"You better stay indoors!! Said I, Mommy is getting tired waking up as early as 5.30 am just to open the balcony door for you to step inside."

"Oh Mommy!! Says Hushkoo....i can't tell you how i hate the milkman who wakes me up so early , driving his rickety scootie, as I wake up, I don't see any of you around, hence I want to come inside immediately to be surrounded by your love,"...."Mommy!! I just can't stay a minute away from all of you, as i doze off i don't realise that I'm left alone in the balcony all by myself, surrounded by the fragrance of Jasmine flowers and the bright, shining silver moon."

Me.....Rahul!!...."What would you like to eat for dinner tonight, now don't tell me it's PASTA again, you have many more options now."

Rahul flashes his biggest smile which I had not seen for a while now.

Dogs (pets) communicate so well, as long as you know what to look for. Through their body gestures they convey how they feel.

Me....Hatun!! Why you sitting midway on the staircase?

Hushkoo....."Mommy , everyone has gone down, but you're still upstairs, how could I leave you alone."

Me...,, almost tearful, so much love and understanding from an animal, so much for Rahul too and the huzzband, one touch from Rahul on his body and he goes bonkers, his joys know no bounds.

Both non-verbals and such a strong feeling of friendship, almost inseparables.

Despite the challenges we face each day, life is still so beautiful and meaningful, couldn't have asked Almighty for more.

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

MY UNTOLD STORY

Ashok Kumar Ray

It is my untold story. Neither I could tell it to you nor I had the ability to do so during my lifetime. I was born unheard and died unknown. I am an immortal soul roaming around you - unseen. I have entered the mind of this idle mad man to reveal the journey of my life. Would you please listen to me / him ?

I was born to my laboring parents in an urban slum. After a day's hard work, their pleasure and happiness knew no bounds to see and hear my smiles from my small and tender lips. They were celebrating my birth and life. I was growing up day by day. I was about 7 months old. Life was pleasant for me and my parents. All was well.

It was March 2020. Corona lockdown was declared. Work places were closed. My parents lost their jobs. Whatever cereals and food were left with them were reducing day by day.

My mother told my father - 'What shall we do here ? After some days, we would have nothing to eat and feed our only son. Let us go to our native place that will give us food and shelter.'

My father said - 'Please arrange our belongings and food to eat, sit and sleep on the way. It will take some days to reach our village. Be ready. Tomorrow, we will start our return journey.'

For our survival, my parents left for their native village hundreds of kilometers away. There was no train or bus nor any mode of transport. The path was long and unknown. They walked all the way with me in their arms.

Days and nights passed by, but the journey was unending. Towns, villages, woods, forests came on our way and faded. My parents kept walking. In one dreadful midnight, we were passing through a dense forest. The sound of wild animals were frightening us. In the darkness of night nothing was visible. We missed my father in the jungle. I was in my mother's arms and she was running, shouting and searching for my father.

She was crying and calling him loudly- 'Ram ! Where are you now ? We cannot find you. Please come to us at once.'

'You please run away to save my son. I cannot go with you. My legs are in its mouth.'- we heard him saying in a choked voice.

She was saying sorrowfully - 'We cannot live without you. Please come to us at any cost.'

'I cannot come out of its mouth. Please go away' - his crying voice was saying.

Her legs stopped running by hearing a deadly hissing sound. We looked around but couldn't find my father. We looked above and saw a pair of lightning eyes of a long python from top of a tall tree. It had swallowed him up to his shoulders. His head and hands were hanging below. We were collapsing in fear of death. But we were hapless, unable to help my dying father. My father's tears were streaming down. His voice was choking. With folded hands my father was requesting my mother to leave the place at once for survival of life. Within a couple of minutes his body went into the stomach of the python. We were just silent spectators to his death.The baby in me who had never seen death - saw his father's untimely sorrowful demise. My lips were trembling to call my father, but in vain.

My mother was crying, running and lamenting in the jungle. Some leopards came to our rescue. They killed the python. But we couldn't get back my father.

My mother was seriously wounded while running in desperation. The reddish sunshine of the rising sun was wiping out the darkness of the jungle and we were coming out of it.

At dawn, we reached a small village. She had no energy to walk any more. Still she was begging for food to eat so as to create milk for me. The kind and generous villagers fed my mother and she breastfed me. We survived for some time.

Again we started our journey. After walking without food, water and shelter, she was weak, exhausted and unable to walk anymore. It was another dark midnight. She fell down under a banyan tree on the outskirts of an unknown village. Her life was running short. She fell flat. Her breast was open for me, but her eyes, mouth were shut. She was breathless. I was crying. But it could not reach her ears. My lips touched her lips, noses and eyes. They had lost their sensing powers. She did not wake up. My soft and tender mind could not understand anything. But she was no more in the mortal World.

In fear I was calling her - 'Maa ! Maa ! Maa !'

But her ears were unable to hear the call of her beloved son. My small hands were touching her head. My lips were kissing her cheeks. She was motionless. Her noses were open, but couldn't inhale. She was breathless. Her lap was unable to take me. The difference between life and death was unknown to me. I crawled on her breast. It was dry and empty. I was hungry and thirsty. No one was there to take care of me, to satisfy my hunger and thirst. I was dying. At last, my soul left my body in that dreadful dark midnight. The lifeless bodies of me and my mother were lying under that banyan tree.

And no one is left to weep for me.

Sri Ashok Kumar Ray a retired official from Govt of Odisha, resides in Bhubaneswar. Currently he is busy fulfilling a lifetime desire of visiting as many countries as possible on the planet. He mostly writes travelogues on social media.

WHITEWASH

Mrutyunjay Sarangi

"Have you heard of Rabies?"

Our friend Harishankar asked with a seriousness quite unlike of him.

Three hands stopped midair, the delicious mutton chops waited to go down the way they were destined to travel from the very moment they left the luxury of being massaged by warm oil on a slow fire. On a closer look we also found Harishankar was indifferent to the plate of inviting snacks lying before him. That was as unlikely as a cat turning away from a plate of fish served with a blushing tomato sauce.

We were sitting in his plush air-conditioned chamber - Dibakar, Manoj, the host and myself- four college mates who wore different masks outside, but in the closed chamber of Harishankar we let go all inhibitions and enjoyed with abandon.

Harishankar was an Executive Engineer in the Works Division sitting over the most fertile projects. Dibakar was the senior accountant in his office and Manoj a section officer. I am an 'A' class contractor handling all the projects in my name and in the name of my two nephews and my brother in law. Harishankar, the extraordinarily smart genius had made sure that all of us eat from the same sumptuous plate worth more than 2000 crores per year. Compared to that the other divisions in Works Department had only peanuts, hardly worth twenty-thirty crores. The worst was of course the maintenance division where only the lowliest among the low get posted - the nincompoops who can't feed a fish properly, let alone the mighty Minister who is a pet of the high command because of the heavy funds he generates. Harishankar was his trusted lieutenant for the past five years and had been occupying the prized seat ever since the minister knew he was an expert in sharing the loot with justice towards all and malice towards none.

Every week we met in Harishankar's room in the morning on Wednesdays and Fridays to enjoy the mutton chops, chicken tikkas and prawn pakodas which his PA got from the best restaurant in town. And the gossip ranges from film heroines to the buffoon minister. It seems the joker was after Harishankar to somehow arrange a trip to Paris, the land of fabled beauties. He dreams of topless dancers and cabarets as the ultimate pleasure he deserved for all the hard work he did for the public. Harishankar had promised him that he would personally accompany the Honourable public servant and arrange "everything". The way he winked suggestively we had no doubt what "everything" included. Dibakar, widely known as a salivating dumbo, wanted to be part of the entourage, but was shouted down by Harishankar, "You idiot, you think we need an accountant there to keep count of the minister's conquests? What will you do in Paris, look for rice and mutton curry to feed the minister?" Dibakar's list of frustrations at what life had denied to him grew longer.

So that fateful day, although we had attacked the snacks with our usual gusto, we felt something was missing. The ever present zing in the air had bust like an absentminded bubble. Then it came to me suddenly in a flash - our ebullient, effervescent Harishankar was sitting quiet, the picture of a prematurely fused bulb. His favourite mutton chops were sitting sad and forlorn on his plate like neglected voters after the elections.

When Harishankar asked if we had heard of Rabies, I shot a few questions at him,

"First you tell me, my friend, why are you sitting like a reformed dog who has just turned vegetarian, inspired by Baba Ramdev? And why do you ask about Rabies? Why is your face shrunk like a deflated chapati who had failed in its annual exam?"

Harishankar's pathetic glance swept over all of us, as if he was an Anarkali trying to say Albida to all of us,

"I have been suffering from fever ever since I returned from my village three days back."

"Then why did you come to office today? You should have slept at home."

Our ever solicitous friend Dibakar asked.

Harishankar looked at him in a murderous way,

"Hey idiot, how can I sleep at home when there is so much work pending? Many payment files have to be cleared, I have to make a list of the percentages to be collected and handed over to the ever-hungry minister. Only I know who owes what. You think I am an ungrateful goat who would leave the great, noble minister in a lurch? How can I leave the world without finishing my job?"

We sat up and in one collective voice, like we were singing the national anthem, screamed,

"Leave the world? What do you mean leave the world? When? Why? What has happened to you?"

He uttered the words like a judge pronouncing a death sentence,

"Rabies. I have got Rabies."

Again another national-anthem-like scream in unison,

"Rabies? When? How?"

Had it been happier times Harishankar probably would have enjoyed the interrogation like we were asking him how many plates of mutton biriyani he ate when he went to Hyderabad. But he was serious, dead serious,

"You know how I am fond of going to the village and spend a week during harvest time to collect the paddy, convert it to rice and sell off in the big market nearby. I also love to enjoy the village life, swimming in the river nearby, catching fish, plucking fresh cucumbers, carrots, radish from the orchard and eat them raw. And I make it a point to sleep in the courtyard on a choir bed, under the open sky, enjoying the cool, unpolluted breeze. Two farm labourers sleep nearby on the ground. This time, on the fifth night, a dog somehow got in and bit me on my leg when I was asleep. It was past midnight, I got up and saw him running away. In the moon light it looked huge, almost like a baby lion. I checked at the spot where it had bit me. There were two small drops of blood. I screamed at the top of my voice. The two labourers got up and came rushing. They simply laughed at the wound and said they had been bitten like that a few times by dogs, rats and non-poisonous snakes. They asked me to put some "oint" there and go back to sleep. They woke up the caretaker of the house, found some "oint" somewhere and applied it on the wound. I had a very disturbed sleep. Next day I had slight pain in the leg, I quickly finished the work and on the third day I returned to Bhubaneswar. The fever started the day I arrived here, the leg has swollen and is paining a lot now. I thought of going to the doctor, but felt shy. Imagine the Chief Engineer of the state getting attacked by a dog! How people will laugh at me. Had it been a tiger it would have been befitting the status of a chief engineer. A bloody street dog, biting a chief engineer? That too Harishankar Gadnayak, a descendant of the great Paika warriors! Unthinkable!"

Suddenly Harishankar slumped on his chair, held his head in both the hands and looked down as if he was in great pain. We stopped our eating and rushed to where he was sitting. He kept murmuring,

"O God, did I make a mistake? Has Rabies set in? Will the symptoms start now? Salivating in the mouth, eyes getting watery and barking, crying like a dog? How many days, how many hours are left before I die the death of a dog?"

To our utter surprise Harishankar, the mighty Chief Engineer who could scare a few contractors and subordinates with a steely stare, started sobbing like a child. We had not imagined we would ever see our friend in such a pathetic state. I touched his forehead. He seemed to have no fever. I tried to pull him up,

"Hari, get up, wash your face, you have no fever. Your temperature feels normal. Let's go to Bhubaneswar club and have a few bottles of beer and some delicious kebab and tikka. After that I will drop you at home. The beer will wash away your fever like flood waters cleaning up a heap of muck. Don't worry, it's not Rabies. Any way once we go home after lunch I will ask our class mate Dr. Bijay Dash to come and take a look at you."

Harishankar looked up like a zombie. There was no doubt he was scared, awfully scared. I invited Dibakar and Manoj also to join us for lunch and beer at the Club. They smiled and said, the boss can have beer and even attend a cabaret dance during office hours, but not the flunkeys. If anyone sees the duo enjoying beer during lunch hours, they would lose their job.

At Bhubaneswar Club I ordered Harishankar's favourite brand Kingfisher Ultra and plenty of snacks to go with it. He sipped a few drops and hardly touched the sheekh kebab and fish finger, which he would have licked clean at normal times in the blink of an eye. He looked at me in a strange way, his mind in turmoil.

"You know Anirudh, I had so many dreams, to build a temple in my village, to make a monthly donation to an orphanage and to an old age home. All those dreams will remain unfulfilled. I will be carrying so many regrets with me. I had promised to the Headmaster of my school a job for his graduate son, I could not do it, just kept postponing. You know, I have made enough savings for my family, there is a secret vault below one of the big tiles in the kitchen, only my wife Sunanda and I know the exact location. There is cash, jewellery and documents for land and seven apartments hidden there - all worth more than twenty crores. Yet my wife and our two sons are not happy, they have been asking me to take them to Singapore and Australia on vacation. I have been promising them for the last two years, but postponing. Soon I will become a framed photograph on the wall. Whenever they look at my photo they will remember my unfulfilled promises. Anirudh, can you imagine my becoming a photograph on the wall at the age of just forty eight? O my God, O my God!"

Harishankar covered his face with his hands and started sobbing. I was stunned. For the first time since morning I started believing he probably had got Rabies and he was convinced that his death was imminent. It was disconcerting to see our daring, cunning, street-smart friend breaking down so miserably.

I patted his hand and asked him to have patience. I assured him that as soon as we finished lunch we would go home and call Dr. Bijay Dash to examine him.

Harishankar shook his head,

"No point Anirudh, no one can save me. I am going to pay for my sins. God knows what sins I have committed and He is going to hit me with a hammer, the hammer of justice."

I was surprised,

"Sins? What sins? These days which engineer is not taking his cuts from contractor's payment and supply bills? You are calling it a sin? Then in your office everyone is a sinner, can God strike all of them with a hammer?"

Harishankar's face broke into a thousand pieces of agony,

"No, no Anirudh, you won't understand, making money in Works department is no big sin, we consider a part of our entitlement, but enjoying the nubile beauty of young girls? Is it also a part of the entitlement?"

I felt as if the earth was sinking from under me. Young girls? I asked him in a whisper,

"Enjoying young girls? When did you do it? You never told us?"

Harishankar told a story which was captivating, but deeply disturbing.

"After I joined here, I used to go to different sites for inspection. One day I landed up at Baliguda where we had the largest project going. The contractor was a young man from Chhatisgarh, Ajay Pratap Singh, smart, educated, English-speaking. I was quite impressed with him and invited him for drinks in the evening. We jelled quite well, he was a postgraduate in Political Science from Delhi University, but joined the family business of Civil works, his father and grandfather were also contractors. We talked of various things - politics, officials, corruption, films, heroines, their beauty and gradually veered into colourful talks. While leaving after drinks he held my hands and said, 'Sir, please don't mind. I have kept a gift in your room. I hope you will accept my gift and come back soon so that we can enjoy another evening together.' With a mysterious smile he left. I was in an euphoric mood, thanks to the Single Malt Glenfiddich whisky he had brought for the evening. When I entered the room in the project guest house, I stopped at the door spellbound. There, under the dim blue light was the most stunningly beautiful girl I had ever seen. Yes, Jasmine was one in a million girl - Anirudh, no words of mine can describe her beauty adequately, nor I can tell you the ecstatic pleasure of that night. With her fair complexion, and a perfect body, she was like an apsara sent by God to dazzle the earth. She was fairly educated and spoke perfect Hindi. She told me the Sahab had brought her from Bilaspur with the promise of a job. I took out a bundle of notes from my briefcase and gave it to her. It was ten thousand rupees, and her eyes got wide looking at it. Obviously she had not seen so much money in her life. Anirudh, she was not a professional call girl,at eighteen years of age she was a newly bloomed flower waiting to be caressed with soft fingers. But she was unique, she had a natural talent to give pleasure. That night was the best ever in my life........"

Harishankar sat, with his eyes closed, probably revelling in the sweet memory of that unforgettable night.

"I was to leave the next morning, but I stayed back for four days. I was so enamoured by Jasmine that I didn't want to leave. Ajay Pratap promised to me that he would reserve her only for me. He kept his promise. I went to Baliguda every month for inspection, staying for two-three nights and enjoying the company of Jasmine as if my whole life depended on that. In the two years that I visited Baliguda I must have spent around ten lakh rupees on her, gifting her cash, jewellery, perfume, sarees and dresses. Money meant nothing to me, I was obsessed with her beauty and no amount of money was adequate for the pleasure she gave me.....And then one day it suddenly stopped. I had not gone on inspection for two months. Annual audit, visit by a team of observers from USAID, and then two reviews by Chief Minister kept me busy. When I went to Baliguda after two months I found Ajay Pratap had been taken away from the project by his father and the old man had assigned another person. I asked the watchman about Jasmine. He told me that her father had taken a huge bride price and given her away in marriage to a young man from Indore. My heart broke into pieces. That night the new manager had arranged another girl, Rubina. But I was not interested. If Jasmine was like a freshly plucked flower, Rubina was an over ripe fruit. I gave her some money and sent her away, asking her not to come again. From next month I stopped going to Baliguda."

I asked Harishankar whether his wife knew about his affair with Jasmine. He shook his head,

"I don't think she knew, she never gave me a hint that she knew. Even at the project site except Ajay Prasad and the watchman nobody knew. But Anirudh, God knew and He has punished me for my sins, for being unfaithful to my wife. It's just a matter of two-three days. I will become a framed photo on the wall. Will Sunanda put a fresh garland of flowers on the photo everyday? Or will she forget me? Will my children miss me? Anirudh, I don't want to leave, not so early, but I know I am going to die. I am going to die Anirudh, like a dog, salivating in the mouth, face swollen, the watery eyes shedding tears and howling a painful barking cry....."

To my horror Harishankar suddenly started howling like a dog in a loud, frightening manner. The other customers in the restaurant were shocked, they thought Harishankar was hopelessly drunk and stared pitiably at him, some ladies started giggling. I was deeply embarrassed, I called the waiter, gave him a thousand rupees and dragged Harishankar out. On the way to his home I called Dr. Bijay Dash. He told me he would come around five. Sunanda was in a state of shock, Harishankar must have warned her of his impending death.

We put Harishankar to bed and waited for the doctor to come. Somehow the idiot Dibakar had let it slip in the office that Harishankar had Rabies and may not survive more than a couple of days. When Bijay, our friend came to visit, he was shocked to see more than fifty persons outside. He got down from the car and started screaming,

"Is he dead, has Hari died waiting for me? If not, why you donkeys are here, crowding the place? Do you want to kill him, suffocating the air around his house? Bloody rascals, go away from here!"

He gave a murderous look at me,

"What is this tamasha going on here? Why have you gathered all these people here? Anyway where is the patient? Let me see him."

Harishankar started crying, looking at Bijay, who screamed again,

"Hey, all of you, clear this room first. Why are so many people here as if the blighter has already died? Leave, leave, in half a minute I want this room to be cleared of the crowd. Sunanda, Anirudh, you stay and tell me what has happened to this son of a donkey."

Our friend was a competent doctor but an incompetent fool when it came to soothing talk. I told him whatever I knew. Sunanda added a few details. Bijay stared at Hari, his screams got louder,

"You idiot, six days since the dog bite and you have applied some freaking 'oint' and kept quiet? You donkey, you deserve to die, no doctor can save you. And this wound, it clearly has got septic. What were you doing all these days, just warming your buttocks on a hot plate? Hey Anirudh, run to the pharmacy and buy these antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs. I will send someone in half an hour to collect the blood sample. If Rabies has set in, this idiot will die. Let's hope for the best and pray."

Bijay stormed out, unmindful of the loud wails of Sunanda. As I came out to see him off we found Dibakar standing in a corner of the veranda. Bijay shouted at him,

"You idiot, son of a skunk, you should be flogged in the public. Don't you know only a doctor can pronounce someone dead? Why did you spread Hari's news in the office before I gave my verdict?"

Dibakar winced, I felt like going near him and punching him on the face, but I had to hurry to get the antibiotics. When I returned with the medicines I found Sunanda making arrangements to send someone to Ooty, to get their two kids from the Boarding School. The man was to leave by flight next morning and be back with the kids on the third day.

Some technician from a lab came and collected the blood sample from Hari, who was lying, with eyes closed, tears flowing endlessly. Fever had returned and Harishankar was in a sort of delirium. He kept on talking about his framed photo on the wall and fresh garlands every morning. Quite strangely, he had also started howling like a dog, slowly, in a whining manner. He was convinced that Rabies had set in and he had only a few hours left before he kicked the bucket. He repeatedly asked Sunanda to call the kids home so that he could see them "one last time."

I left the place. My heart was heavy with grief. My wife and I came back in the night to be with Sunanda and guard against any emergency. Dibakar and Manoj waited outside, huddled in the veranda, like two pathetic bundles who the garbage collector had forgot to collect.

By next evening the fever subsided, the wound on the leg looked less frightening. Obviously the heavy antibiotics worked. Bijay came and took a look, but he was not satisfied,

"Till the Lab report comes nothing can be predicted. Let the idiot suffer for being so stupid. What's the point in having tons of money if you don't have a pinch of intelligence?"

The stream of visitors from office came to enquire about Harishankar's condition. They were handled by Manoj and Dibakar. The minister called on phone and spoke to the poor wretch, pouring loads of sympathy.

On the third evening Bijay rushed in, for a change there was a rare smile on his face. The Rabies report had come negative. The antibiotics had worked wonders. Harishankar's fever was gone, the wound was healing and looked less intimidating. Bijay patted the miserable bloke on the back, although to me it looked like he was giving him hard slaps,

"You idiot, son of a champion donkey, you escaped this time. Next time anyone other than your wife bites you get the anti-Rabies injection immediately. Now let's celebrate. Next week arrange a party at Mayfair, only a few close friends and a dozen bottles of Chivas Regal. Ask one of your contractors to keep a truck outside so that at midnight our sozzled bodies will be transported home."

With this dream of a fabled night, Bijay left and light returned to Hari's home. The first thing Sunanda did was to recall the man sent to Ooty. No need to disturb the kids. Their dad was going to live. The framed photograph would wait.

Two days later Harishankar joined in office. It was a Wednesday. We met him in his chamber. There was a celebratory mood, the zing was back in air. We were glad to see a piece of Black Forest pastry along with the usual delicacies. Harishankar was all smiles,

"Eat well my friends, this is like the last supper. From tomorrow you will see me in another room, a modest, good-for-nothing office."

When the words sunk in, we froze in terror. Dibakar who had managed to spread a liberal dose of Black Forest around his mouth stuttered,

"L..l..l..a..a..a..sat supper? What do you mean?"

Harishankar smiled again, it looked grotesque in the changed environment, a host of dark clouds had descended in his chamber and enveloped everything in darkness.

"Although the Honourable Minister, the humble servant of the public had called me to pour his sympathy and to wish me a speedy recovery, he had already put my post on auction, since this is the most remunerative goldmine in the Works Division. The Buffoon had concluded that I won't survive and he had probably earmarked a date on the calendar to attend my funeral, the joker would have probably rehearsed a condolence speech also. Anyway Ramesh Baral won in the auction, the orders will be issued this afternoon and he will rush to take over."

It was bad news for all of us, the beneficiaries of Harishankar's munificence. In a broken voice Manoj whispered,

"Where are you going? To which post?"

It seems Harishankar's smile had not faded,

"To Maintenance Division. I requested the Minister to post me there. I want to spend the rest of my service period there."

The three of us repeated our singing-national-anthem-together act,

"Holy shit! Maintenance Division? Why?"

Harishankar's smile got wider, he made a pathetic attempt to light up the room, but failed miserably.

"After a close encounter with death, I have decided to whitewash myself. I have taken a pledge before God that I will not earn black money again in life. My future will be white, only white."

Dibakar made a whining noise which almost sounded like a cross between a sneeze and a sob. Manoj was struggling for words, it was obvious his mind had got clouded with dark despair.

I looked at Harishankar. I knew somewhere there was a catch. And then it struck me. I asked him,

"So, what are you going to do with all that you have earned so far?"

Harishankar's smile turned sly, like a cunning wolf grinning at a dumb prey. He didn't offer an answer. And I realised, our smart friend has only pledged to whitewash his future, like a true Indian he has preserved his past, safely tucking it away in a secret vault under some nondescript tiles in the kitchen.

LATA MANGESHKAR LIVES FOREVER

Viewers Comments

Asha Gopan

I loved this sparkling edition of L.V.114th. The musings on BIRDS AND CHILDREN by the phenomenal writer Lathaprem Miss,is reflects the benevolent personality of the character Kanaka, and as usual by keeping simplicity as the icon of her writing she opened up the important message of 'giving' .Sundar Rajan sir through his amazing story' THE PRIZE', has expressed an apt fact which we could commonly see among most of the hurry burry parents with busy life style, of this mordern world. The employed parents hardly have any time to spend and care for their children. The 'WHITEWASH' by the spectacular writer Mrutyunjay Sir is another interesting story through which I saw, how the munificence of God worked even favourably for a wrong person like the character of Harishanker, from the moment he started to rue about his past mistakes. I read 'PRACTICE OF HUMILITY' by Dr. Viyatprajna as if I enjoyed a good romantic movie.

Mar, 06, 2022
Dr.Avarani Nanda,Rtd.Reader,

The short story "Journey" penned by Dr. Radharani Nanda beautifully depicts about how destiny plays role in our lives. Sometimes things takes a different route from what we had imagined for ourselves. But as the saying goes what is meant to be always finds it's way. Morale of the story is when life takes unexpected turn then without a doubt in heart follow the route because finally that route will lead you to your destiny.

Mar, 05, 2022
Muralidhar Panigrahi

"ON THE BANKS OF THE HISTORIC NILE"- by Sri G. C. Roul. Yet anather superb article indeed, so inimitably penned covering the entire gamut of phenomena associated with the significance attached to river Nile ,the largest river in the world.The article also refers how it shaped the economy, geography, demography, ethics and ethos of various countries situated on the banks of the river.Thoroughly enjoyed reading it and my hearty kudos to the author. Hope, the author would continue to enthral his ardent readers thru his brilliant literary works.All the very best.

Mar, 05, 2022
Bhabesh Chandra Mohanty

The article on the historic Nile is simply added a feather in the cap of an adept travelogue writer Gourang Charan Roul. As usual the writer has done justice in describing the history and beauty of the gorgeous Nile.

Mar, 04, 2022
Manoj Bezbaruah

Sruti, I have read whole the blog in one sit, your presentation is alluringly incomparable, you have the potential to showcase our rich Assamese culture and history before the world. Best of luck to Sruti. From- Manoj Dada (Correction: Removed one word which appeared earlier due to typos)

Mar, 02, 2022
Narottam Rath

The travelogue of Sri G.C.Roul, on the banks of river Nile, is fascinating and read worthy. It takes me to my school days. In class 6th we had an essay on Dr.Livingstone his journey through river Zambezi and Victoria Fall and his death due to kalajar in Africa. The two major tributaries of Nile,white and blue Nile derive their names from the color of the sediments they carry in their streams. The writing flow of Sri Roul is as smooth as the flow of Nile. It seems he has visited,seen and observed minutely the flow of the river and has read the history of Nile in detail. He has not mentioned in detail about flora and founa found in the river. The main attraction being the Hippos. Overall the article is enjoyable and I wish more such articles from his pen.

Feb, 27, 2022
sunil biswal

What an editorial!!! Apart from being an excellent tribute to legendary Lata Mangeskar, it was a musical recounting of a lost time. My ears were abuzz with the tunes one after another I I read on the editorial. An indescribable feeling of an idle summer afternoon when one retires to sofa/armchair/bed to catch few winks with radio softly playing a countdown of lullabies of immortal Hindi songs.

Feb, 26, 2022
Manoj

Sruti, I have read whole the blog in one sit, your presentation is abysmally incomparable, you have the potential to showcase our rich Assamese culture and history before the world. Best of luck to Sruti.???? From- Manoj Dada

Feb, 26, 2022
Sarada Prasad Mishra

I have gone through the topic in respect of River Nile by Sri G C Roul and had idea about the longest river in the world as wel as a mysterious one.It has different colours in different countries through which it flows.Where it is white,where blue, yellow etc.The famous historian called the river is gift of God to Egypt.Famous explorer David Livingstone lost his life while exploring the source of river.Real fascinating.Thanks for the information about the great river.

Feb, 25, 2022

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Literary Vibes - Edition CXIV (25-Feb-2022) - POEMS, SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES

Table of Contents :: POEMS

Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES

Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC

SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES

LATA MANGESHKAR LIVES FOREVER

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Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVII (29-Nov-2024) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS

Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVII (29-Nov-2024) - SHORT STORIES

Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVII (29-Nov-2024) - YOUNG MAGIC

TETRA PHOBIA

Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVI (25-Oct-2024) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS

Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVII (29-Nov-2024) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS

Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVII (29-Nov-2024) - SHORT STORIES