Literary Vibes - Edition CXLIV (30-Aug-2024) - SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
Title : Ken, My Cocker Spaniel (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
An acclaimed Painter, a published poet, a self-styled green woman passionately planting fruit trees, a published translator, and a former Professor, Lathaprem Sakhya, was born to Tamil parents settled in Kerala. Widely anthologized, she is a regular contributor of poems, short stories and paintings to several e-magazines and print books. Recently published anthologies in which her stories have come out are Ether Ore, Cocoon Stories, and He She It: The Grammar of Marriage. She is a member of the executive board of Aksharasthree the Literary Woman and editor of the e - magazines - Aksharasthree and Science Shore. She is also a vibrant participant in 5 Poetry groups. Aksharasthree - The Literary Woman, Literary Vibes, India Poetry Circle and New Voices and Poetry Chain. Her poetry books are Memory Rain, 2008, Nature At My Doorstep, 2011 and Vernal Strokes, 2015. She has done two translations of novels from Malayalam to English, Kunjathol 2022, (A translation of Shanthini Tom's Kunjathol) and Rabboni 2023 ( a Translation of Rosy Thampy's Malayalam novel Rabboni) and currently she is busy with two more projects.
Table of Contents - SHORT STORIES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
LITERARY VIBES
02) Dilip Mohapatra
CHEERING CHARLIES
03) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
04) Snehaprava Das
THE LIVE PAINTING
05) Ishwar Pati
MERGING TWO WORLDS
16) Dr. Sukanti Mohapatra
A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
07) Hema Ravi
WHEN ART, ARCHITECTURE AND TRADITION BECKON
08) Usha Surya
THE KANGAROO GENTLEMAN
09) Meena Mishra
CUPID CAME CALLING
10) Dr. K. Rajamouly
A SCHOLAR AND A WRESTLER
11) Sreekumar T V
LIPSTICK
12) Jay Jagdev
PEACE, PIECE BY PIECE
13) Satish Pashine
The Haunted Haveli
14) Gokul Chandra Mishra
BILAGAON - A CHILDHOOD MEMORY
14) Malabika Patel
KABARKHANA
15) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
TRAPPED IN TIME
16) Dr.Protiva Rani Karmaker
THE REFLECTION OF LOVE IN LITERATURE
17) Bankim Chandra Tola
PATIENCE
18) Kunal Roy
THE ART OF PHOTOGRAPHY: MUCH TO UNRAVEL!
19) N RANGAMANI
SACRIFICING FLOWERS, AND....?
20) Ashok Kumar Mishra
SRI CHAITANYA BHAKTI CULT, PANCHASAKHAS(FIVE GREAT PEERS) AND ITS IMPACT ON SOCIO-CULTURAL LIFE OF ODISHA
THE WITCH
21) Sreeja Sree
A NOMINAL CHANGE OF COURSE IN HISTORY
22) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: ATOMIC THOUGHTS ABOUT THE LITTLE BOY AND FAT MAN !
23) Sreechandra Banerjee
NEVER NEGLECT
TYING THE KNOT OF FRIENDSHIP ON RAKSHA BANDHAN
24) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
KHUSI
Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
She was a scientist with no interest in literature or any form of art. Her fiancé, however, was a well-respected writer and critic. She would often question him about the sole purpose of literature. He offered her numerous explanations, but she argued against each one and always won the debate.
One day, she confessed to him that her broken family was the reason she fell in love with him. If she had grown up with loving parents, she might never have considered falling in love at all. This revelation pained him, as he had always believed it was his status as a writer that attracted her to him. Despite her insensitivity, he knew her love for him was genuine, and he had no complaints.
“Really? My situation is different,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness and disappointment.
“How so?” she asked.
“If I had grown up with an affectionate father and a pampering mother, and remained single just as I am now, and if I had proposed my love to you as you did to me, and you had rejected me as you didn’t, I would have done something quite different.”
“Walked away, right?” she suggested.
“No,” he replied. “I would have waited for you all my life.”
Her heart sank, but she also felt a strange happiness. She knew he meant it, and his deep love for her touched her profoundly. She wondered why she couldn’t love him with the same intensity he showed her.
With tears in her eyes, she stood up from the park bench and bid him farewell, promising to meet him later at the theater for a late-night show.
That night, they watched a film and both found it quite enjoyable. They couldn’t tell if their feelings of care and affection for each other had influenced their enjoyment of the movie, which was just a typical musical romance—nothing extraordinary.
Later that evening, she received a WhatsApp message from him:
Dear,
Thank you for the wonderful evening and night.
I am quoting here from Love in the Time of Cholera:
Florentino Ariza:
"I have waited for this opportunity for fifty-one years, nine months, and four days."
Fermina Daza:
"Don't be ridiculous, Florentino. We are old... too old for this."
Florentino Ariza:
"It is life, more than death, that has no limits."
Fermina Daza:
"What are you talking about?"
Florentino Ariza:
"I have never stopped thinking about you. Never."
Fermina Daza:
"It’s too late, Florentino."
Florentino Ariza:
"Too late for what? For love? Don’t say that. We have all the time in the world to love each other."
In reality, my dear, when I said I would wait for you until the end of my life, I don’t think I fully meant it. I was surprised I even said it. But I am happy that I did. I am proud that such a thought crossed my mind. If I were to wait, I would consider myself the happiest man on earth, and I would thank Gabriel García Márquez for inspiring such thoughts.
This is what literature is for: to inspire us to do great things, to say profound things that bring us joy, and to have thoughts that make us proud of ourselves.
And here's a quote from the movie The Mexicans:
Samantha:
"When two people love each other but they just can't seem to get along, when do you say enough is enough?"
Leroy:
"Never."
Samantha:
"Never?"
Leroy:
"Never."
Samantha:
"But what if it’s not working?"
Leroy:
"It doesn’t matter. You just don’t give up. You stay."
Dear, this is what movies and books can make of us. I am who I am not because of my own thoughts alone, but because of what others think, care about, and create.
She knew that the film they watched that night was nothing compared to the life she imagined with him. She turned off the bedroom lamp and smiled, believing that her smile would light up the room once more.
Sreekumar Ezhuththaani known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala.
Dilip Mohapatra
It was a Saturday evening in the month of September. Sub Lieutenant Chinmulgund showed his ID card to the security personnel at the Lion’s Gate of the Naval Dockyard in Mumbai and rode his scooter to the South Breakwater Jetty. He was to join his ship berthed there. It was his first ever afloat appointment post his training and he was excited with anticipation and apprehensions. He lugged his nap sack and walked up the gangway, paused a while to salute the quarterdeck as is the custom and stepped on board. He was met by the Officer of the Day who welcomed him on board and asked the Quarter Master to escort him to his allotted cabin. He was allotted a double bunked cabin which he was to share with another watch keeping officer, one Lieutenant Sam Joseph. Sam welcomed him with open arms and asked him to occupy the top bunk and showed him the cupboard which he could use to put his stuff in. Both of them then proceeded to the wardroom where most of the officers had already assembled for their drinks and dinner.
‘ Good evening gentlemen, may I have the honour to present the new member of our gang, Chinmulgund, you all may call him Chin,’ announced Sam while clapping to draw everyone’s attention.
‘ Hello Chin, welcome on board’, the Executive Officer of the ship Commander Dhawan greeted him while shaking his hand in a tight grip, and continued,’ gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome our new member. Incidentally today is the last day for him as a one striper. Tomorrow he gets his second stripe. Let’s congratulate him and wish him many more.’
‘ Hey Chin, welcome on board and congratulations,’ everyone chorused.
‘ Chin, hope you know our customs. Tomorrow is your day. Don’t forget to hoist the Gin Pennant,’Sam advised.
‘Sure sir, it would be my pleasure.’
Chin was to be promoted to the next rank of Lieutenant the next day. The traditional naval way to celebrate such occasion is to host a pre-lunch drinks party by the officer in the wardroom where all members congregate. A designated green pennant with a yellow strip in the middle, known as the Gin Pennant is hoisted on the ship’s mast. This in fact is a signal for an open invitation to all officers from the ships berthed in the wharf, to join the celebrations . The Captain of the ship is specially invited to this ceremony. He does the honour to ship the new stripes on the shoulder of the officer getting promotion. Every officer present then say cheers, raise a toast and congratulate the newly promoted officer by wetting the new stripes with their drinks. This ritual sometimes gets boisterous and brother officers literally pour mugs of beer on the new shining stripes.
The next day all the ship’s officers and few from the adjoining ships thronged the wardroom to participate in the stripe-wetting ceremony. The Captain arrived dot on time and congratulated Chin. A steward brought the new stripes on a silver tray covered in blue velvet cloth. The captain then fixed the new stripes on Chin while everyone present clapped. Then everyone raised their mugs of beer to toast for Chin. Chin was the only officer holding a tall glass of Coke. When the Captain looked at him with raised eyebrows Chin said apologetically that he was a teetotaller. The Captain then smirked and asked the Executive Officer to take care of it, with a jovial wink. The Executive Officer seemed to have understood the Captain’s intention and softly clicked his heels in acknowledgement. The Captain thereafter sprinkled few drops of his beer on the new stripes, wished Chin a glorious future and left. After his departure the stripe wetting gathered momentum amidst guffaws and cheers. The ceremony dragged on till late afternoon. Finally all dispersed after lunch. But before everyone left, the Executive Officer made an announcement, ‘ Gentlemen, as authorised by the Captain, it gives me great pleasure to announce that from today onwards Lieutenant Chinmulgund in addition to his normal duties as a watch keeping officer, is assigned the special duty of the ‘Child Care Officer (CCO)’ of the ship, until further orders. As you all know by our ship’s tradition, this crown is worn by only a teetotaller. In this capacity Chin would get the special privilege to take care of all the children of our ship’s officers and crew in all social family gatherings, including the family days at sea.’
Chin soon settled down well with the ship’s routine, like a fish takes to water. He had no idea what awaited him in the babysitting space, since the ship was fully operational and was very busy in missions and exercises across the west coast. The first opportunity came in December during the Navy Week celebrations. It was the Navy Day. The ship was dressed overall as a sign of celebration and wore a ceremonial look. As a maritime tradition on special occasions, colourful signal flags are strung on the dressing line that extends from the jackstaff till the ensign staff through the main mast. During night after sunset the illumination garlands along the ship’s outline glow clearly demarcating its shape against the dark canvas. The ship was open to the public during the day. In the evening the ship hosted a community feast popularly known as ‘barakhana’ for the officers’ and sailors’ families, which included the children. Chin assisted by a sailor from the lower decks was given the charge to take care of the kids while the parents were engaged in multiple cultural and entertainment activities planned for them. A special area was cordoned on the quarter deck for the entertainment of the children, which consisted of some games and competitions under personal supervision of Chin. The very first experience with so many kids ranging from toddlers to teenagers was not very palatable to Chin. The children went helter skelter on the quarterdeck trying to explore and examine each and every fitting on board. Some older boys and girls were seen enacting the Titanic pose for photographs turn by turn near the ensign staff at the stern of the ship, while some were trying to explore how they may roll off the life rafts from their racks. A few adventurous boys had ventured to climb up the davits to enter the life boats hanging and tried to swing it like a shuggy boat in a fair. With much difficulty Chin managed to hoard them together and invited them to a magic show which was planned for them. The children were engrossed with the show for sometime. In the final act when the magician attempted to pull out the rabbit out of the bag, he pulled out a wiggly rubber snake in stead. Some smart kid had quietly done the switch. The magician got startled and as a reflex action, threw it at the audience causing a pandemonium. It took quite sometime to control them and put them back on their seats. Chin thought the ordeal was over but destiny had something else in store . After the magic show the kids got restless once again. Dinner was about an hour away. Chin had another activity up his sleeve. He started drawing their attention for a pirate game session that he had planned. He quickly tied a polka dotted bandana on his head, put on a black T shirt with a white skull logo and added a black patch on his left eye to transform himself into a pirate Captain. The kids were designated as his mates and crew. The game involved Chin to hide in the vicinity of the designated area on the upper deck and the kids were to flush him out. Things took a turn for the worst when the kids took the game rather seriously. The hunt began in right earnest. The kids were seen scurrying across the alleys and all the nooks and corners of the deck looking for Chin. Soon they found him hiding behind a bollard and captured him. Then they led him to the quarterdeck and forcefully tied him to the grating. They then declared a mutiny on deck and demanded ice creams for everyone as ransom to release him. He had to ask the sailor assisting him, to organise the ice cream bars from the ship’s galley urgently and the situation was saved. By this time Chin was tired and exasperated. He was cursing his fate when dinner was announced. The ship’s stewards came and guided the kids to the dining area where buffet dinner was served for them. Chin heaved a sigh of relief.
The next few weeks passed peacefully for Chin. He was busy with the preparations for his ship’s forthcoming foreign cruise. His squadron consisting of three ships was tasked to proceed on a goodwill mission to Madagascar. Before they set off on the mission the Commanding Officer of the senior ship had requested the Captain of Chin’s ship to temporarily transfer Chin to his ship for the period of the cruise. He had heard about Chin handling the kids efficiently on the Navy Day and wanted Chin to handle the children of the guests in the foreign port at the civic reception being planned on board.
It was a beautiful morning when the ships entered the Antsiranana harbour. Antsiranana located on the northernmost tip of Madagascar was previously known as Diego Suarez. Chin was on bridge watch when his ship entered the picturesque natural harbour. The captain gave him the con to bring the ship alongside the assigned berth and he did a splendid job. After the ship was secured fore and aft, the crew off the watch were allowed to proceed ashore on liberty. Almost all officers except a few who were on duty for the day, were also permitted to proceed ashore and enjoy the former French colony and its pristine beaches. But Chin had to move to the senior squadron ship which was preparing for the civic reception on board. The local dignitaries and the prominent people from the Indian diaspora were invited to the ship for pre-lunch drinks and exchange of pleasantries as is the custom. Their families including the children were invited too to visit the ship. The Squadron Commander welcomed Chin on board and asked him to conduct the children’s tour of the ship. Chin acknowledged with an ‘aye aye sir’ accompanied with a smart salute.
The children arrived with their parents and were escorted to the wardroom for a welcome drink. The adult guests were ushered to the quarterdeck which wore a festive look with awnings and colourful buntings. Meanwhile in the wardroom Chin did a head count of the children. There were thirteen of them. Though Chin never believed in superstitions he was a slightly uneasy with the number. One can’t blame the poor guy. As they say, ‘once bitten twice shy!’ Chin started with a small briefing about the ships, their roles, their categories and broadly how they function. He then queued them up and led them to the bridge of the ship. He categorically instructed them not to touch any equipment and be attentive. One boy asked why do they call the ship’s command centre as bridge. Chin explained that in the earlier days the control and navigation of steam ships used to be handled from a raised platform or a bridge-like structure spanning across the ship. The structure allowed the captain and officers to have a clear view of the ship and the surroundings. On paddle steamers it was literally a bridge between the paddle housings on either side of the ships. On modern ships as the design evolved, the term ‘bridge’ stuck, though this is an enclosed space. But it is still at a higher elevation from where the ship’s operations are managed.
Then Chin showed them the ship’s radar displays, the echo sounder and the Satnav and explained their functions. Suddenly the ship’s fire alarm went off and the ship’s bell started ringing incessantly all across the decks and compartments. Then it was all chaos and panic. The ship’s firefighters ran around to find the source of the fire so as to bring it under control. Some of them started evacuating people. The guests on the quarterdeck were guided out of the ship onto the jetty. Chin tried to gather his young guests and lead them to the gangway. Then one of the boys came up to Chin and apologetically pleaded to excuse him. On Chin’s questioning he sheepishly admitted that he was the one who pushed the fire alarm switch on the bridge to see what actually happened. Chin didn’t know what to do. He ran to the Officer Of the Day and told him about the faux pas. Somehow the situation was brought under control after it was announced on the ship’s broadcast system that it was a false alarm.
The Squadron Commander when learnt about the cause of the chaos, was livid with rage. After the guests left, he consulted with Chin’s Captain and summoned Chin to his cabin. Chin guessed very well what was coming. He mustered all his courage and knocked on the door. The Squadron Commander expressed his displeasure for what had happened on his watch. He was red in the face with embarrassment for having cut a sorry figure in a foreign port. He put the blame squarely on Chin for his lack of control over a small group of kids. He advised him to improve his Officer-Like-Qualities. He then logged his name in the ship’s log for dereliction of duty and denied permission to proceed ashore during the entire three days’ stay at the foreign port. He was ordered to be on duty on the ship continuously for three days. Chin left his cabin totally crest fallen.
On the return passage to home port Chin sailed on his own ship. He quietly carried out his duties on board. He stayed aloof from everyone. All his brother officers sympathised with him and tried to cheer him up. But Chin was not communicative. He was always brooding and contemplating how he could extricate himself from this extraneous responsibility of Child Care Officer, which was the root cause of his despair. Late one evening, he was lying on the top bunk in his cabin and looking vacantly through the port hole, while ships entered and departed the harbour through the opening of the breakwaters. There was a feeble knock and his cabin mate Sam entered.
‘ Hey mate, how are you feeling this evening?’, asked Sam
‘ As usual. Trying to figure out how the hell can I escape the duties of CCO? It’s really a shitty duty that anyone can ask for.’
‘ Alright, let’s find out why in the first place this duty came to you?’
‘ I was told that the Captain picked me up since I was a teetotaller.’
‘ Correct. So unless you change your status you continue to remain the CCO.’
‘ But what the hell can I do ?’
‘ I will advise that you join our club, which we call Cheering Charlies. We are active when the ship is not sailing and only during the weekends. Once you enrol yourself in the club, you will see how things would change.’
‘ Tell me what does this club promise?’
‘ Buddy, as the name suggests we meet together and say Cheers! Listen to some good music and build a close camaraderie. Our motto: one for all and all for one.’
‘ You mean to say that to shake off the tag of ‘teetotaller’ , I better join this club.’
‘ Yes, but your membership will be approved by the Chairman of the club only after you go through an initiation ceremony successfully.’
‘ Who is the Chairman?’
‘ Commander Vikram Rathore, our Logistics Officer who also is the President Mess Committee (PMC).’
‘ OK brother. To get rid of the CCO job, anything is acceptable. Please speak to him.’
‘Done. Now you cheer up.’
The next Saturday evening, Sam accompanied Chin to the wardroom, where almost all the in-living officers had assembled. Commander Rathore was comfortably seated on the special chair meant for the PMC. He gave a wide smile to Chin and called him to sit next to him.
‘“OK Chin, I believe you want to join our club Cheering Charlies. But as Sam must have told you, you would have to go through your initiation that happens in three stages. The first stage is called ‘kissing the monk’. The second stage is ‘tasting the tonic’ and the third stage is ‘taming the dog’. Once you successfully complete these stages you will get your membership. Understood?”
“Sir, as you know I am in a desperate situation. If this would help me to get rid of my Child-Care duties for good, I am prepared to cross the three stages today itself.’
“ Oh, really? Can you do that? You surely sound desperate but confident.”
He then gestured to the steward to serve Chin the first drink, Coke sprinkled with few drops of Old Monk rum. Chin accepted it , held his breath, closed his eyes and took a large sip. The officers clapped in glee. Chin waited to see if he felt high. But nothing happened. Then the officers urged him to do bottoms up and he finished the drink in one go. The Chairman declared that Chin had kissed the Monk and cleared the first stage. Chin was now keen to go to the second stage. The steward made a drink of gin and tonic water, the gin content not exceeding ten ml. Chin took the glass and finished the contents in one continuous gulp. The officers clapped once again. The Chairman patted Chin on his back and declared that he had crossed the second stage. For third stage the steward prepared a Scotch and Soda concoction with thirty ml of Black Dog whiskey and a bottle of Soda. Chin was looking cheerful and eager to try the third drink. Sam whispered the advice in his ears to drink it slowly, enjoying each swig deliberately. Chin started sipping the drink slowly while all the officers charged their glasses and clinked with Chin’s glass and chorused “Cheers to our new member”. Chin started relishing the liquid in his mouth and was feeling light in the head. His worst fear of compromising with his principles had disappeared. There was no guilt feeling either.
Then someone knocked on the door of the wardroom. The steward opened the door and admitted a young officer dressed in a jean and T shirt. The officer wished the gathering and introduced himself as Lieutenant Chidgupkar who had just joined the ship as the watch-keeping engineer officer. The PMC welcomed him to the wardroom and asked the steward to offer him a drink. The officer shyly asked for a juice in stead.
“Don’t tell me you are a teetotaller,” exclaimed the PMC and continued,” alright gentlemen, let’s raise a toast to our new Child Care Officer. Cheers!”
Everyone including Chin raised their glasses and echoed,”Cheers”, Chin’s voice being the loudest.
Dilip Mohapatra, a decorated Navy Veteran is a well acclaimed poet in contemporary English and his poems appear in many literary journals of repute and anthologies worldwide. He has seven poetry collections, one short story collection and two professional books to his credit. He is a regular contributor to Literary Vibes. He the recipient of multiple awards for his literary activities, which include the prestigious Honour Award for complete work under Naji Naaman Literary Awards for 2020. He holds the honorary title of ‘Member of Maison Naaman pour la Culture’. He lives in Pune and his email id is dilipmohapatra@gmail.com
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Vidyut Sharma was taken into the police custody from a busy chowk of his hallowed city. He had been sent there by his wife after the morning tea to buy fresh vegetables and meat. He took the police-incident initially as a huge joke or a misunderstanding. He was the reputed senior professor of a government-run reputed college of the provincial capital city with a spotless career. Why should he be daunted by such a small slip by the police?
He and his wife Rehana were professors, teaching English literature, in the same government-run college of the city. They were proud of their city for its pluralistic culture, and itsTahjeeb, a high-end politeness bordering excessive civility.
Also, the city boasted of the famed Mujra, famously known for its art form and as a culturally dyed forum of entertainment, a dance form improvised on the classical Kathak accompanied by Ghazals and body language, mixing Bhakti with sensuality with sexual innuendoes, touching the libidinous core of the heart, addressing love, the pain of separation, loneliness, longing, pining away for the beloved, and melting unions, all associated with love.
After marriage, his Muslim wife brought into his Hindu home the Tahjeeb, more prevalent among the well-heeled Muslim families, and that way their family-behavioural pattern brought them kudos from neighbours and friends that Rehana had brought into their life more refinement and high-end culture.Personally, married to Rehana for over a year, the couple had lived an enchanted life, like a dream that had come true.
So, Vidyut did not take it seriously when a police vehicle stopped by his side and two police constables in uniform along with a saffron-clad man alighted from it. The saffron dressed-man pointed at him, “This is the one.” and a constable told him, “Our boss wants to speak to you at the Police station. Please get into the vehicle.”
Vidyut, generally known as ‘Vidyut Sir’, and well-known in that part of the city, considered it as a mistaken identity. He was sure he could untangle the mesh and convince the senior police officer at the police station as he used to do with his most insensitive pupils to see through the haze of poetic craft, the loveliness of Eliot’s poetry.
He spoke to his wife Rehana over mobile telephone, “Listen Ruhi ji, only listen and don’t reply or ask questions. It may disturb the parents. I think, for some wrong identity or reason, the police picked me up when I had just parked my two-wheeler in the pay-park and was walking towards the vegetable market. I think I will come to college directly. Tell the old folks some cock and bull story and make adjustments.”
The senior inspector of police, the officer in-charge of the police station, greeted him with a polite voice, “Vidyut Sir, please take a seat.” He introduced the saffron-clad man, “This is Maharaj Satyaprakash Yogi ji, a monk, representing the reputed Adhvait Dwarika Mutt, the monastery. His monastery has complained that you have violated the recently imposed Anti-conversion Law. We would look into it later but let’s all have a round of tea first.”
The saffron-clad Satyaprakash folded his hands and shook his head, “No tea please. I would prefer some milk, rather. I am getting rid of the colonial hangover after my indoctrination, and drinking tea being one major colonial habits.” Vidyut noticed that the inspector lowered his head and jeered, “Sala nautanki.” It was an expletive, meaning, ‘bloody pretender’.
Vidyut Sharma felt cheerful that the inspector knew the priorities like tea before serious business, and appeared to be rational with a funny bone as he understood the antics of pretentious Satyaprakash.
He heard the inspector asking him in an undertone, “Why does so qualified a professor like you, Vidyut Sir, do such fickle things? Couldn’t you get a decent Hindu girl to marry? Why should you go all the way to marry a Musim bride and give these useless pretenders a chance to throw mud at decent people like you and your wife? Some poet truly said ‘Love is blind’.” He chuckled on his own knowledge of poetry. Vidyut felt alerted, “Oh, it is all about my marriage to Rehana, a Muslim woman. The madness has reached the doors of even teachers like us who are to build the nation’s future!”
He heard the irritated Satyaprakash grumbling, “Inspector, why are you beating around the bush? The new law is with you, I have given you a copy. I have explained you, which sections have been cold-bloodedly butchered. The representative of the complainant, Adhvait Dwarika Mutt, myself, is before you. The mastermind of the crime, already apprehended; this Khajur Mohammad Shah, nee Vidyut Sharma, is here. First take his statement. I want to hear him tell the truth, and admit his guilt.”Then, he, sort of, went into a loud soliloquy, “I have covered his tracks for over two years. I know his ins and outs.”
The inspector spoke with a tired voice, “I know all that, Yogi Raj. The law will take its own course. Don’t worry.” Then Vidyut also heard his undertone soliloquy, “Yogi Raj, my foot, had it not been a difficult time, I would have put you behind bars for minimum three years for encroaching upon a respected citizen’s privacy from your own bragging admission.”
He said in an even tone, “So, Sharma ji, please tell your story. Have you violated the recent Anti-conversion Law?”
The professor smiled expansively and said in a level voice, “It is a total misunderstanding and misrepresentation, Inspector sir. Nothing is further from the truth. I am a Hindu, a rationally devout Hindu from root to top. My wife is a devout and practising Muslim. We have married by choice with the full intention of living in harmony in a secular family and secular country. None of us have converted or breached any tenets of our respective religion.”
He continued, “About two years ago, while interviewing candidates to fill up a vacancy in our English teaching faculty as a senior panellist, I got to know a candidate, Rehana Khan, and was impressed by what she spoke during her interview. Incidentally, she was selected and joined as a junior professor and colleague in my English teaching faculty where I taught as a senior professor holding the rank of a 'Reader’. She was a lovely person, a good human being, kind, charitable, and honest. We liked each other, and soon we decided to marry. Nowhere in my Hindu religion or her Islam, inter-faith marriage is banned. Isn’t it Yogi Maharaj ji?”
Though the inspector had gone dreamy listening to Vidyut, but Satyaprakash flared up, “What’s all this? How that love story has relevance to this case?” The inspector replied, “Satyaprakash ji, you are not listening to a fire-bellowing activist, but a teacher who teaches Eliot. I like your life’s story, professor. Go ahead.”
“Rehana was much younger to me, by around fifteen years. At first, I hesitated a lot about her younger age, different faith and culture that differed from mine. But our strong mutual love finally won, each of us thought the other was a God’s gift to him or her. We took our families into confidence.”
“My family was sport, they loved Rehana for her looks, secular and democratic attitude to life, her high-end culture of polite gestures, and especially, she had ended their fastidious son’s search for a suitable bride. The question of Rehana’s parents agreeing to our union still remained hanging like a sword on us. After talking a lot with me, they gave consent but with conditions.”
“Her parents wanted that we must read a ‘Nikhat Nama’ before a Kaji. For that I had to assume an Islamic name for the Nikah Nama, and accordingly was named Khajur Mohammad Shah. Her parents were over-convinced about my sincerity when I put my entire savings as Meher Money for their Rehana’s future security, that amounted to around sixty lakhs of rupees. Nikah took place,”
“As my parents wished, we also got married in Hindu style by a holy fire. She was named Samira for Hindu rituals, a name common to both religious cultures. For the last more than a year we, Rehana and I, have lived as husband and wife with our parents. I remain a Hindu, offering puja at our home shrine and public places of worship, whereas Rehana offers her Namaz at home in our bedroom. Dear sir, there has been no conversion, but a marriage between two persons from two faiths in India’s true sense of plurality.”
He added, “We married a year ago and the Law in question came to being only a month back. How could anyone be held guilty of violating a law that did not exist?”
The statement had been recorded. A transcript was made and he signed it. Yogi ji interjected, “See inspector, it is a fit case to put him behind the bars. He has admitted to be a Muslim, Khajur Shah, to marry the girl. His conversion was by the coercion of the conditions like Nikah Nama imposed by the bride's parents. Allurements were sexual for both and the hefty Meher Money was monetary allurement for the bride. What more proof do you require to book this fella under the law that bans all conversions by coercion or allurement?”
The inspector grunted aloud, “Hold your tongue, Swamiji. Such language does not behove your position as a monk of a monastery.”
Saffron-clad Satyaprakash shouted, “A crime is a crime done a day ago or a year ago. Time does not condone a murder, and here this man has murdered the law. So, no excuses please. And why should I use polite language for a criminal?”
The inspector twiddled his thumbs for a long minute, then telephoned someone, spoke, shaking and nodding his head a lot many times. Clearing his throat, he turned to his junior inspector, “Go. Pick up both the fathers and Rehana madam. Let’s complete our inquiry. Please be discreet and let not the neighbours hear a whisper of it. Go in plain clothes.”
Vidyut thought his relatives were being called for corroborative statements to what he had said. He telephoned his college dean and requested for a day’s leave for himself and his wife. He telephoned Rehana to accompany the visiting inspector in plain clothes to the police station along with her father and his father quietly for normal inquiry.
Vidyut saw Rehana and two old male relatives alighting from the chauffeur-driven car of his father-in-law. The old faces wore an expression between frown and anxiety. Rehana’s lovely face had no fear but a sadness and disgust over the incident. Vidyut felt bad not only for his relatives but for his nation also. He recalled the Kafkaesque world in Franz Kafka’s iconic novel ‘The Trial’. The novel, though fiction, reflected what extent of absurdity can go into the system of writing laws and their application if the keepers of law are fools.
The inspector finished recording the statements by four in the afternoon. The inspector did a telephone call, spoke, put the telephone in his pocket, and said, “The boss has summoned me. I am to go for a while. Yogi ji, you also come along with me. Professor, please bear with me and wait until I return.”
Fearing the worst, Vidyut’s father-in-law through his connections engaged a good criminal lawyer, who came and spoke to them. He went away to prepare bail documents in case arrests took place. The clock ticked ahead. At nine in the evening, the four of them were herded into a custodial room of the police station, were given two blankets each. The constable attending to their needs, said, “We have received the FIR and orders for your arrest. You would be produced in the trial court tomorrow morning and the judge would decide your fate.” Vidyut did not have a blink of sleep that cursed night. Nor did anyone of the group.
The next day, they were herded into the dock of the trial court that stank of old files and stale sweat. The judge came and took the knowledge and cognizance of the case from the prosecution lawyer. Each of them identified and agreed that his or her statement had been given to the police the previous day to be authentic and voluntary. Satyaprakash sat with a few other saffron clad monks in the viewers gallery.
Vidyut’s lawyer argued, “Me Lord, whatever my four clients might have done, this is no stage to discuss the merits of the allegations, but all that happened a year before the concerned law under which they have been booked, and the very law came to existence only a month ago. So, the case is infructuous in law and you are requested to drop it with expenses, allowing immediate release."
But the judge preliminarily admitted the case as a case of conversion on the part of Vidyut andRehana based on allurements of sex-appeal and big Meher money, inter-religious facilities, and coercion of fathers, obvious from the name-changes, etc. The two old fathers were named as accomplices to the crime under Anti-conversion Law.
Like a clairvoyant magician, their lawyer tabled bail applications. The absence of the police inspector was conspicuous. Perhaps the rational-thinking inspector was saving himself and his staff from the embarrassment of the absurd drama. The prosecution appeared to have no ground to oppose the bail. So, they were given bail. Vidyut and his relatives were free to go home. By then Yogi Satyaprakash, who had gone out, entered with a lawyer, both huffing and puffing. He shouted at the bench, “Please Judge, sir, the new Law is non-bailable. I request you to reverse your wrong decision.”
The judge retorted, “Be polite you, the spiritually attired creature. I would put you in jail for contempt of court if one more disrespectful word for the honourable court escaped your mouth.”
The relieved four of Vidyut’s family, were whisked away in the direction of their homes by a car surprisingly sent by the senior inspector himself.The driver put a chit of paper into Vidyut’s palm. The paper chit bore a single word, ‘SORRY’ in capital letters. The driver whispered, “From the inspector sir”.
Vidyut and others had a feeling of bafflement for the car and Vidyut was especially intrigued by the latter’s ‘SORRY’ epistle. But the conundrum unravelled itself one day shortly, when Vidyut came across a brilliant student in the second year of graduation who on asking said, “My father is the senior inspector Vikash Vyas, who holds you in great respect, Vidyut Sir.” In spite of the X factor, Vidyut and his family and relatives thought the police inspector’s rationale and honesty were rare.
Time passed and trillions of litres of water flowed down the river Gomati passing by their city. All the turmoil related to that dubious night of nightmares appeared like a dust-devil that came and passed. None knew, neither their neighbours, nor the college authorities, about their one-night ordeal at the police station or trial in the court, thanks to the inspector’s discrete handling and thanks remotely to his and his wife’s profession, the teachership.
After a year, their lawyer opened the case for a fast-track trial. None from the police opposed it. Surprisingly the stone-crunching Yogi Satyaprakash had vanished. Adhvait Dwarika Mutt did not respond to their lawyer’s notice. They had a walkover win without a fight, and were found ‘Not Guilty’. The last pall of gloom vanished.
After a few years, Vidyut and Rehana, went to an upmarket restaurant serving gourmet Italian cuisine. They found a nattily dressed man with a pretty foreign lady at a table. Vidyut said to his wife, “Ruhi ji, I know this man, but can’t place him.” Rehana had similar reaction. She had known him but her memory could not connect him.
Then it dawned to Rehana, “Vidyut ji, do you recall one Yogi Satyaprakash who wanted to fix us years ago in a false case? It is him; I am sure.” Vidyut agreed, “Yes, it is him alright. Though, his transformation is electric.”
He went near the man, extended a hand, and said, “Hello, Yogi Satya Prakash ji, I am Vidyut Sharma. We have met earlier. Can you recall?” The man looked embarrassed, but shook Vidyut’s hand warmly, “Isn’t it Vidyut Sir and Rehana madam? I am no more a yogi. Call me only Satyaprakash. I have entered family life. Meet my wife, Tonia, she is an Italian and a devout Catholic. We have been happily married for the last two years. You were my inspiration, Vidyut Sir, to seek happiness in the freedom of thought, spirits, and feeling. Thank you.” (END)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is an award-winning Indian poet from India, besides being a story writer, translator, editor, and critic; a former president of Poetry Circle, Bombay (Mumbai), an association of Indo-English poets. He edited POIESIS, the literary magazine of this poets’ association for eight years. His poems have been widely published, his own works and translation from the works of other poets. He has published three books of his poems and his poems have appeared in twenty anthologies in India and abroad.
Snehaprava Das
Ours was an arranged marriage. Kabir and I did not see much of each other before the engagement. After our engagement we chatted over phone when both of us were free. When the marriage proposal came up father told me about and sought my opinion. He was, as far as my parents and senior members of my family are concerned, an ideal choice. He was his parents' only child. His father and mother both had retired from their government jobs. Though they were natives of Odisha, they had settled in Mumbai and lived in a posh house of their own in Malad. Kabir was posted as a senior associate in a research laboratory at a lucrative pay. We had met for the first time on the Day Kabir and his parents made a formal visit to our house. The gentleman who was mediating the proposal too had accompanied them. After my successful performance of the ritualistic charade of serving tea and refreshments our parents suggested us to have a.person to person interaction for a better understanding of each other.and conveniently went out of the room to sit in the enclosed, spacious balcony.
Left to ourselves we just sat looking down at the floor, each of us filled with curiosity and questions.
Kabir was the first, as it was quite obvious in the given situation, to break the silence.
'What do you like to do as a pastime? I understand you a student of humanitie. You must be interested in art and literature, aren't you?'
'Yes, I love to read. Mostly I read novels and poems. I have a passion for music and painting though I can neither paint nor sing.' I replied.
Kabir smiled. 'I wonder how we are going to put up with each other. You know I do not understand much of aesthetics.But I have a great regard for music and pinting.'
I could realize that Kabir was a level- headed down to earth gentleman who was passionate about his research. The next two things he was interested in was sports and politics.
Romanticism was not his cup of tea. I was just the opposite. I had an aesthetic temperament. The changing contours of nature as the seasons come and go filled me with romantic thoughts. Rains inspired poetry in me the same way as the autumn sky and the dropping leaves did.
I was feeling a bit skeptical about my future with a realistic man like Kabir. But my parents liked him and I did not have the heart to disappoint by rejecting the alliance just because Kabir did not have a romantic strain in his character. But I have read somewhere that if both the spouses share the same temperament it may make the married life not too easy. Too much of romanticism or too much of pragmatism may upset the balance in one's married life. On the other hand if the partners are of different mindsets it helps to keep the equilibrium undisturbed. During my brief and infrequent meetings with Kabir before our marriage had learnt that he was a warm, kind hearted gentleman with engaging manners. He could get reasonably emotional despite his matter of fact approach to life. I hoped that our marriage would not be as difficult as I presumed it to be and decided to resign to the inevitable.
The marriage was solemnized with the routine pomp and splendor as it happened in most cases.
I came to live with Kabir and his parents in his house at Mumbai.
Finally, the hangover of the ceremony lifted and the rush and the excitement settled down. Kabir and I decided to take a look at the gifts we received. We put the gift packets on the floor and segregating them according to their sizes. First we unwrapped the smaller ones the relatively bigger packets. There were expensive as well as ordinary gifts. Most of them, when opened, revealed statues, books, kitchenwares, makeup kits, saris and other such items. Kabir had a comment ready for each of the gifts and its giver. I was amazed at his sense of humor. He was a person one can easily and effortlessly get along with. He seemed to have a knack to entertain people around him with his lighthearted talks. After the smaller packets we tried the ones which looked large in size but thinner in volume. Must be paintings and wall hangings,' Kabir speculated. He was right. As we tore open the wraps of the packets one after another beautiful paintings and wall hanging came out of it. All those revealed the aesthetic sense of the people who selected them. We had opened all the packets except the last one. Kabir cut open the packet and pulled out the thing inside.
'Wow!' I caught my breath sharply as Kabir held it before me. It was something divine! A painting of the moon over the surface of a wavy sea. The sky and the sea were painted in almost similar shades, an artistic blend of dark blue and gray. The curves of the sea were touched with off white to create the impression of the foamy tides. The amber moon was so close to the surface of the sea that it looked like it was floating over
the water. There was a lone white boat that seemed to be sailing towards the sky, as if to touch the moon. It was simply mesmerizing !!
'How enchanting a boat ride in such a night must be!! The sea spraying the mist on your face, the moon bending down to reach the water and the enigmatic blue silence all around!!' I spurted out involuntarily forgetting that Kabir was watching me intently, amused and amazed.
'I stopped short, feeling embarrassed to have exposed the romantic contour of my character unabashedly in front of a man whom I knew for just a fortnight or so.'
Kabir smiled understandingly.
'It is alright. There is nothing wrong in getting carried away by its beauty. This painting is really something exceptional. The sea and the moon look so captivating. But the sea always looks lovely when viewed from far. I don't think it is as much mesmerizing at a close view from the boat, especially in the night! Things
I.did not say anything. I knew Kabir wouldn't take it the way I did. Silently I collected the discarded wrappers and went out of the room.
A surprise awated me sometime later. When I came to our bedroom after dinner I saw the painting hanging on the wall. The wall painted a glossy white offered a splendid contrast to the blue black sea and the night sky.
'Looks really enchanting' isn't it?'
Kabir smiled and put his arms around me. I felt happy. At least he was not as dry of feelings as I thought him to be!'
Living in Kabir's family I have experienced the joy of fulfillment. Kabir's parents were so caring that I, not even for once, felt that I am away from my own father and mother.
+++++
I sat looking out of the window at the gathering clouds in the sky. Kabir was out at his laboratory. His parents were downstairs watching TV. It began to rain soon. The trees drooped under the driving sheet of rain. There was occasional lightnings following by the rumbles of thunder. I always loved to watch the rain. I used to come out and get wet in the rain ignoring my mother's admonition. Once when I was returning from school it began to rain hard. I and my friend walked down holding an umbrella over our head. Suddenly a blast of wind blew the umbrella away and flung into the rushing water on the street. We ran after the umbrella, splashing our feet in the rain water, giggling in excitement. My lips curled up involuntarily in a smile as I recalled the incident.
I looked down wistfully at the young and middle aged couples,nine raincoats and mackintosh riding bikes in the rain and felt a bit disappointed. How I would have loved to go on a long bike ride with Kabir in the rain!! I had once said that to him, too. His eyes twinkled in amusement might be because he thought the idea to be an absurd one. 'The rainy way to catch cold!' He said and smiled. Being na man with a scientific bent of mind Kabir could think of only the impact rain on the physical condition. It would be a vain effort to make him realize how rain affects the heart.
I came out of the room and climbed up the steps leading to the roof, unlatched the door that opened to the terrace and went into the rain. I stood there closing my eyes feeling the dull warm trains of water soaking my body. Were Kabir there with me!! Several scenes from romantic movies flashed past my mind making my heart throb with ecstasy and I trembled a little. Later when the rain finally stopped I came back and changed into dry clothes.
That night I related to Kabir my adventure in the terrace, hoping that he would regret his absence there. 'But why on earth did you have to do that?' He sat up, looking concerned. 'It is so childish! You may fall sick. Take some anti allergen before going to sleep', he advised. I felt a gentle prick at my heart. Was it a mistake to marry a person like Kabir? I strongly believed that the newly wed must indulge in such romantic gestures now and then. But Kabir wouldn't understand. He would never be impressed by the fragrance of the spring , the warmth of the slanting rains, or the enigma of the moonlit sea!!
' Sorry, ' I said gloomily, 'I shouldn't have done that or at least wouldn't have told you about it.'
Kabir looked at me closely for a while. There was a mysterious look in his eyes.He slid off the bed, rummaged in the medicine drawer and took out an anti allergen tablet. He poured water into a glass and came back.
'Here, take it.' He held out the tablet and glass of water. Without saying a word I swallowed the tablet. I tuned on my side. The painting of the moonlit sea hung on the wall that faced me. I looked for a long time at it and then closed my eyes.
+++
The change was too small to be noticed, but I could sense it in Kabir's behavior. He had become more caring and sensitive. Whenever he bought books and science journals for himself, he never forgot to bring a title from Sarah MacLean or Carolyn Brown for me. One day he surprised me by bringing a gazra ( flower garland for a lady's hair) of jasmines. I felt a bit uneasy. Was he trying to go out of his way to please me? No one should go against one's natural feelings to please another, be a husband or wife!! But I could not say anything to Kabir. He, however, was always his jovial self while interacting with me. May be I had actually behaved in a childish way by getting drenched in the rain. I felt a tingle of embarrassment.
The months of rain departed making way for a calm, solemn autumn. I always loved the cloudless autumn sky, the slow yellowing of the leaves and the clumps of kans grass along the rivers and lakes. I missed the autumn of my hometown. But as it happened always I felt my spirit soothed by an autumnal calm. Life was moving on smoothly with Kabir. Both of us had got over the differences in our temperaments and enjoyed the bliss of togetherness.
Kabir came back early that day. It was not even five in the afternoon. I and my parents in law had just finished our tea. Kabir's mother was preparing for the evening worship.
'Get ready. We are going out.' Kabir announced coming into the kitchen. I kept the washed cups in the cabinet carefully and glanced at him, mildly surprised.
'Where?' I asked.
'You just get ready. No more questions'. He smiled.
I sought permission from my mother in law who readily agreed.
'Where are you taking me?' I asked again as Kabir made the car worm in through the late afternoon traffic.
'Do not be so impatient. Just wait and watch!' He replied, his gaze fixed on the road. We stopped at the Gateway of India. The place was teeming with tourists and street vendors. I glanced around at the heterogeneous crowd while Kabir looked for a convenient parking spot. Finally he found one and returned to the place where I stood.
He caught hold of my hand and guided me through the swarms of people towards the jetty. I struggled along the narrow bumpy slope down to the edge of the water where a number of large and small motor run ferries and well as rowboats were docked. A middle aged man who was sitting at the wheel of a glossy two seater motorboat stood up and saluted Kabir.
'Ready?' Kabir asked him.
'All set Sa'ab,' the man showed a row of decayed, yellowish teeth in a genial smile.
'Let's start then', Kabir said.
' Sure Sa'ab. As soon as you and Mem Saab climb down here ..'
Kabir and I walked down the rickety looking gangplank and stepped into the boat. I looked at him, wondering why so unexpectedly made this programme. He was watching me.
Don't look so puzzled. I had long since planned a boat ride with you in a moonlit night. But I was getting entangled in various kinds works. I am free this evening. And so I decided to take you on boat ride in the sea, and note the coincidence dear, it is a full moon night. I think you have a long cherished wish to boat in a moonlit sea. Don't you?'
I did not say anything. I was glad that Kabir respected my feelings, but there was a tinge somewhere in the heart that he was trying to adopt himself to my moods. At that moment I loved him more than I ever did. 'Thank you. I had not expected that my wish will be fulfilled in this way,'
Kabir's hand closed on mine. The ferryman started the engine and the boat slithered into the open sea. The glowing lights at the gateway of India were began to recede to the background as we moved forward. Soon they were not seen any longer. It was a fullmoon night and the tides rose higher than they did in ordinary days. Wrapped in the wispy dark of the evening the boat glided on its bow cleaving apart the foamy water. The wind felt slightly cold. I trembled a little. Kabir took off his coat and put it on my shoulders. I nudged closer to him and he twined his arm around me. 'Look up there,' he pointed at the sky. A big moon that looked like a silver platter was coming out of the sea. I stared at it, entranced.
We had left the land far behind. The sea was all around us, spread out unendingly. The waves began to rise higher and higher. It seemed we were the only three living beings trapped between the sea and the sky. I felt a frisson of fear. My grip around Kabir's hand tightened a bit. Kabir looked at me. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?' He asked. I nodded, not feeling so sure. The sea was now roaring loudly. The undulating waves ahead and around looked like hills of black liquid. The moon now had climbed up and was floating just over our heads.
Suddenly the engine of the boat gave out a spurt and the boat stopped.
'What happened Binayak?'Kabir asked.
' Some problem in the engine sir, I will fix it soon. You do not worry.'
'A lone boat in the mid sea, under a magical fullmoon .... exactly like that painting. Isn't it?' Kabir looked at me closely, a small smile hovering on his face.
I looked up at the sky without saying a word. The moon that hung precariously over the boat looked as if it would drop any moment on it.
I wanted to go back...to the safety of the land, back to our cosy house. The sea and the moon had lost all their charm, and the romantic strain in me had given way to alarm. 'What if the engine did not start? What if we are stranded here in the midst of this swelling sea? What of the boat got capsized..?' So many 'ifs'. I could not think beyond it. I was feeling numb. I closed my eyes tightly and began to say silent prayers. 'Please God! Save us. What a fool I was to wish to enjoy a boat ride in a moonlit sea! I will never ever wish for any such thing.' I promised to God and to myself. I had no idea when tears of helplessness had begun to roll down my eyes until I felt Kabir's hand on my face. He wipedmy tears. 'There is nothing to panic. The engine will be fixed soon. Let's enjoy this magic of the sea. It is as of the painting has come alive!'
'I do not want to enjoy. I want to go back home. ' I said, my voice hoarse in fear.
'Oh Gid, please save us!' I said aloud. As if an answer to.my prayer the engine let out a loud sputtering sound.
'It is okay sir. The engine is alright now. Would you like to go a little farther ?'
'No.' I blurted out loudly before Kabir could say anything. 'Let's go back.'
'Yes. Let's go back,' Kabir said.
'As you wish, sir', Binayak said and turned the boat. Kabir and I did not speak a word to each other during the ride back. It was past nine when we reached the jetty. The gateway of India was still heavily crowded. I got down. As I waited for Kabir to come after making the payment to Binayak, I silently offered my gratitude to God Almighty for saving us. We drove back home in silence.
Dinner over I came to our bedroom. Propped up on the pillow Kabir was leafing through a science magazine. He looked up at me as I entered.
'Tired?' He asked.
'Exhausted, ' I agreed.
'Go to sleep. You will feel better in the morning. I will just finish this piece and go to sleep too.'
I lay down on my side. The painting of the boat in the moonlit sit faced me. I closed my eyes. I recollected the bizarre happenings of the evening. Suddenly a thought struck me like a lightning bolt.
Why did the boat stop in the midsea so abruptly? Was it incidental or preplanned? Had Kabir and the boatman Binayak worked in cahoots to frighten me? No, no..Kabir could not do that to me. I needed one such experience to come out of my fancy world. I opened my eyes and glanced at the painting. It seemed to have lost its magic!
'The first thing I will do tomorrow after Kabir leaves for his laboratory is, take the painting off the bedroom wall and put it somewhere else, out of sight!' I promised to myself and shut my eyes.
Dr.Snehaprava Das, former Associate Professor of English, is an acclaimed translator of Odisha. She has translated a number of Odia texts, both classic and contemporary into English. Among the early writings she had rendered in English, worth mentioning are FakirMohan Senapati's novel Prayaschitta (The Penance) and his long poem Utkala Bhramanam, which is believed to be a.poetic journey through Odisha's cultural space(A Tour through Odisha). As a translator Dr.Das is inclined to explore the different possibilities the act of translating involves, while rendering texts of Odia in to English.Besides being a translator Dr.Das is also a poet and a story teller and has five anthologies of English poems to her credit. Her recently published title Night of the Snake (a collection of English stories) where she has shifted her focus from the broader spectrum of social realities to the inner conscious of the protagonist, has been well received by the readers. Her poems display her effort to transport the individual suffering to a heightened plane of the universal.
Dr. Snehaprava Das has received the Prabashi Bhasha Sahitya Sammana award The Intellect (New Delhi), The Jivanananda Das Translation award (The Antonym, Kolkata), and The FakirMohan Sahitya parishad award(Odisha) for her translation.
Ishwar Pati
The wind was howling in the trees as I drove into Jamaica Inn just before evening. The tall trees surrounding the isolated wooden structure looked menacing in the twilight with their branches swept by the gusty wind. Jamaica Inn! It conjured up a romantic association that made me pull into the old-fashioned inn as soon as I spotted it on my way to Land’s End in Cornwall of England. I was in “Du Maurier Country”, home to the fictional Rebecca. Not surprisingly, the rugged countryside of Cornwall lends itself admirably as the setting for Daphne Du Maurier’s stories.
The inn was situated in an eerily quiet place, except for the occasional car zooming past on the highway, mirroring the supernatural spell for which that author was famous. So much so that, when I walked from the car to the door of the inn, the crunching sound of my shoes on the gravel barked like shots in the dark.
I opened the pitch-black door and stepped into fiction. Not only in name, but also in its decor and furniture the innkeeper seemed to have painstakingly recreated the world of Du Maurier. The lights were dim, with bulbs and brackets that had long gone out of fashion hanging from the ceiling. As a result, the corners of the room were dark and sinister-looking. There were no chairs. Customers were expected to sit on long benches made of rough-cut wood and be served on unpolished tables. The waiters too were dressed as pirates of yore, with one of them sporting a black eye-patch a la Long John Silver!
So what if the proprietor of the inn had blended his Du Maurier with Robert Louis Stevenson and Treasure Island? He was entitled to a certain amount of fictional licence to make the most of the pirates at his command.
True to type, the pirated waiters were unshaven, shabbily dressed and had yellowed teeth. When I expressed my misgivings, I was assured that the waiters followed the strictest norms of modern hygiene and the yellow on their teeth was merely cosmetic! Talk about merging two worlds so removed from each other in time! But the food was a disappointment. It was not bad as such. But there was nothing ancient about the good old American pizza!
The English are, if nothing else, extremely meticulous. They don’t believe in half-measures. If the proprietor borrowed the name Jamaica Inn from Du Maurier, he had to do full justice to her reputation. So he had set aside one room to commemorate her legend — a sort of museum containing a brief history of her life, her writings and the various places in Cornwall.
By the time I came out, it was very dark. The few light bulbs burning in the outer yard of the inn could hardly drive away the gloom. The trees were still engaged in their relentless dance. But I heard a distinct creaking sound in the air that was breaking the rhythm of the swishing branches, like that of a door moving back and forth on its unoiled hinges.
I looked around —where could the sound be coming from? Then I saw it. Jamaica Inn, written in white letters with a pirate’s head under it painted on a dark wooden signboard that was hanging from a wooden pole. I could have sworn I saw a viciously grinning pirate just at the edge of the forest, bent to the task of sharpening his knife on a stone — tang, tang tang.
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.
Dr. Sukanti Mohapatra
It was the month of August in 1980.
Monsoon was fully active then. I was deputed to the Rerdhakhol forest division. In the capacity of a field officer, I had to travel to different sites on sudden notice. That day was 13th August. I received a fax at around 9 pm from the divisional manager stating that I would travel 45 km to reach another site. I immediately contacted Raghu, the driver. He responded that we were on the road within half an hour after a quick lunch.
From our Jeep, I was enjoying the outside view. The night was quiet, the road in front of us was soaked with rain. On both sides, hills were closing in while the waters of the Mahanadi were clearly visible. It started drizzling soon. Dark clouds were swimming across the overcast sky and the waning moon was playing hide and seek. Raghu started narrating his experience of many such nights in the jungle. He believed in the supernatural elements while I mostly relied on reason. I was lending him just a part of my attention while the rainy night and vast stretch of the river claimed most of it. Rain was almost stopped by this time.
A sudden jerk, screeching of the wheels, and the silence of the engine. Before I understood anything Raghu had already jumped down to the ground and I heard a terrible scream. "What happened?" I asked. No answer. "Raghu", I called again and came out of the jeep. What I saw in front of me kept me rooted to the ground. A horrible scene confronted me. Raghu was gasping for breath. There was fear in his eyes.
In that semi-darkness what I saw was enough to run a cold shiver within me. A truck had hit a motorbike a few yards ahead of us. Two men were lying dead in front of me with one's skull fractured and another's stomach out. A pool of fresh blood was flowing towards our Jeep. The motorcycle was broken and a dead man's legs were trapped under it. The helmet was flung to one side. Horrified though I was I attended to Raghu immediately. After gulping a bottle of water he revived some of his energy. "Sa'ab, let's go back." He said fearfully.
We surveyed the situation. The truck driver or helper was nowhere to be seen. They had, most probably, absconded after the accident. The man riding the bike was a professor at Burla University, I knew him as he had taught me during my Masters six years back. The other person was a stranger. A friend or relative of the professor perhaps. Both were in their fifties. I went near them though Raghu forbade me. I wanted to check if they were still alive, though they looked dead. Yes, life had left them completely.
My concern was to inform the police and inform my DM about the impediment on the road. We couldn’t go further unless the road got cleared. I asked Raghu to drive back to Hirakud police station. We were already 15 km away from it. Raghu and I occupied our respective seats. The terrible sight before me had left me a little shattered. Raghu was trying to start the jeep but the engine was dead. He got down again, checked the fuel tank, and uttered another stifled cry of disappointment. "Sir, the vehicle has run out of fuel."
"What nonsense?" I got irritated. "Didn't you check it before you started?"
"I had the tank full just yesterday Sir. Don't know how could it have consumed so soon!"
I didn't believe him. It was his carelessness. "What to do now? Shall we just stand here doing nothing!"
Raghu did not agree to that too. He apparently would not stay there with that horrible bloody sight before us. He said, "Sa'ab, let me walk back and reach the nearby village. Maybe some villagers keep diesel in their houses."
I said nothing. I could not leave the jeep. It was already past 11 pm. Raghu took my silence as permission and retraced his steps back.
I stood there as if dazed by the surroundings. Moon was still playing hide and seek with dark clouds. When clouds floated ahead the moon was pouring a mysterious light upon the earth, the water. I was not looking at the dead bodies. I had fixed my gaze on the swelling waters of the Mahanadi. Laxmi Dunguri hills were standing there like ghosts casting their dark shadows. My mind suddenly became still.
"Water..water.." I thought I heard a faint voice somewhere. Who else it could be? I had checked and rechecked the inside of the truck. There was no one there. I dared not look at the bodies. The faint moaning sound was heard again. I could not help but look around. Yes, I thought the sound was coming from the professor. Is he alive then? I returned to my Jeep and took a water bottle. I ran to the professor. When I reached and closely looked he was staring at me. I was about to pour a few drops of water into his mouth when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to look. I remembered nothing after that.
When I opened my eyes. Raghu was sitting near me. Two officers in uniform were standing over. One of them said, "You are lucky to survive the night Sir. It was horrible." I looked askance at Raghu. He helped me to get to my feet and led me to the jeep. It was almost dawn. There were no trace of the dead bodies of the two men. The truck was also moved. The police officers were verifying the spot. Blood stains were there on the road. Raghu drove the vehicle towards our destination.
What I heard from Raghu was like this: that he walked nearly 2 km before reaching a village where he knew someone. He and the villager went to the town on the latter's bike, got diesel, and returned to the accident spot where I was supposed to be waiting in the jeep. But they found me lying unconscious a little far away from the second dead body. I was holding the water bottle. The police arrived soon. The driver of the truck had surrendered. They moved the vehicle and sent the bodies to the district hospital for post-mortem. They heard about our official tour from Raghu and also checked the papers. Raghu was just lifting me with the help of the policemen to take me to the hospital as I remained unconscious when I woke up.
After narrating this Raghu asked me, "Sir, did you see a ghost?"
"I was scared, maybe hallucination."
Raghu did not believe me. After all he belonged to this area. What remained stamped in my mind was the image of the terrible, mutilated face of the other dead person who was lying dead on his stomach when before I turned back to see who tapped my shoulder.
Dr. Sukanti Mohapatra, a senior lecturer in English in the Higher Education Department, Govt. of Odisha is a bilingual writer writing both in Odia and English with equal flair. Her poems, stories and articles are published in many state, national and international magazines and journals. She has three published anthologies of poems to her credit. Besides, she has published many research articles in different research journals. She contributes regularly to Radio Bulbul.
WHEN ART, ARCHITECTURE AND TRADITION BECKON
Hema Ravi
Vacations involve short travel to tourist destinations for unwinding and rejuvenating. Journeys to hill stations exhibiting magnificent views of nature and mild weather offer relief and comfort; journeys to holy places that boast of a glorious past, culture, and heritage assure mind-body detox, and offer deep experiences ranging from awe, humility, and tranquility… even prove to be a voyage of self-discovery. If seeing is believing, then it is experiential truth that spending quiet moments inside ancient temples, stupas, caves, and serene locales offers a multitude of experiences that help to discover the path to the Divine. Even the skeptical sightseer is bound to depart with unpretentious admiration. Pilgrimages or Yatras bring along euphoric flashes that get etched in devout hearts. Long after they have ended when one gets imprisoned in the rigmarole, images stored in frames serve to bring back the blissfulness. Yatra? By now, you would have guessed that I am talking about the world-famous Rath Yatra in Odisha, North-Eastern State of India. In mid-summer, every year, Lord Jagannath, with his elder brother Balabhadra and sister Subhadra proceed on vacation in grand chariots from his temple in Puri to his garden palace - the Gundicha Temple and remains there for seven days. The nine days including the start and the concluding day are celebrated as the Rath Yatra Festival, which draws millions of devout humans from all over.
Chariots of the Divine Deities at Gundicha Temple, 2024
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
“A Ratha Yatra has religious origins and meaning, but the events have a major community heritage, social sharing, and cultural significance to the organizers and participants.” Jagannath Rath Yatra is considered the oldest chariot festival celebrated annually. Jagannath! The etymological origin of the English word “juggernaut” means a massive inexorable force, campaign, movement, or object that crushes whatever is in its path. People vie with one another to have a glimpse of the magnificent spectacle, to tug at the chariot, and to taste the Mahaprasad (food offered to a deity and given to a devotee as a blessing). Young, old, and not-so-young from all walks of life participate in the festivities unmindful of the hardships encountered. Rain or shine, they sing praises of the Lord with utmost devotion crying aloud – Jai Jagannath!
Jai Jagannath! continues to resonate within... I’ve many more fascinating things to share but let me get back to the START POINT from where our sojourn commenced - Bhubaneswar! Bhubaneswar, the capital and the largest city in Odisha has clean, broad roads, and although busy and crowded is not as congested as the metros. A fine blend of modernity and tradition is visible in the well-planned city to receive tourists, students, and businesspeople among others.
Sand Art Presentation at Bhubaneswar Airport
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
One cannot but stop to marvel at the sand art sculpture and take selfies before exiting the airport en route to the city of temples aka “Mandira Malini,” as Bhubaneswar is known. Home to hundreds of magnificent temples, Bhubaneswar boasts architectural marvels and beautiful sculptures in the Kalingan style (7 th -12 th Century CE).
Lingaraja Temple, Bhubaneswar (From the temple viewing platform)
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
The largest and the most sacred shrine is devoted to Lord Harihara. (Lord Vishnu and Shiva). The Shivalinga is swayambu (self-manifested) and is believed to have been worshipped as early as the 7 th Century. With the growing cult of Jagannath in the 12 th Century, the worship of Vishnu was incorporated. Mahashivarathri and Rukuna Rath Yatra are the most famous celebrations where over a million devotees throng to partake in the revelry. For one who believes that Odisha is exclusively known for its Hindu temples and architecture, the visit to Dhauli’s Shanti Stupa offers an equally enhancing experience. Situated atop a hillock on the banks of the Daya River, the Peace Pagoda is believed to mark the spot where Emperor
Ashoka, after witnessing the carnage of the Kalinga War on the ‘bloody’ Daya River and the neighboring areas, renounced violence and embraced Buddhism. As a symbol of peace, this massive structure offers a panoramic view of the surroundings, it is a popular tourist destination.
Shanti Stupa, Dhauli
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
At the foothills are found major rock edicts of Ashoka, one of which is shaped like an elephant. Prakrit inscriptions in Brahmi script portray moral and social values such as compassion, purity, goodness, and virtuosity.
Asokan Edict
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Yet another incredible archaeological site near Bhubaneswar that offers great sights are the Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves, natural formations on adjacent hils, and partly man-made caves with intricate carvings. Although these Jain caves (by later rulers, were transformed into temples) date back to the 1 st Century BC, they are well-preserved. Offering peanuts to troops of monkeys is an added fascination to tourists who look out for sport and amusement.
Udayagiri Caves, Bhubaneswar
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
If temples are recognized as spots where the “inner and outer world communes and one can experience divinity,” zoos allow us to understand biodiversity, sustainability, and the need for conservation; visitors are left with entertainment, education, enrichment, and more.
Nandankanan Zoological Park, Bhubaneswar
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
No exaggeration! One day is insufficient to enjoy the treasured wildlife of the Nandankanan Zoological Park.
Entrance, Nandankanan Zoological Park
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Among the exclusive attractions is the White Tiger Safari (visitors travel in a closed battery- operated bus to watch tigers, lions, sloth bears, and herbivores in habitats adjoining the precincts of the zoo.) The battery-operated vehicles (BOV) take people from point to point.
The Majestic Tiger
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
People can hop off and hop on at various points, unhurriedly enjoy the sights, and hitch a ride again. For children and child-like adults, the ropeway over the marshy land, toy train around the zoo, and leisurely boat rides are stimulating - not-to-be-missed experiences!
Nandankanan means “garden of heaven” – without hesitation, I can mention it truly is! A paucity of time forced us to make a reluctant retreat from this incredible space. An extremely valuable observation/appreciation is that Plastic bottles are not allowed inside the zoo. People desiring to take a bottle into the zoo had to deposit a sum of fifty rupees at the counter; an acknowledgment was given. On showing the receipt, the money was refunded while exiting. No food joints inside the zoo, just one belonging to OTDC, close to the entrance. As a nature lover, I believe this is among the foremost ways of safeguarding these environs. Odisha Tourism Development Corporation (OTDC) offers good accommodation facilities (PanthNivas) all over Odisha to foster tourism throughout the State. Besides accommodation, other services such as food, and transport services can be availed at decent prices to explore the enchanting landscapes and treasured architecture. Talking of architecture, Konark, the renowned 13th-century CE Sun Temple on the coastline is a marvel. presently a UNESCO heritage site.
Portion of the Sun Temple, Konark
Picture Courtesy: N. Ravi
Most parts of the temple that were once famous for “intricate artwork, iconography, and themes” are in ruins; in particular, the “shikhara tower” was much higher (over 200ft) than the “mandapa” that still stands.
“History Textbook Picture” – Wheel of the Chariot
Konarak Sun Temple, Picture Courtesy: N. Ravi
As per accounts of European sailors, the Konark temple used to be known as the “Black Pagoda,” owing to its “tiered” tower that appeared black.. contrastingly, the Jagannath temple in Puri was called the “White Pagoda.” Most interestingly, these temples served as important landmarks for sailors in those days. For the early bird, the sunrise over the Chandrabaga beach at Konark offers stunning sights. Interestingly, Chandrabaga was the first beach to get the “Blue Flag” certification – a tag given to environment-friendly clean beaches, equipped with amenities of international standards for tourists.” The intermittent clouds can prove to be dampeners on occasion (as it did when we were around!)
Chandrabaga Beach, Konark
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Crowds at Puri Beach
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Puri Beach or the Golden Beach has great religious and cultural significance and draws huge crowds during the Rath Yatra and the Beach Festival during which period, the sand art displays attract tourists from all over the world. A feeling of “wellbeing” around water is a universally accepted truth; Odisha’s Chilika Lake (lagoon) offers that and more; connected to the Bay of Bengal through a narrow sea mouth, it is rich in marine life, home to thousands of waterbirds, migratory birds and many endangered species as well. As India’s largest freshwater lake, Chilika is fed by the Daya and the Bhargavi rivers. During the dry summers, saline ocean waters enter through the ‘spit.’ The main attraction at Chilika is boating and Irawady Dolphin sighting at Satapada. Sunrise and sunset at the spot where the Chilika Lagoon pours into the Bay of Bengal is another mesmerizing spectacle.
Boating at Chilika Lake, Odisha
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
“I am proud of its rich and varied heritage…” The Indian pledge reverberates, as one traverses through Odisha; three places, in particular. Pattachitra aka tribal paintings outside each doorstep and inside as one enters the sleepy villages lined with coconut palms, banyan, and other verdant patches around. As in Gurukuls, students come to Dandasahi, Raghurajpur (aka heritage village) and Pipli to master the famous Pattachitra painting art, other arts, sculpture, stone carving, toy painting, mask-making among others, which, to the onlooker offers a range of sensorial delights.
The land of Pattachitra Paintings, Raghurajpur, Odisha.
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Notwithstanding their financial crunch and poverty-ridden plight today, it is humbling to observe the remarkable artists in their homes (workspaces) showcasing their splendid pieces of art. At the “Applique Village,” Pipli, artistry brings life to fabrics in the form of bedspreads, lanterns, puhes, umbrellas, bags, and other souvenirs. Since the 10 th Century, until today, the unique applique art has continued to enthrall hearts.
Entrance to Pipli on the National Highway
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Pipli adorns the chariots of Lord Jagannath and his siblings during the Annual Rath Yatra.
Raghurajpur Museum, Odisha
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Bhajan! Bhojan! Food for the body precedes food for the mind – for “God himself dare not appear to a hungry person except in the form of bread.” (M.K. Gandhi). The culinary delights of Odisha are incredibly enticing. For fish eaters and nonvegetarians, there are humongous choices, for vegetarians, some interesting choices with rice/roti the staple carbs! OTDC restaurants are all over. In Puri, The Grand (vegetarian restaurant), and Shree Balaji Bhojanalaya offer good vegetarian food that suits the palate and the purse. Among the flavorful curries that Odia cuisine boasts is – Dalma, a high-protein affordable delicacy, prepared in homes and available in restaurants too. It is a slow-cooked lentil (Toor dhal/ Moong dhal) stew with country vegetables such as pumpkin, raw banana, Colocasia, gourd, and yam among others. Tadka and scraped coconut add to their distinct flavor. Ghuguni (dried peas with gravy) with puris, or dahivada chaat served in dona is a not-to-miss street food Odisha. Poor man’s rich food, just as the ubiquitous banana is. Visitors thronging the Jagannath temple, Puri procure the mouthwatering Khaja – a delicious treat served as Lord Jagannath’s Chappan Bhogs. Equally well-known is the delectable dessert, the oil-free Chenna poda aka baked paneer cake. Shopping at showrooms, malls and wayside shops for idols, curios, shells, bags, artifacts, clothes, and more is another engaging activity for tourists who visit the city during the Car Festival. Boyanika showcases sarees, materials, and fabrics that are directly sourced from the looms of Odisha’s weavers to support their livelihood and sustenance. Based on historical evidence and excavations from various sites, the material culture of Odisha dates to the 7 th -6 th century BCE. Dubbed ‘God’s own country,’ Kerala has the “richest biodiversity hotspots with abundant nature’s bounty, year-round foliage, diverse wilderness, crystal clear beaches and magnificent landscapes of the Western Ghats.” Odisha, on the east coast of peninsular India, is on par, surpasses too; not an overstatement to declare it as God’s own Paradise!
Parikrama Marg, Puri’s Jagannath Temple
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Puri as a sacred place or kshetra finds mention in various Puranas or written texts. As a renowned sage accentuated, “God has made different religions to suit different aspirations, times, and countries.
Ramakrishna Mission Ashrama, Puri
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
All doctrines are only so many paths, but a path is by no means God Himself.” Mecca is considered the fountainhead of Islam, the old city of Jerusalem, where the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is regarded as the holy site for followers of the Christian and Jewish faith for varied reasons, Puri is believed to be a spiritual place for innumerable followers.
Puri Jagannath Temple, Odisha
Picture Courtesy: N. Ravi
Great scholarly saints such as Adi Sankaracharya, Chaitanya, Madhvacharya, and several others are said to have established seats of learning in Puri, around the 9 th Century and afterward.
Puri Shankaracharya Math, Odisha
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Not without purpose, Puri has attracted innumerable saints, seers, and savants. Innumerable souls have walked on these holy sands and left behind their “indelible footprints.” Endar? Mah?nubh?vulu“- great men who have attained indescribable spiritual experiences through the Ages! Hence, it is not surprising that Karar Swami, in a deep meditative mood recognized the spiritual vibrations emanating from the sands of Puri and established an ashram at the very spot.
Karar Ashram of Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri.
First monastic disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya, the father of Kriya Yoga
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Tota Puri or Ishwar Totapuri, (1780-1961), was a parivrajaka, who initiated Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa into sannyasa.. Nanga Baba, a tri-centurian who established the Advaita Brahma Ashram, spent about 4 to 5 decades of his final yogic life in Puri.
Advaita Brahma Ashram, Digambar Paramahans Maharaj
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, after attaining sannyasa is said to have dedicated his services to Tota Gopinatha at Puri before he merged with the Lord. (Gadadhar had accompanied Chaitanya Mahaprabhu to Puri and engaged himself in the service of Lord Gopinatha.) Separation from Chaitanya weakened Gadadhar Pandita and he could no longer perform his duties – dress
Gopinath or offer garlands properly. Appearing in his dream, the Lord assured him that he would become shorter so that Gadadhar would serve him with great ease. Since then, Gopinatha has been seen in a “sitting” posture.
Tota Gopinath Temple, Puri
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
If the Lord sat down at a devotee’s request, he agreed to be a witness (Sakshi) to another devotee - a young man on the condition that the man should lead him to the village, and never turn back on the way. While leading Lord Gopala through a sand mound, the sound of anklets stopped. No sooner than the man turned, the Lord turned into a statue of stone and came to be known as “Sakhi Gopal.”
Sakigopal aka Satyabadi Gopinatha Temple, Bhubaneswar
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Religious fervour gets carried down the ages, and places of worship are constructed from time to time to suit the needs of devout followers.
ISKCON temple, Bhubaneswar
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
The ISKCON temple and Sri Omkareswarar temples near Bhubaneswar are examples. At the Omkareswarar temple, the 108 shivlingas, love birds, rabbits, fowls, goshalas attract youngsters, as the selfie point, and the shops do.
Sri Omkareswar Temple, Bhubaneswar
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Modern research highlights the benefits of dancing and singing for “physical, emotional and cognitive health.” From ancient times, rendering praises of the Lord through music and dance during festivals has been in existence; they offer greater opportunities for individuals to come together and connect at a much deeper level.
Fusion-Odissi Dance outside the Gundicha Temple, Puri
Photo Courtesy: N. Ravi
Song and dance during the yatra when the chariots are pulled from the Jagannath Temple (Jagannath Yatra) and again from the Gundicha Temple (Bahuda Yatra) to the Lords’s abode evoke much bonhomie and fervor amongst people who are otherwise strangers from different walks of life. When the deities are stationed at the Gundicha temple, cultural programs offer relaxation and help to enhance relationships. No sooner than preparations for Bahuda Yatra commenced, it was time for us to bid goodbye to Puri.
GARDEN HOUSE OF THE LORD
All roads lead to one destination – Gundicha!
Sweltering heat, stinging mosquitoes, monstrous crowds –
nothing inconveniences, external appearances
neither attract nor repel. Bhaktas throng for
a glimpse of the Lord and his divine siblings.
Year after year, the Ratha Yatra draws millions to
the Jagannatha Mandir. From the Srimandir, the deities
in colorful chariots are ceremoniously pulled along by devoted
followers towards the Gundicha temple for a seven-day visit.
Bahuda Yatra - the triumphant return to Jaganatha Mandir,
a magnificent spectacle, definite to awaken mundane
hearts, while offering solace to devout ones.
A long, long time ago, the images of wood were worshipped
by Vanvasis. Amongst several legends, one claims the idols
to be Nilamadhava, worshipped by the tribals of Nilagiri aka Nilachala.
To this day, the tribal priests, along with other pandas
perform pujas to the wooden deities Lord Jagannatha, Balabhadra
and Devi Subadhra. After twelve-sixteen years, the
wooden deities are ceremoniously replaced
for the continued celebrations.
Serendipitous presence for millions this year in the holy land,
before the reopening of the Ratna Bhandar treasury-
after 46 years ….. in the 12 th Century temple.
In the Far West, totem poles stand testimony
to ancestral beings who were revered, respected,
and identified with the lineage of the head of the household.
In Bharat, since early historical times,
Puri Kshetra aka Sankha Kshetra, Purusottam Kshetra
or Dasavatara Kshetra has been a revered place of worship.
The Jagannath Rath Yatra is an experience of a lifetime,
Its spires reaching the heavens will continue to be
a symbol of hope and faith for generations to come.
It is such a privilege for anyone who can partake in such festivities and experience the divine bliss. Let the “juggernaut” within souls awaken, let all the potentially divine souls utilize the “inexorable force” for the betterment of humanity.
Hema Ravi is a poet, author, reviewer, editor (Efflorescence), independent researcher and resource person for language development courses... Her writings have been featured in several online and international print journals, notable among them being Metverse Muse, Amaravati Poetic Prism, International Writers Journal (USA), Culture and Quest (ISISAR), Setu Bilingual, INNSAEI journal and Science Shore Magazine. Her write ups and poems have won prizes in competitions.
She is the recipient of the Distinguished Writer International Award for excellence in Literature for securing the ninth place in the 7th Bharat Award, conducted by www.poesisonline.com. In addition, she has been awarded a ‘Certificate of Appreciation’ for her literary contributions by the Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips on the occasion of the 74th Independence Day (2020) and again. conferred with the ‘Order of Shakespeare Medal’ for her writing merit conforming to global standards.(2021). She is the recipient of cash prizes from the Pratilipi group, having secured the fourth place in the Radio Romeo Contest (2021), the sixth place in the Retelling of Fairy Tales (2021), the first prize in the Word Cloud competition (2020) and in the Children’s Day Special Contest (2020). She scripted, edited, and presented radio lessons on the Kalpakkam Community Radio titled 'Everyday English with Hema,' (2020) a series of lessons for learners to hone their language skills. Science Shore Magazine has been featuring her visual audios titled ‘English Errors of Indian Students.’
A brief stint in the Central Government, then as a teacher of English and Hindi for over two decades, Hema Ravi is currently freelancer for IELTS and Communicative English. With students ranging from 4 to 70, Hema is at ease with any age group, pursues her career and passion with great ease and comfort. As the Secretary of the Chennai Poets’ Circle, Chennai, she empowers the young and the not so young to unleash their creative potential efficiently
Usha Surya
The calling bell chimed and Charu opened the door to discover to her surprise a Police Inspector standing outside.
“Can I come in?” he asked and Charu invited him in.
She was confused.
“I just wanted to know where Mr Daniel who is staying across, has gone. I am his nephew. Did he tell you he will be away for a long time?” the Inspector asked.
Charu asked him to sit down.
“It is just seven months since I moved in here. I don’t communicate much with Mr Daniel, though he stays right across. In fact you have just enlightened me on his name. I never knew that his name was Daniel. As I step out every morning for a walk at six, he walks in and we just exchange a “Good Morning”. Our conversation stops with the greetings. Very rarely we talk! ” Charu said as she took a seat.
“I am Steven, Daniel Uncle’s nephew. Your good name please?”
“I am Charu. Charulatha Girish.”
“Oh God! Don’t tell me that you are that famous Detective Novelist! I was wondering why the face was familiar. I remember now seeing it at the back cover of your books.“ He was excited.“I have read all your seventeen books Ma’am!! Had I known, I would have brought one book to get your autograph.”
Charu blushed.
“That’s fine. Thank you. I never imagined I had a fan in the Police Department!! I shall autograph a copy and give it to you. Just name the title.”
“Oh! Thank you Ma’am. Now that I know who you are, I can talk to you personally about Uncle. I had a letter from him a week back and I had gone for a training program and got back last evening. I read the letter only this morning. I rushed here and found the door locked. Can you tell me when Uncle left this place?”
Charu said apologetically,
”I am sorry. Our conversation as I told you is minimal as we meet only once early in the morning. He will be returning from his walk and I will start my walk. We used to meet on the staircase as we don’t use the lift since it is only one floor above. In fact, I know him as “Kangaroo Gentleman” as he always sports a yellow cap with a Kangaroo sewn on it. Never saw him without it. And I honestly do not know where he has gone.”
Steven took out a letter from his pocket and gave it to her.
“Please read this,” he said.
It seemed a letter written in a hurry.
‘Dear Steve
I am afraid the couple I talked to you about, are out to harm me. There have been veiled threats. I had a letter of confirmation from my lawyer after I had drafted the new will, signed by you and your man-servant. Thank God. These people had gone to meet him and Mr Ambareesh sent them away, saying he cannot reveal the contents of the will. I wish to meet you urgently.“ It was signed “ Daniel Uncle.”
Charu looked at him.
“Looks like he was in danger. Did he not communicate with you by phone before he left?”
Charu asked him.
“No Ma’am. I tried his number but his phone seems to be switched off. I decided I will drop in and see what has happened. When did you see him last?”
“Hmm... it must be more than a week. I did not meet him coming after his walks, last week and I was also away for two days. He must have left on one of those days.” Charu told him.
Then, as if remembering something, dashed out. Steven rushed behind her.
“Look here Mr Steven...this padlock seems new. I remember seeing a circular one with some smilies and asked him about it one day as soon as I moved in. I was intrigued. I told him that I was seeing a lock like this for the first time,” she said and continued. “He said that he bought it in Melbourne where he was for three years. That perhaps explains the yellow cap too. He said it was a combination lock and had to be broken if the formula was forgotten. I have never seen this door with any other padlock.”
“Yes. He bought me one too. No single lock has a combination like another one. Yes, this looks new.”Steven said.
“May be we can ask the Security. He is a big gossip and whatever he says, you might get a clue from something that he says. It may look irrelevant at the face of it.”
Steven agreed and both of them descended the steps.
The Security put a big salute to the Inspector...a mark of respect for the uniform.
“Munusami, the Inspector wants to pose some questions to you. Now please answer without adding any frills!”, Charu told him. And turning towards Steven, she said, “This fellow will exaggerate things a bit. But he is basically a very truthful and honest one.”
Steven smiled and turning towards Munusami, asked, “How long have you been working here?”
Munusami said “It will be ten years in a few months Sir. Everyone here knows me.”
“Are you acquainted with Mr Daniel? “
“Yes Sir. A very good man Sir. He gives me something to eat now and then and some money too occasionally. A good man Sir. He has very few visitors..I should know because I have been here for so long.”
“What about your home? When do you go home off duty?”
“Another Security and I share the work Sir. I do day duty for one week and at that time, he does night duty. I go home which is at a walking distance behind these apartments. “
“You said that Mr Daniel has very few visitors. What do you mean by that? Have you seen a couple visiting him? They must have been here recently.“
“I have seen them Sir. A man and his wife speaking in some other language. They were here last week too. Ma’am”... pointing to me ... “knows them too, that’s what they said. They were here last week to see you also Ma’am. Remember? They left with two suitcases?”
Charu was puzzled! There had been no couple visiting her.
“Me? It just can’t be! No one visited me last week Munusami. “
“But Amma, they said they were going to see you...opposite to Mr Daniel’s house. Said, they knew you. I went off to buy the Milk Cards for the people and so I don’t know. But remember, you came down just as they were starting their car...a black car...the vegetable vendor had come and you also bought some vegetables from him and were taking the money out. I had come back by then.”
“Gosh!! “ Charu cut him short and turning towards Steven said, “I remember now. But they never came to meet me. I don’t know them. I came down to buy vegetables just after they got into the car. I remember the number ...2870...the car’s number. It was my son’s date of birth...second August nineteen seventy...that’s how I remember it. Yes...a black Honda with the number but I missed seeing them! But I did have a glimpse of that man...wearing a striped T Shirt. Yes...hair up to the neck and a rather long scar on his cheek. I saw his right profile...there was a scar on his hand too. Strange that they should tell the security that I knew them!! “
Steven turned towards Munusami.
“So, they left with two suitcases you say. Pity you had gone off to buy the milk cards. You might have had more to tell me! Did you buy any padlock for them before you left?” asked Steven.
“No Sir. But the gentleman asked me if there was any hardware shop close by, where he can buy a padlock and I told him that the provision shop across the road sells padlocks too.”
Steven noted down the car’s number and walked across to the shop and came back in a few minutes. He told Charu, who was talking to the security,
“Yes. That fellow seems to have bought a padlock from the shop. It seems he wanted a cheap one and tested it in the shop. “
Charu asked him, “What now?”
“May be I will get some details about them from the car’s number which I have noted down. Thank you Ma’am. I shall keep in touch. In any case, you take my card...my cell number is there. Just call me if you find them coming here again. Uncle Daniel has given me their home address. I will call on them. “
Two days passed and Inspector Steven popped up again...this time in the Police Jeep with two cops and a ferocious looking sniffer dog. Charu was opening her door preparing to go to the publisher, when she saw Steven.
He smiled at her.
“Come Ma’am. I am going to break the lock and go in. I could not find them in that address. It appears they have vacated the place and moved out. The neighbours could not give me any information as they also did not disclose their new address and they were apparently not very friendly. Let us see if Jackie here can sniff around and find the whereabouts of Uncle. Care to come in Ma’am?”
Charu was grateful at the invitation and followed Steven as he entered Daniel’s apartment after breaking the lock.
The drawers and cupboards had been ransacked. Papers lay strewn everywhere. Even the steel almirah had not been spared.
The couple were searching perhaps for the copy of the will. The man was a distant relative of Mr Daniel...his wife’s second cousin to be precise.
Mr Daniel’s wife had passed away due to cancer eight years ago and he was a man who kept to himself. This fellow according to Uncle Daniel, was a crook and a most undesirable character, Steven told her.
“A pity I have not met them. According to Uncle, he is into some business. His wife is an ex-actress who did some small roles in films...an “extra”, Uncle had told me. He avoided them, I think. Well, I shall let you know if I do get some info on them. By the way, the car number you had given me turned out to be of no help. We traced the car. It was parked in a second hand dealer’s shed. That fellow had sold it and had bought a new car I suppose. Anyway, the description of the scars might help us nab him.”
Charu got back into her apartment and went straight to the computer.
Here was a good theme to start a new novel. But then she wished that nothing had happened to the “Kangaroo Gentleman”. He was so cheerful looking, so good and she felt a sense of strange affection towards him.
When her son phoned her that night, she mentioned about the missing Kangaroo Gentleman and her conversation with the Inspector.
“Be careful Amma,” he told her. “That unscrupulous couple may come again...I am a bit worried.”
“Don’t worry about me sonny. Just pray for the safety of the gentleman. You have met him once I think. It appears his name is Daniel. How strange, that I did not even know his name!”
There was no call from Steven for the next two days.
Charu dropped in at a petrol bunk on the third day after looking up her aunt in Kilpauk. The fuel meter displayed that petrol was at a dangerous low and she drove the car to the first bunk on her way home. She drew up behind a grey car which was already getting its fuel tank filled.
The boy filled the petrol and told her, ”One minute Ma’am. The gentleman has gone in to pay and will be back now. He is a regular here and the payment is by card. Ah! He is here.“
The boy rushed towards him as he extended a hundred rupee note tip.
Charu saw him.
Gosh!
It was the same fellow with the scar on the right cheek and hand. He was wearing a grey T Shirt and got into the car and pulled forward.
Charu saw that it was a different car.
She quickly took out her pen from the dashboard and scribbled the number.
A Pondicheri registration.
She told the boy, “Fill it up, will you,” and went towards the road.
The car had pulled out and was speeding on the main road.
She called Steven.
“Mr Steven. I am in a petrol bunk in Kilpauk. The scoundrel has been spotted. He is driving a grey Maruthi and ...the number is ...” she read out from the paper.
“It’s the same fellow wearing a grey T Shirt. You can catch him today, I am sure.”
Steven thanked her profusely.
She paid for the petrol, asked the boy to keep the change and drove home humming happily.
She was hoping and praying that the Kangaroo Gentleman was safe.
She refrained from calling Steven and asking him about the case.
He must be so busy and I should not pester him, she told herself.
“Amma, anything known about Daniel Sir?” Munusami asked Charu as she stepped out for a wedding the third day.
“No Munusami. I shall definitely let you know when I do get some news,“ she had replied, walking towards the car park.
“Good man, Ma’am. Wish he is safe somewhere. Wish he comes back.”
Aw!! If wishes were horses...thought Charu.
In the happy and noisy ambience of the wedding, Charu had completely forgotten about Mr Daniel. The phone had tinkled twice from the depth of her handbag. But in the din of chatter and loud music, it had gone unheard.
Coming home after a sumptuous meal, she sank on the sofa in her living room after closing the front door and bolting it.
She took her phone and was pleasantly surprised to find that Steven had called her twice.
“I shall call him” she thought.
The phone tinkled again before she could make the call.
It was Steven.
“Ma’am, I have been trying to reach you for the past one hour. “
“I am sorry Mr Steven. I was at a wedding. I missed your calls in that noise there. I just saw the missed calls and was about to call you. Any progress? Have you found him – your uncle? Is he safe?”, she asked in all eagerness.
“Will it be convenient if I call on you now? Are you free?” Steven asked her.
“Please do come, Mr Steven. I will see you any time,” said Charu.
But within seconds the door bell chimed.
Charu opened the door and was stunned to see Mr Daniel and Mr Steven.
“Oh my God!! Well, I never!! Thank God you are safe...”she stood there talking incoherently.
“Won’t you call us in?” asked Steven and walked in with Mr Daniel and sat on the sofa.
“The “Kangaroo Gentleman” is safe, Ma’am” said Mr Daniel smiling.
Charu blushed.
The story unfolded.
The unscrupulous couple had coaxed Mr Daniel into their car when he was on his way to the bank, a few blocks away and then it was just imprisonment at their place.
For more than a week, they had been coercing him to write a codicil and sign it and fortunately for him, the Lawyer had gone out of station and was expected to be back only next month.
They were not murderous. They had no courage for that though the fellow...Martin...looked like a ruffian.
Finally with Charu’s phone call from the Petrol bunk, the police traced the address and rescued Mr Daniel.
The couple were put behind the bars on charge of kidnapping and wilfully imprisoning Mr Daniel.
“They will not bother me anymore as more people have registered complaints against them. I called up my wife’s uncle and told him that they are in jail and he heaved a sigh of relief. He quickly informed the other relatives and no one is willing to take them out on bail...each having been duped in some way or the other! Thank you Ma’am for all that you have done. Steven talked to me at length about you. He was all praise for you. My rescue would have been impossible but for your timely help. Aw!! I never knew you were the Detective Fiction writer! I have read all your books!! Now you can write a new novel - “The Kangaroo Gentleman”- and make me a hero! “
Daniel guffawed!!
Usha Surya.- Have been writing for fifty years. Was a regular blogger at Sulekha.com and a few stories in Storymirror.com. Have published fifteen books in Amazon / Kindle ... a few short story collections, a book on a few Temples and Detective Novels and a Recipe book. A member of the International Photo Blogging site- Aminus3.com for the past thirteen years...being a photographer.
Meena Mishra
“This piece of art is bound to cast a spell over the connoisseurs,” announced the village schoolmaster. The exquisite Madhubani painting hung on the white washed wall. But it had no viewers. Every eye in the room was darting this way and that. When Sitakshi entered, all eyes found their sanctuary in her bewitching form. There was a collective sigh of pleasure. Sitakshi, the girl with eyes like those of Sita, lovely and enigmatic, moved close to her painting. She was the most popular girl not only of her village but of the entire locality. Her enchanting beauty and grace made suitors from far and wide come to the little hamlet of Pindaruch that nestled in the heart of Mithila. Judge Sahab’s Kotdhi, where she resided had become the cynosure of every bachelor's eye.
Sitakshi had grown up with the three daughters of Judge Sahab, whose forefathers had been the landlords of the village and had built this palatial mansion with a pond in the front and a sprawling mango orchard behind. Sitakshi was his caretaker’s daughter and used to live in the outhouse until her father was alive. She was adored by everyone including Judge Sahab’s wife and children. She filled the void of the perfect companion for his daughters as they studied in the same village padhshala and shared a love for painting. All the three girls loved her for her merits and attributes. Judge Sahab would visit this place only on weekends and holidays as he was posted in Patna High Court.
Judge Sahab’s eldest daughter Sunaina and Sitakshi were bosom friends as they had been in the same class from Grade One. Now they were eighteen and were in Grade Twelve of the Village High School. Being with Sunaina served as armour for 220 221 her as it kept the village lads at bay. But almost every boy in the village and the school had a crush on her. Sitakshi's Madhubani paintings had been sent for art festivals that had brought laurels to the school where she attended.
During weekends when Judge Sahab would be home, the suitors would visit his kotdhi posing as art lovers and showing their interest in purchasing the paintings. Judge Sahab knew that these were only pretexts. Their actual target was Sitakshi's hand. Once the sale of the paintings was over, Sitakshi would appear before the buyers to sign dated autographs. She too was no fool, and was well aware that the buyers had little or no interest in her paintings, but only wanted to have a glimpse of her.
Sitakshi had an invisible halo around her of chastity and limpidness that stopped these men from proposing directly to her. Becoming an orphan at an early age had developed in her a sense of detachment from worldly affairs. She would devote the maximum amount of time to reading books and painting. It created an aura of awe and veneration around her that left the pseudo-art-lovers in bewilderment and they would forget all their well-rehearsed dialogues and end up asking, “How many days did you take to paint this, Sitakshi?” She, however, would give her enigmatic smile as an answer. That was by far more than what they could ask for.
Just before her Grade Twelve exams, Sitakshi fell sick. A rare disease that the doctors were unable to diagnose. Many medicines, herbs and therapies were tried but without effect. She grew pale and thin, she spoke little and hardly ever left her bed. Finally one of her art lovers got a plant for her. It was a very rare one that had been procured with as much difficulty as the Kalyan Sougandhik had given Bhim. The plant was called Kamdev as its pinkish leaves were almost bow-shaped and its flowers were like blunt red arrows. The plant was placed on the window-sill of the room where the afflicted girl lay. The juice of a leaf was given to her every day at twilight. The regular dose of the heart-shaped leaves worked wonders. Her condition started improving. She grew less thin, less pale and started moving around the room a little. No visitors were permitted. As all the suitors were turned down, they stopped coming to the Kotdhi. Days grew into months and months into years. Judge Sahab and his family moved to Patna, and no one had any news about the young woman ever since.
Despite the let-up in Sitakshi’s life, the magic plant stayed alive and remained within the confinement of the room where Sitakshi stayed all those years. The plant, however, had other ideas too. It now assumed the shape of a human being with wings on either side. The leaves of the plant had acquired the perfect shape of a bow. There was only one flower left that had become rigid and looked exactly like an arrow placed at the centre of the bow. Someone unfamiliar with the existence of the magic plant would most likely consider it as a sculpture of the Love-God made out of plaster of Paris.
Sitakshi had never been intimate with any man and Judge Sahab’s family was fully aware of this. Yet there was no doubt that a child was growing in her womb. Was it possible that the herbal medicines had played a part in the events that were unfolding to everyone’s bewilderment?
The most renowned astrologer in Patna was summoned to Judge Sahab’s residence. The astrologer spent much time talking to Sitakshi alone. When he emerged out of the room, he appeared to be in a trance. He told Judge Sahab something strange and unheard of until then. Cupid was infatuated by the enchanting beauty of Sitakshi and transformed himself into the Kamdev plant. Sitakshi resisted his advances for a long time and in the end, she had to succumb, the result of which was now in her womb. The child born out of this unreal union was destined to become the greatest painter of his time.
“This is the finest Madhubani painting exhibition I have ever seen,” said Andy Warhol, the American curator and movie maker to Judge Sahab.
“Maa, what is my father’s name?” asked the five-year-old Ishwar. “Ishwar,” Sitakshi responded, all the while concentrating on her painting. “Why doesn’t he stay with us?” he shot his next question. “He is painting a masterpiece for us,” she replied.
“Would you give me permission to shoot a film on the mother-son duo – the finest Madhubani painters in the world?”, interrupted Warhol, bringing Judge Sahab back from his reverie. “Sure,” replied Judge Sahab with his signature enigmatic smile.
MEENA MISHRA is an out of -the box-thinker, inspiring hundreds of students, teachers and working professionals across the world, turn into published writers and poets.
She is an award-winning author, poet, short-story writer, social worker, novelist, editor, an educator and a publisher. The Impish Lass Publishing House is her brainchild. Her poems, stories and book-reviews have been published in many international journals and magazines. She is the recipient of several prestigious awards. She is an active member of Mumbai English Educators’ Team and was invited by the Education Department of Maharashtra to be a part of The Review Committee for the new English text book. She has been working as the International Coordinator for British Council activities for more than 10 years. She has been invited as a judge for several literary competitions and lit fests including the Lit fest of IIT Bombay and NM college fest. 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.
Her contribution to the field of education and writing has received acclamation from the esteemed newspapers like Times of India and Mid Day. Her articles are published in Times of India’s NIE and a suburban newspaper and leading educational magazine of the country- Brainfeed Higher Education Plus.
She is on the mission of publishing the articles of students and educators of various schools across the globe under her unique project, ‘The Young Bards’. Her autobiographical novella, The Impish Lass, has been converted into a web-series and can be subscribed on YouTube.
Under the banner of her publishing house ( The Impish Lass Publishing House- Mumbai ) she has successfully published more than 100 books in 3 year’s duration apart from The Young Bards- book various editions for students and teachers .More than 500 writers across the globe have received an opportunity of becoming published writers and poets under this banner. Recently published books ‘Cascades- Treasure Trove of Short Stories had 104 educators across the country getting published .She was invited to share her views by Sony TV for their first episode of, Zindagi Ke Crossroads, based on needs of special children. She was recently invited by the “AajTak” news channel to express her views on the special episode on the PMC Bank scam victims.
She had written an exclusive poem which was read and appreciated by the living legend of Bollywood- Amitabh Bachchan. She has been the recipient of Wordsmith Award- 2019 for her short story , “Pindaruch,” from the Asian Literary Society. She has received many awards in 2020 for her contribution to the field of education and literature. She has received ‘ Most Outstanding Teacher of the Year Award,’ during World Education Summit in Feb-2021. Her poems have been translated and published in Spanish magazine. Her latest book – The Impish Lass- Part 2 ( TIL Stories and More) has received raving reviews from the readers including the greatest Indian Nuclear Scientist Dr. R. Chidambaram. It has received 5 stars rating on Amazon .
As a publisher she believes that EACH SOUL THAT WRITES HAS THE RIGHT TO GET PUBLISHED.
Dr. K. Rajamouly
Sumanth was on his way to watch a wrestling match. Though he was a scholar and dancer, he was interested in watching wrestling. He was rushing to the court of wrestling by bike. He was very anxious and so went faster. There were crowds. Still people were still gathering to watch the most famous wrestling.
The wrestling match was about to start. The umpire whistled as a mark of its beginning. It was the wrestling match of women. He was happy for gents had permission to watch the match of wrestling. The match was more interesting for men than for women gathered there.
Ganga and Manga were the wrestlers who entered the court. Sumanth watched the two wrestlers keenly. Manga was cute and beautiful. He watched her with all interest. Whenever Manga was successful, he clapped heartily. Whenever she fell, he fell into a well of disappointment. He wished her to be the winner of the match at any cost.
Manga was a wrestler par excellence and so he liked her in the heart of his heart. When she won the match, his happiness knew no bounds. He approached her, smiling heartily.
"Hearty congratulations. Manga."
"Thank you," said Manga, raising her head while her smile was blooming.
"I enjoyed the match..."
"Thank you"
"You're the best wrestler to my knowledge...I'm your biggest fan"
"I'm also your biggest fan."
"Wow! You're my biggest fan..."
"Yes, I know that you are a famous dancer."
"You've known me as a dancer."
"Yes..."
"What a meeting!" said Sumanth and Manga in one voice. It went without saying that they were fans of each other to fall in love.
Days passed. They spoke to each other. They went on tours together. They fell in love and met in their marriage.
Sumanth was a tall handsome scholar and dancer. He was a lover of fine arts. He was a scholar by vocation and a dancer by avocation. All liked him for his great intelligence and abundant patience as well.
Manga was a woman of well-built personality. She was a famous wrestler. She had a flaw of her nature. She was a short-tempered and dominant woman.
Sumanth and Manga were fans of each other. They fell in love liking each other. Later they became a couple in their marriage. The guests in the marriage blessed the couple for their happy married life.
The guests passed remarks in their own ways about the newly married couple:
"Sumanth is a man of slim personality. Manga is a woman of stout stature. It's a good match, lovely pair. They're made for each other."
"Sumanth is a man of patience...Manga is short-tempered. No problem will be there in their married life. There’ll be adjustments."
"They’re born each other and so they’re made for each other."
Sumanth and Manga were on their honeymoon trip to the spots of their choice. They enjoyed the prime of their robust youth. The days they spent on their honeymoon were memorable for them. They talked of their sweet experiences during their honeymooning.
"I needn’t ask you to tell me about our honeymoon experiences," said Sumanth.
"Yes," said Manga, responding with a glow in her face.
"You and I were life partners."
"Yes"
"Only to recall and to rejoice."
"Ever memorable as it was fully enjoyable."
"We both were honeymooners. We awaited joyous life after marriage."
"Yes...I lived my life...You lived your life. Now we're to lead our own life together. Two lives joined like two rivers for their communion to flow into one."
"Yes, it's a happy union like the communion of two rivers as you have rightly said," said Sumanth looking at his wife with all smiles.
When Manga smiled, she appeared like a full-bloomed rose. Sumanth took her into his arms and hugged her heartily. They forgot themselves for a little while.
"The days we spent are memorable. Apart from our joys, the spots of the destinations also shared our joys. They cherish our joys," said Sumanth casting amorous glances at Manga.
"True, the spots shared our honeymoon joys...," said Manga.
"The spots we've toured are very beautiful to share our delightful life," said Sumanth.
. "Yes...," said Manga.
"We are forgetting to have lunch today at a star hotel... Let's go for lunch," said Sumanth.
They went to the Star Hotel and had lunch. They had meals at different hotels for some days. When they did not relish the meals in the Star hotel, they went to different hotels, as the meals were tasteless and insipid. They made up their mind to prepare meals on their own at home.
First, they went to a bookstall and bought a famous book on cooking, entitled "How to Cook Best as Per Taste." When they opened the book, they found the first item, "Buy a Gas Stove". There was an ad to buy so and so gas stove with a cylinder that came to the market with latest technology. There was an offer to give a lighter free of cost. They bought the best type. Then they found a list of different items like rice, some kinds of vegetables with green leaves and so on for cooking. They bought all the things. They came back home in a jubilant mood.
They entered the kitchen to prepare meals. They called the gas stove dealer on the phone. He came and installed the cylinder, connecting it to the gas stove. He kept the lighter handy for cooking and went away.
Sumanth and Maga started to prepare meals. They kept everything ready for cooking rice and curry.
Sumanth sat in a chair and started to read aloud the instructions of how to prepare rice and curry. Manga was following the instructions he read aloud.
For curry preparation, take two glasses of rice in a bowl and make sure that it's free from sand. Clean the rice with water. Add four glasses of water to it. Put it on the stove, covering it with a lid duly.
For curry preparation, first, cut vegetables of any type and onions into pieces and keep them aside. Put the curry dish on the second stove. Pour two spoons of oil into it. Add onion pieces and other ingredients to the oil. After a few minutes, drop the pieces of vegetables into the bowl. Mix the mixture of all those in the bowl with the help of a spoon, adding all the essential things, and put a lid on it.
After ten minutes, put the dishes onto the table. They were at the dining table. They occupied the chairs like the king and the queen as they felt pride in preparing meals on their own.
"We're great...We're successful in cooking meals," said Manga.
"When we've studied a lot, cooking is easy for us," said Sumanth.
"Yes, cooking is an easy work." said Manga.
"Is it wrestling? Cooking is after all the work of a child for you," said Sumanth.
"True" said Manga, and Sumanth removed the lids on the dishes.
Both were ready with the plates for them to dine. They looked at the items: rice and curry in the dishes, finding no change in them after the cooking process. In the rice dish, there was only wet rice as it was neither cooked nor boiled. In the curry dish, they found the vegetable pieces and onion pieces raw and oily at their glance.
They felt surprised. They thought of the reasons, using their brains. They tried to realize their mistake and realized it suddenly.
"We've kept the lighter ready and handy. We didn't light the stove," said they in one voice.
"You're good at wrestling but you're not good at cooking," said Sumanth.
"You're good at studies but you're a novice in cooking," said Manga.
Manga lighted the stove and put the dishes on the stove. As per the time, they brought the dishes onto the dining table. This time they did not feel pride as they realized that cooking is also an art. They found the curry insipid, as they did not add salt to the curry. They added table salt to it as an afterthought and had what had prepared.
Manga prepared meals everyday, following the book on cooking. Every time, there was something less or some burnt. One day they were dining, they fell in a conversation,
"You've forgotten to add salt to curry," said Sumanth.
"Yes," said Manga.
"Women definitely learn cooking," said Sumanth.
"Is it wrong when men learn cooking?" said Manga.
"Are men to learn...?"
"Yes...," said emphatically.
Sumanth looked at Manga for her smiles, but he found frown in her face for the first time. He kept quiet, saying,
"Yes, there is nothing wrong if I see frown in your face," said Sumanth.
"I would like you to accept whatever I say. I will tell you all the right things. You’ve got to say "Yes". I know you say it…,’ said Manga.
“Yes” said Sumanth.
“You've said it... Good," said Manga.
"When I love you, I've to obey your views," said Sumanth.
In the passage of time, Sumanth learnt life-realities. He was a scholar but did not try to learn them. He learnt that man's life is full of adjustments.
The couple spent two years attending to their duties. They felt like having a short vacation and spending their time in a beautiful location. They selected a destination.
Sumanth and Manga applied leave for that. The following day, they were getting ready for the trip. They were searching for the things and clothes they were to take with them and moving into the room in a hurried manner.
Sumanth was going in a very fast manner in the way Manga was coming in the opposite direction in a very fast manner. Unexpectedly they collided with each other. Immediately he fell, as she was a strong wrestler of gigantic stature and permanent winner in all wrestling matches. Before she extended her arm to lift him, he stood up immediately. It all appeared easy for her to lift him with her single hand. He also understood it, looking at her physical stature. He moved hither and thither as usual in getting the bag and baggage ready.
They were on their holiday destination and enjoying their trip. They talked about their honeymoon. They derived pleasure from recalling the trip.
This time, they had experiences as couple of two-year married life. They were frank in expressing their views. This time he felt like asking her,
"A wrestler is stronger than a scholar," expecting an answer from his wife,
"A scholar is wiser than a wrestler," replied Manga.
Sumanth remembered falling when Manga unexpectedly hit him coming from the opposite direction. She understood that she was many times stronger than he. He always felt superior as he was her husband, and she was to accept his dominance as per customs.
Sumanth wanted to express this view, but he did not express it. He kept mum. He changed the topic, saying.
"Life is boring because of the routine, mundane life."
"Yes, we should visit beautiful places for pleasure," said Manga.
"We should fill our lives with joy," said Sumanth.
"Outings make us forget stress and strain," said Manga.
"Outings rejuvenate us to attend our duties with new vigor and enthusiasm." said Sumanth.
They came back from their tour happily. They resumed their duties happily. One day they talked of their future plans.
"Let's buy a car and send our children by car," said Manga.
"What car do you prefer to buy? said Sumanth.
"It's your choice...," said Manga.
"Yes... my choice," said Sumanth.
“Yes, your choice,” said Manga.
"In which school...?" said Sumanth curiously,
"It's Global Concept School," said Manga.
"No, it's SpectrumSchool, I prefer," said Sumanth.
"No... follow my advice," said Manga
"No... you have got to follow my advice..." said Sumanth.
"What! Is it you said so...?" said Manga.
Sumanth remembered his falling down when knocked by his wife Manga. He repeatedly recalled the event when he looked at her gigantic personality and her eyes reddened by her anger and impatience.
"Can't the manager of the family take a decision...? Can't he be equal to his wife though she's a wrestler?" said Sumanth.
Manga stood up impatiently and looked at Sumanth angrily.
"Okay, your decision is final," said Sumanth immediately with all smiles.
When understanding on the part of the couple for the harmony of a family is lost, the stronger will have dominance over the other who is the weaker only to say, "Yes Boss".
Dr. Rajamouly Katta, M.A., M. Phil., Ph. D., Professor of English by profession and poet, short story writer, novelist, writer, critic and translator by predilection, has to his credit 64 books of all genres and 344 poems, short stories, articles and translations published in journals and anthologies of high repute. He has so far written 3456 poems collected in 18 anthologies, 200 short stories in 9 anthologies, nine novels 18 skits. Creative Craft of Dr. Rajamouly Katta: Sensibilities and Realities is a collection of articles on his works. As a poet, he has won THIRD Place FIVE times in Poetry Contest in India conducted by Metverse Muse rajamoulykatta@gmail.com\
Sreekumar T V
Boy seeing girl for marriage. The parents knew each other through common friends and everything appeared perfect. Only child of parents and both professionals in the medical field. Parents decided that it was God’s will that connected them and the only remaining factor was the girl and boy meeting and their liking to each other. It is difficult to gauge one’s mental attitude within a short time but at least meeting and talking for a few minutes has its gains. The boy’s parents came and after the initial formalities the girl and boy were left on their own for a private conversation. They had their private talk for a while and the families parted on a happy note.
Later in the day a call from the boy’s house which my Appa attended and said they were happy about everything except for a small hitch.
“Hitch”? Amma’s voice was loud
“Sunil has some reservations about lipstick” comes from Appa
“That’s common and now all grown up girls use it” comes from Amma.
That was a ridiculous and funny response least expected from an educated one and how to convey this to my daughter. Consulted my wife and she could also not take this absurd hitch.
“Do such thoughts exist now in young educated widely exposed people”?
Asked her opinion of dealing with it and she suggested discussing with our daughter and she should take the call.
Daughter was cool with the response
“Let me talk to him and why he didn’t raise it when we spoke”?
A very matured and disciplined decision I felt
“Where do you talk”?
“Will invite him to a restaurant for tea”
It was done immediately and she left in the evening. Waiting at home for her to return and to know the outcome was nerve racking.
She returned late and seeing our tensed looks said
“All well that ends well”
“Tell us what happened dear”
“Elementary Appa. We started the conversation on a good note and I broached the burning lipstick subject”
“Why did you not talk about it when we spoke”?
He paused for a while and said “Played safe as I liked you very much and not to thrust my thoughts while there”.
“Even now you are ruining your chances”
Silent for a while he said
“I know it is not a proper thought but a strong feeling that it does not go well with women is etched in me”
That was an honest reply and told him that if he also starts applying lipstick it will strike a balance and problem will be solved. He smiled at that and said men don’t use it and he does not like it.
“Women use it and they like it” was my counter
He thought for a while and extended his hand and I responded.
“Just curiosity what is that inner feeling to dislike lipstick”?
There was silence for a long time as if the mind was in conflict he replied
“I had also given a thought to this weird feeling in me. Maybe the movies I had seen when young might have had an influence. Bad wicked women and the ones in the red-light areas are shown with thick layer of lipstick”
“Good that you could get to the roots and this is just a phobia which will get diluted with time and your dislike reason is valid too. I will also support your thoughts not embarrassing you switching over to lighter shades”.
We looked at each other eyes locked, smiled and held our hands
“There will be challenges in our life and this the first challenge that we overcome easily and successfully. Our marriage will succeed as you have been broad minded and understanding and I will also be the same to the happenings henceforth. We will carry forward sensibly hand in hand by giving and taking”.
I said in one stretch.
This is a small story. A success story of a
“LIPSTICK”
T. V. Sreekumar is a retired Engineer stationed at Pondicherry with a passion for writing. He was a blogger with Sulekha for over fifteen years and a regular contributor writing under the name SuchisreeSreekumar.
Some of his stories were published in Women's Era. “THE HINDU” had also published some of his writings on its Open Page..
Jay Jagdev
Jay Jagdev, Bhubaneswar, 24th July 2024
As I prepared myself to get back to my usual life, after living almost off-grid for three days at Koraput, I realised that I was in a different state of mind which I had not experienced in the last few months. I was much calmer and in harmony with my immediate surroundings.
I tried to recall what had happened in the last few months. India’s dream run in the Cricket World Cup 2023 and its miserable defeat in the finals, IPL matches, T20 World Cup and Indian win, General Elections and the unexpected results, political uncertainty, garish and overstretched marriage of an Ambani scion, and the Rath Yatra mishaps and this Ratnabhandara commentary have left us feeling lost, defeated, anxious, uncertain, joyful, and irritated in some way or the other. There was hardly anyone who was not affected by these events. We did react to them in our own way, but these past few months can’t be described as peaceful in any form.
While driving on the beautiful roads running through those emerald mountains adorning the crown of monsoon clouds and seeing a small child taking shelter from the sudden rain under his rickety umbrella, I for a moment realised that the baggage of worries I am carrying from my world and his worries are so different. At the same time away from the footprints of online news outlets, newspapers both local and national, and unaffected by the global chaos at all the airports and banking hubs due to the Microsoft Global Server outage, the worries of the child under the umbrella and mine were quite similar.
If we keep my baggage out of the equation both of us had similar worries – both didn’t want to get wet. That was our immediate concern and how simple and small it was.
Was I not in peace earlier?
While driving back to my base after my trip, I tried to make sense of the exact meaning of the word ‘Peace’ which we so liberally and casually use without giving much thought to it.
The search tool on my phone helped.
It said Peace is a complex and multifaceted concept that can be understood in various ways, depending on the context and perspective. Some common meanings of peace include the absence of conflict or violence: Peace can refer to a state of quiet, calmness, and serenity, where there is no war, fighting, or violence; Inner tranquillity: Peace can also describe a state of inner calmness, serenity, and contentment, where individuals feel at ease with themselves and their surroundings; Harmony and balance: Peace can represent a state of balance and harmony within oneself, with others, and with the environment; Reconciliation and resolution: Peace can involve the process of resolving conflicts, forgiving, and reconciling with others; Social justice: Peace can also imply a state of social justice, where individuals and groups are treated fairly, equally, and with dignity.
Overall, peace encompasses various aspects of human experience, from personal inner calm to global harmony and understanding. Our ancient literature and wisdom have put enormous importance on peace. If the stanzas of ‘Santipatha’ are studied, it has given a list of areas where and how peace needs to be established to allow the development of just not human beings but of the flora and fauna.
Of all the connotations of peace mentioned above, what matters the most to us and the world is our inner tranquillity, harmony and balance with our immediate surroundings.
By analysing the difference in my state of mind earlier and what it was in the last three days, I shortlisted a few things that we are exposing ourselves to which are eluding peace in our lives. What are they?
The factors can be broadly categorized into two thematic groups.
The first is the exogenous factors that affect our tranquillity from outside and the endogenous factors, which culminate inside us and which affect our balance and harmony with our surroundings.
The exogenous factors can be of the following types:
Which makes us focus on things that don’t affect us and over which we have no control.
We are consuming content from almost every corner of the world and on an astounding number of topics. Earlier it was limited to our immediate neighbourhood or at best our city. Our exposure to information through electronic media has made us highly vulnerable to its negative effects of it. News of wars, invasions, and political disturbances in distant countries are beamed to our homes and phones in real-time. Critically seen these incidents don’t have any immediate impact on our lives and neither we are responsible for them, nor do we have any control over their outcomes. A stream of news makes us anxious and nervous internally. Unknown to us negative news consumed at the beginning of the day, affects our mood and that in turn affects our thought and behaviour subsequently.
A mind with an appetite for unnecessary curiosity for others’ lives and feeding on the news of accidents, rapes, violence, and political upheaval can never be called a peaceful mind.
Which makes us focus on things that we don’t have.
Unknown to us, we live with a sense of blissful autonomy when we are the fodder for many. Political parties and big business houses selling goods and services use various channels and complex algorithms of manipulation to drive our minds into doing things as they want or buying things they sell by planting a need for them in our minds. Open a newspaper in the morning and you will find advertisements of premium real estate, cars, jewellery, holiday packages and tools of a supposedly good lifestyle seducing and encouraging you to acquire them.
They focus on triggering that sense of inadequacy in you to make you work hard to acquire them. That’s called having the aspiration for growth. While you were grateful for having a car which helped you to commute on a rainy day; the advertisement of the launch of a new brand or a new model makes you realise that that same car is now old, doesn’t have the modern features, completely changing your perspective towards it.
A smart mind can see through the ploy but most of us will keep thinking about it and subconsciously start the preparation towards acquiring it one day somehow.
This seed of ‘Lack’ would grow in you to make you steal, borrow, divert from the essentials and splurge to acquire your aspirational products. Most of the latest iPhones purchased in India are through EMIs. The consequences of not being able to manage to pay them back are not what a peaceful life constitutes of. Many lives are lost to their inability to deal with debts and many lives are spent in the drudgery of managing EMIs.
The endogenous factors can be of the following types:
We make ourselves focus on things of the past that can’t be reversed.
Two prominent attributes of the human mind that differentiate it from other animals are Memory and Imagination. This perhaps is the byproduct of being of a higher intelligence order. We are a unique species with the ability to keep recreating the images and scenarios of the past and the future in our minds and silently working on them in our minds.
Our present version is the accumulation of experiences and scars of the past. From our childhood, we bear the wounds of our disappointments, traumas and frustrations to our adulthood. Behind the happy faces that abound in the world and the false world of social media, there exist several unhappy souls who continuously suffer their memory and their personalities carry the signs of their past trauma. Each of us knows that the past is gone and can’t be reversed. But the stickiness of the past is so high that very few can detach themselves from it. Wise ones are practical enough to detach themselves from their past and accept the present as it unfolds. But most of us upon reaching a new milestone of our lives, be it a new relationship or a changed and better opportunity, subconsciously remember some of the scars and try to reverse them or ameliorate them to some extent.
A person who has lived a life of material or emotional inadequacy would try to make good on the new opportunity. Non-achievement of it leads to further scars and traumas.
We make ourselves worry about things of the future that may not happen.
Self-preservation is a primal instinct of every living organism. The animals of higher intelligence orders are good at seeing dangers to life ahead of time and are far better at protecting them. Awareness of his surroundings and his innate intelligence make him design better strategies to protect himself in the future. Adapting to the changing environment not only to preserve themselves but to help it propagate.
This awareness makes him plan for dangers and risks and making provisions for them becomes one of his life goals. We are trained to save for the rainy days, for our financial independence post-retirement and also for our future unforeseen medical expenses. Unregulated awareness can also lead to irrational fear.
When fear becomes more, we not only think of our future but also that of our dependents and start planning and worrying for them too. History tells us that most of the things in the future we fear about never happen. But an unregulated mind will constantly worry about his goals and never be at peace until he succeeds in achieving them. Such anxious minds invariably invent another goal and start chasing it and worrying about achieving it. It’s an infinite loop.
Modern lifestyles urge everyone to join a rat race and be successful in the name of peace and happiness. But Success and Achievements don’t always lead to happiness and peace. We need to teach acceptance and seek contentment in the present and what we have in hand to live in calm and harmony. Memories are extremely sticky. We need to practice detachment from the past and teach ourselves that whatever had to happen has already happened and thinking about it and carrying it in our mind is at the cost of missing the present opportunities. We need to be aware that the future is uncertain. One best-laid plan may not be of any use because it may not be effective or that may not be adequate.
We understand peace or its importance after doing enormous damage to ourselves when it’s too late. Staying peaceful doesn’t come to us naturally. It requires a determined effort to reach that state.
Jay Jagdev is an entrepreneur, academic and author. He is a popular blogger and an essayist. His foray into poetry is new. His essays are regularly published in Odishabytes and his poems on life and relationships have been featured in KabitaLive.
He is known for his work on sustainable development and policy implementation. As the President of the Udaygiri Foundation, he works to preserve and develop native language, literature, and heritage by improving its usage and consumption. More can be known about him on www.jpjagdev.com
Satish Pashine
My Ghost-Smitten Dadi (Grandmother)
My father had a stepmother, whom we called Dadi. Dadi was believed to be possessed by a spirit we called Bhoot (ghost or apparition). An exorcist, or ojha, would visit us periodically to ward off this and other spirits believed to haunt the haveli. He chanted mantras and performed lengthy rituals, often conversing with Dadi, or perhaps the ghost within her. Sometimes, multiple spirits would inhabit her, altering her voice. The ojha explained that these were the other spirits roaming the house. He was an educated exorcist who believed that spirits lived in the fifth dimension, with time as the fourth dimension and the three coordinates (X, Y, Z) as the first three.
As children, we were terrified and confused by these explanations but watched the rituals as if they were horror movies. The exorcist insisted that, just as there are various kinds of people, there are various kinds of spirits, and it was crucial to dispel the malevolent ones while sparing the harmless ones.
After one intense ghost-chasing episode, the exorcist gave us some consecrated water, prepared by soaking animal hide, and instructed us to force Dadi to drink it the next time she was possessed. We kept this water in a bamboo container, as instructed, and used it effectively. Whenever the ghost spoke through her, someone would hold her tightly, and another person would make her drink the water, causing the ghost to leave immediately. She would then revert to her usual self, bewildered by the situation.
My father’s half-brother, Dadi’s biological son, was the most educated in the family, having attended college for a time. At his insistence, my father consulted medical doctors and psychiatrists, who dismissed the idea of possession, suggesting instead that Dadi was seeking attention in our large family. However, the exorcist maintained that scientists were unaware of the fifth dimension.
Years later, a speaker in my community discussed the fifth dimension, and I read somewhere that our forefathers live around us as spirits without form or space. I remain unsure about these ideas, but perhaps future scientific discoveries will shed light on them.
Ghost Leaves Dadi
Years after the incident, our joint family partitioned, and Dadi moved to the village with her biological son and grandchildren. There, she managed a country house and paddy fields. A countrywoman at heart, she thrived in the countryside, labouring in the fields. The ghost, we heard, left her for good, perhaps preferring the city, or maybe the doctors were right. In the village, she commanded the household and field laborers.
Ghost in the Toilet
We were a large joint family of 38 members and two live-in servants. Our house, purchased from a prosperous Muslim family, had an 8-foot-tall perimeter wall with broken glass embedded at the top to deter thieves and monkeys. The main gate was large enough for a truck or elephant to pass through, while a smaller exit gate led to a lane.
The house had many rooms over two floors with a tiled roof. Near the main gate, two toilets were situated at the end of a narrow alley. Family members reported hearing footsteps from upper rooms and the courtyard. One toilet, elevated on a platform, was rumoured to be haunted. The house was said to be built on a former graveyard. My father often called a tantric to banish the ghosts, who claimed to trap them in lemons and coconuts tied to upper door frames with red cloth. Though the ghosts never harmed us, they made their presence known.
One morning, a long queue formed before the toilet, but the occupant took unusually long. With no response to shouts, a headcount revealed no one was inside. A child was hoisted to look through a gap above the door and confirmed it was empty. By pushing the door repeatedly, the latch was undone, revealing tantric items like lemons, vermilion, and red cloth inside. The exorcist was summoned to address the situation. The toilet, served by municipal staff, had an old-style latrine with an escape route only the cleaning staff would likely use.
Chudail (Female Apparition) at the Kitchen Exit
Ghost stories were a favourite pastime. One evening, my father recounted tales of young women who die during childbirth becoming Chudail (apparitions), described as saree-clad, with open hair and a large Bindi, searching for their child. One such Chudail was reported in a neighbouring household.
The main kitchen had two exit doors, one leading to a narrow alley with a sewage drain covered by slate tiles but exposed in places for night-time use. One winter night, I awoke and went to the alley. Suddenly, I remembered the Chudail, looked towards the kitchen exit door, and saw her as described, 10-15 feet away. I ran back inside, shivering, and told my father, who refused to call a doctor. The ojha was summoned, and after his rituals, my fever disappeared by evening.
Ghost Grips My Wrist
From the main kitchen, a small puja room with a red electric bulb led to a pantry storing condiments. The pantry light had fused and hadn’t been replaced. One night, while we sat for dinner, I was asked to fetch papads. Reluctant but obedient, I ran through the puja room into the dark pantry. Reaching into the papad drum while looking towards the kitchen, I felt a cold, large hand grip my wrist. Terrified, I turned to see my left hand had involuntarily done the "ghost act." I ran back to the kitchen, sharing my experience. My older brother joked that the spirit might have entered my left hand, and we laughed. Could he have been right? Maybe!
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
Gokul Chandra Mishra
---- Bilagaon ---- Don't know why that 60 years old story came into my mind like a tsunami. Daspalla - Grandfather's house was great with two maternal grandfathers and two uncles. The elder grandfather was the accountant of Daspalla Raja Saheb. So he was always busy thehis work outside the house. It was difficult to meet him when we visited our grandfather's house. But the younger grandfather was busy with house work. When grandchildren like me went there , he became very happy and unloaded all his affection he had stored for us. We, the grandchildren were not small in number. The total exceeded five dozens. Whenever we happened to make a journey 5 bullock carts were insufficient. But everyone of us was tied up in the firm rope of his affection.
Probably it was a Sunday. School was closed. Our younger grandfather had to go to see his farm. Me and Tusan bhaina (my first cousin) were near him. He asked, "Will you go to Bilagaon? Then come with me". The happiness of the two of us could not be controlled at his invitation. We readied up instantly to grab the opportunity..
Bilagaon was the name of the farm house as if it was a cluster of houses. But Grandfather's farm house was a lone cottage without any neighbourhood. We had heard a lot of things about the farm house but never had the chance to see it. It was situated approximately 5 miles away from Daspalla. After walking about a mile along the main road, we had to trek about 4 miles on a very narrow bushy walking track only few inches wide .
We were just three in the jungle track . Grandfather was commanding us from the front and we two cousins followed him like obedient pupils of a Guru. The narrow path was surrounded with rustic bushy thorny plants and dwarf date tress burderned with ripe fruits spread everywhere. There were many thorny black berry plants (locally known as Kantei koli) laden with berries waiting to get our attention. We both started picking and plucking the dates and berries storing in a bag. After walking for a long time, we saw the fields. The vast green trail extended to the foothills on the horizon. A lush green carpet of paddy plants enveloped the valley. Some tall palm trees were proudly standing on fences overlooking the sky with amzing eagerness to touch it. These tall palm trees were positioned as if they were guarding the flora and fauna.
After walking for a while, we saw a small lone thatched house surrounded by the paddy fields. A few basil plants and flower plants decorated the entrance of the house. Grandpa called us in and introduced us to his farmhouse. There was not even a hut near by. Silence reigned all around with occasional shirking sound of tiny birds. Our grandfather used to visit this place almost every week during cultivation and harvesting times. He sometimes stayed there over night accompanied by farm labourers. Security was essential because, after sunset jungle animals like bears, dogs, cats, wild pigs and leopards took control of that area.
Myself and Tusan bhaina went out towards the paddy field. Plenty of water was in the field and small fishes were seen swimming happily without any hindrance. Taking a towel from grandfather, we started fishing in the field. Our joy knew no bounds when we could capture few fishes with little effort. Grandfather cooked a good meal for all of us. After a while, we were ready to return. before the sun could capture the western sky. We passed through the jungle road quickly and reached back Daspalla before sunset.
Those few moments of stay at Bilagaon are still active in my memory even after 60 years, hunting me with occasional nostalgia. Nowadays the rich people of the city do enjoy life by visiting to their own farm house but those surroundings are full of artificiality. But our grandfather's farm house had a separete charm with a natural eco-system and distinct taste. May be that is lost today.
Shri Gokul Chandra Mishra is a retired General Manager of the Syndicate Bank. He is passionate about social service, reading and writing.
Malabika Patel
The one-storey house standing in the midst of a sandy terrain was a nondescript one with all its windows opening to a vast stretch of sand. At places the sandy expanse was punctuated with screw-pine bushes. The bushes were home to stray dogs, rats and snakes. A few houses could be seen at random distances but they appeared forlorn. The area looked desolate. On a sunny day, at noon, the sand would be seen shining in the sun, creating visions of a mirage. The sea was however, a distance away. One had to walk the sandy stretch, cross a road and climb up a few small sand dunes to see the shimmering emerald blue green sheet with its white lacy waves. The sea waves, big and small broke on the shore with an unrelenting regularity and irregular roars depending on the waxing and waning of the moon.
Bulu, all of eight years, had been living in the seaside house with his parents, siblings and grandpa as far as he could remember. In the mornings and evenings he could feel the cool sea breeze wafting across the rooms through the windows that were never kept closed. In the night he was used to the sound of the sea roar, but in the daytime it was the whizzing sound of the sea breeze. From the windows, clutching the rounded wooden vertical bars, he could see the sandy expanse which stretched across as far as his eyes could see. Nothing much blocked his view, except a concrete wall at a distance that jutted out randomly like a sentinel overseeing the sandy terrain. The sentry was a cemetery, locally called the Gora kabarkhana. From the window, one could only see the outer boundary wall of the Gora kabarkhana. The tall willow trees inside and a few outside looked ominous when they swayed in the sea breeze.
Bulu always wondered why such a place was built. He was told that the Gora kabarkhana was the graveyard of the dead British (Gora Sahib) people. He had heard from his elders that the Gora Sahibs were burying their dead in this kabarkhana. But that was before 1947. He knew that Gora Sahibs left the country in 1947 when the country became independent. This was drummed into his ears by his elders and teachers besides being written about in his textbook of class II.
In the seaside town, in pre-independence time, the Sahibs had built hotels, bungalows, churches but when the time of reckoning came, they left everything behind. Most properties changed hands. But not the Gora kabarkhana. With all the graves inside, it lay abandoned. Earlier there was a caretaker as remembered by the elders but with passage of time, no one liked to stay inside the compound. Perhaps there were none to visit the graves on their commemorative days. On other days too people avoided the place. Overgrowth of vegetation and snakes had kept people out of the premises.
‘Who is there to remember them?’ once Grandpa had said, recalled Bulu. True, all their people had left the country. It is not possible to carry the dead ones with them, Bulu reasoned. How long back had they left? He calculated on his finger tips. Some twenty years ago. So those lying under the kabarkhana must have grown old.
‘Were there kids buried inside the graves?’
Bulu was asking his sister Sumi.
‘Kids must be there. Who knows? But why do you want to know?’
‘I was thinking they must have become big by now’
‘You stupid. They don’t become big. After death age does not increase, you Buddhu!’
‘Achha’
‘So whoever is buried remains at the same age. No wonder one girl from the kabarkhana has become friendly with Rina, one girl in our class’
‘Friendly? With Rina? What are you saying Bulu?’
‘Yes Apa’
‘How can a dead person from the kabarkhana be friendly with a girl studying in your school’ Sumi was perplexed. ‘And how do you know it is a girl. Tell me what makes you say that?’
‘Are Apa, this girl in our class Rina ...you know her, she stays in that corner house behind us. One day she started reciting the Bible in the class. You know Bible is the Gora people’s holy book like Maa says Gita is our book. Gita is written in Sanskrit. Bible is written in English. She talked in English only which we were not able to understand. Surely some Gora girl has become friendly with her. She says I am Eliza’
‘What Eliza? You must be joking. Bulu you always make up stories I know that’
‘No Apa Akhi chunchi (a swear word), Rina sometimes is crying, sometime laughing. She kneels down and mumbles something... We all laughed seeing her acting. Our teacher got angry and said she has gone mad. He has told her not to come to school. Her parents were told to keep her at home till she is cured. ’
‘So from tomorrow she will not come to school’
‘Accha! Rina has become mad’
‘Yes Apa all my friends in the class are saying that’
‘Then let us go to her place to see if she is alright’
‘You go, I am not coming’
The next day Sumi went to Rina’s house. Rina lived with her parents in one small house in the neighbourhood. The house was dark and dingy. Rina was sitting on a wooden cot with her thick hair, all loose and shriveled circling her face. Normally girls used to braid their hair neatly and put ribbons at the tail end. But Rina’s hair was all open and flying, she was looking distraught, her eyes were blood red and she was weeping incessantly circling her head round and round. Her people were sitting around her and trying to console her. But she was inconsolable. Sometimes she was talking nonsense and at times breaking into a long monologue which was totally incomprehensible. Eliza was the only word Sumi could understand.
Soon word spread in the neighbourhood that the small girl Rina has been possessed by a spirit. People crowded the small house to see if such a thing was true. When they came out of the house they were convinced that it is a ghost of the Gora people, who has strayed from the Gora kabarkhana and has taken a fancy to the little girl. Otherwise why would a small girl of 8 years babble in an unintelligible language which sounds like Angrezi, kneel down and cross her heart so many times. From where would she learn all these mannerisms?
Bulu thought to himself. Rina may be imitating someone whom she has seen in her dream, for all you know... But who will believe him. He heard Rina’s family was trying to get hold of an exorcist. His Grandpa had told him ‘The exorcist or the Gunia in local language is an intimidating person; he instills fear in the hearts of people who have bhoot sitting on their head ’
‘Jeje what do these Gunias do?’
‘Arre Bulu they purge out the spirit of the bhoot from a possessed person’
‘How do they purge out?’
‘They do some mumbo jumbo and a lot of physical torture on the person to drive away the bhoot.’
‘But why to drive out a bhoot if it is friendly? It can stay as long as it wants, like our relatives come and stay with us as long as they want. When they get bored they will go away’
‘Bulu you are impossible. How to explain to you that to have a bhoot living in you is not a good thing. Bhoot is a spirit of the dead, it is scary. It may do some harm’
‘But I am not scared of Rina. She is speaking in a language which we can’t follow. May be she is trying to say something. She is crying meaning she is sad. The Gunia can ask her’
A few days later, sounds of drum reverberated in the neighbourhood. It was a Sunday. Kids and adult all rushed to the direction from where the sound was coming. Bulu and his sisters also came out of their house.
The afternoon sun was shining down. A group of people were coming out of Rina’s house. Leading it was a Gunia. He was a big frightening man wearing a headgear with feathers in it. His black body was bare with lots of beads hanging from his neck. He was wearing a black dhoti and a red gamcha tied on his waist. He had red tilak on his forehead and in his hand was a big iron rod, like a spear ready to pierce into the enemy’s chest. Two people were beating the drum vigorously while the Gunia was reciting some mumbo zumbo in a loud voice.
Following the Gunia was Rina who was held by her two hands by some ladies. Her steps were unsteady and she was swinging while the ladies were forcibly making her walk. Her hair was all over her face. She was almost being dragged on the sand towards the kabarkhana. The kabarkhana was some 500 meters away. Mid way she stopped and the two ladies could not drag her obstinate body further. She knelt down with her head on the sand, her body shaking in spasms. The Gunia then turned round with his gruff voice and screamed at her.
‘Eliza! Leave her you bitch and go to your place. Or else I will thrash you black and blue. See my spear. It will tear you apart.’ Then along with loud drum sound he went on shouting mumbo jumbo and throwing water from his pot on the hapless Rina.
The small crowd was waiting with bated breath…What will happen now? Will Eliza go away? Will Eliza surrender? Suddenly Rina got up from her kneeling position and ran towards the kabarkhana. The Gunia with his iron spear gave her a chase till she slumped down midway. She fell unconscious on the sand and nobody dared to go near her. Only the Gunia ran further beyond till the Jamun tree which was just outside the boundary wall of the kabarkhana.
What will happen now Jeje? Bulu kept pestering his grandpa. Grandpa remained transfixed as all the onlookers were. There was total silence around. The Gunia had gone far and as there was nothing to obstruct the view people could see his figure looking small, hitting a nail on the tree just outside the kabarkhana.
‘Jeje what is the Gunia doing? Tell me tell me’...
‘Arre he is jailing the ghost for ever on the tree. Can’t you see? Now Eliza will not dare disturb anyone’
‘Did she climb up the tree?’
‘Yes she did’
‘But I didn’t see Rina climbing. She is lying on the sand only’
‘Arre Buddhu! Eliza bhoot has left Rina and gone up the tree’
‘How do you know Jeje?’
‘Oh don’t pester me Bulu. See what has happened to the poor girl’
Rina was lifted up from the sand where she lay unconscious and carried home by her near ones.
As the crowd was melting people started whispering that Rina used to go to the kabarkhana to collect flowers and berries. She was warned not to go alone and see what happened.
‘Jeje if I go alone what will happen? The girl ghost will not touch me. If there is a boy ghost, I will be friends with him. I will ask him what he used to do after his school time. Were there schools like ours Jeje in those days?’
Literature, both Odia and English, fascinates Malabika Patel. She has been experimenting on poems and short stories. Her first translation “Chilika –A love story “ of Shri Krupasagar Sahoo’s Sahitya Academy award winning Odia novella, “Sesha Sarat” was published in 2011. She is also into translating of rare old Odia documents and classics into English. A banker by profession, she retired from Reserve Bank of India as General Manager in 2016 and is presently settled in Bhubaneswar.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
A group of under graduate students of History went to Delhi and Agra for their excursion. It was a trip of four and a half days. They first went to Agra and then came over to Delhi as they would take a flight from Delhi. On the fourth day their last destination was QutbMinar. They reached the Qutb Complex quite late at about 6.30 pm. Their teacher was not worried since the QutbMinar closes at 8pmand so he thought the students had a good one and a half hour to look around.
The teacher gathered the students around him and told them how three Delhi Sultans, Qutbu’d-din-Aibak, Iltutmish and Alau’d-din-Khalji were the main sultans to give shape to this Qutb Complex. Quitbu’d-din -Aibak started to build the QutbMinar and it was completed by the next sultan Iltutmish in 1200AD. The first storey was built by the former and the three upper storeys by the latter. Later onFiruz Shah Tuglaq dismantled the fourth storey after it was struck by lightning. He converted the QutbMinar into two storeys although he increased its height andput a cupola on top. Much later in the British era, Lord Harding removed the cupola as lightning struck again. The cupola is still there in the Qutb Complex.
Dusk had set in and the lights were on…the QutbMinar, the Ala’iDarwaza and the ruins around looked ethereal. Meghna, was passionate about History. She had fought with her parents, who were both medical professionals to pursue History. She not only read her text books but used to go to libraries and read up rare manuscripts about Mughal history and the Delhi Sultanate. Even her story books from early childhood had been books having settings in the Mughal period. So this excursion with her college mates meant a lot to her. She looked around fascinated at the lit up ruins. She strained her eyes to look up at the QutbMinar and soak in the patterns and designs on its walls. The red tall cylindrical structure against the evening sky looked beautiful.
The students were spreading out and the teacher shouted and told them to be in groups. He then instructed them to go and look at the four most significant monuments in the Qutb complex---the QutbMinar, the Quwwatu’l Islam Mosque, Ala’iDarwaza and Ala’iMinar. He pointed out that the earliest of these Islamic structures incorporated many Hindu elements due to the ready availability of building material and also local craftsmen. Qutbu’d-din-Aibak while constructing the Quwwatu’l Islam (Might of Islam) mosque had commissioned masons from Hindu and Jain Temples. The students went to the Ala’iDarwaza, a grand structure with intricate carvings on the walls. The whole structure stands tall although the three other such gateways on the three other corners of QutbMinar are in ruins.
Meghna then turned her attention to the famous Iron Pillar. She had heard that the Pillar did not have a protective railing before and there was a saying that whoever could clasp the pillar with both hands completely, will rule the world. She looked at the pillar which had a diameter of 16 inches and she doubted anybody could completely clasp the whole pillar. This 23 feet and 8 inches pillar was constructed by Chandragupta Maurya II. This more than sixteen hundred year old iron pillar with its unique rust resistant property is a testament to the proficiency of ancient Indian Metallurgy. On the far end on a wall the translation of inscriptions on the pillar in Hindi, Urdu and English was etched in black on marble slabs. Garuda, an avatar of Vishnu was supposed to be at the top of the pillar. There were three nondescript tombs near the Iron Pillar.
Little further away there were rows of beautifully carved pillars. Meghna was thrilled, she walked in between the pillars and went on walking. She was engrossed in looking at the carvings, the open windows and some tiny door ways with stairs which were locked with heavy chains. She went on observing the place. After a while when she looked up she realised it was pretty dark. What happened to the lights? All the lights were switched off…she turned to call her friends, they were not there. What?! It was crowed a while ago but there was not a soul there now. Meghna was scared…have the others left her and gone off back to the hotel?For a minute she didn’t know what to do. She shouted the names of her friends aloud but none answered…tears started streaming down her cheeks. She then tried to calm down and remembered her phone in her Jeans pocket. She took it out…oh no! There was no charge. Clicking so many pictures from the morning has totally drained off her mobile. She tried to be brave, surely her teacher will come back to fetch her. As dusk has turned to night, it was pitch dark now. She could see the silhouette of the QutbMinar and the trees nearby. She could not find her way back to the gate from where they had got in. She fumbled her way and sat down near a wall. She put her backpack on her lap and her whole day’s tiredness put her to sleep.
Suddenly some sound woke her up. Meghna startled out of sleep to see a misty kind of light all around. Fire lamps (Mashals) were burning at the top of the corner pillars. There were people around mostly soldiers with swords gleaming in their hands. A row of people started playing trumpets and a gorgeously dressed man with a silk turban on his head walked at the centre with royal strides. Maids scattered rose petals on the ground before him. Drums started beating and Persian words of welcoming the Sultan were heard. Meghna was both petrified and mesmerised…was it real or was she dreaming? The ruins were no longer there, in their place was the actual gateways and beautiful dazzling structures. She looked up at the QutbMinar and saw ladies in veiled covered faces standing in the low railed verandahs of the Minar. All of them in exquisite silk and muslin attires. They must be the royal ladies, Meghna thought. Meghna was totally immersed into the medieval times. She was speechless, she was numb with fear and thrill. She who had loved history from childhood was a witness to all she had read. She was crouching near the wall and gobbling up every bit of what was happening. Suddenly she heard a growl near her, she looked up to see a hugely built soldier looking at her fiercely. Her limbs became cold, she didn’t know what to do. Her brain told her to get up and run but her feet were stiff, she couldn’t get up. All of a sudden a pair of hands pulled her up and gave a piece of paper which was a map and told her to follow it and go back to the gate where she had entered from. She looked back and saw two beautiful, sparkling eyes under a veil of the kind lady who had helped her. She ran as fast as she could. Much away from the royal scene she stumbled on a rock and fell. She lost her consciousness.
The next morning the teacher came with the police and found Meghna there. She was immediately taken to the hotel. When she regained consciousness she told the others what she had witnessed. They all thought that the History crazy girl had seen a lovely dream. Of course! They didn’t believe her. She herself was confused. While taking the flight home that afternoon, she put her hands in her jeans pocket and suddenly got the piece of paper given by that kind royal lady. It was a hand-drawn map of the Qutb Complex and the writing was in Old Persian.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick is a scientist, a national scholar transformed into a globally loved, award-winning poet. Her poems have been translated into 40 world languages and she has published 9 books. A globe trotter she loves calling herself a global citizen. Not only does she write poems but she promotes peace poetry, multilingual poetry, global poetry and passionately promotes indigenous poetry. Paramita believes that by promoting indigenous languages, she can bring some endangered languages into the main stream. In 2019, she got the Gold Rose from MS Production, Buenos Aires, Argentina for promotion of Literature and Culture. Apart from many awards like the Sahityan Samman in 2018, Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore award in 2019, Poetess of Elegance 2019 and many more she was one of the recipients of the prestigious Panorama International Literature award from Greece in 2022. Paramita is the President and Initiator of the Mumbai Chapter of the Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library (IPPL) and also the Cultural Convenor and Literary Coordinator (West India) of the International Society for Intercultural Studies and Research (ISISAR).
THE REFLECTION OF LOVE IN LITERATURE
Dr.Protiva Rani Karmaker
The ever expanding search of truth in world literature encodes deeper understandings of the world order, including people’s relationships with inner self and outer self, with nature, with metaphysical entities and with the cosmic order. Words filled with philosophy, life & death, care and love have flowed like cascade of flowers from the majestic pen of writers or philosophers all over the world as always. In the journey of life & death as reflected in literature as well as philosophy, the indisputable question of truth comes with recurrence and it underscores the fact that it is only family that can provide us love and delight. In the pursuits of ‘Truth’, writers across nations all over the world have interpreted it in many creative ways. In India, writers such as Aurobindo Ghosh, Rabindranath Tagore, RamnathShastri, A K Ramanujan, BaisnabPani, JayantaMahapatra, Salman Rushdie, Kamala Das, SitakantMahapara, Vijay Tendulkar, GirishKarnad J. P. Das, Amitav Ghosh, Mahasweta Devi, to name just a few from our times, have left copious notes of their sincere search of truth. Similarly, in Britain, writers such as P.B Shelly, John Keats, W B Yeats, T S Eliot, E M Forster, W H Auden, Iris Murdoch, D H Lawrence, William Shakespeare, Ted Hughes; in the U S, well known authors such as Robert Graves, William Faulkner, Toni Morrison, Alice walker and others; in the African world, writers such as Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka and a host of others have interpreted and reinterpreted different aspects of life through myths reflecting searches for truth in life, love and culture. Apart from them, different leaders and philosophers uphold different views of “truth” to us. In the speech of M.K Gandhi, Swami Vivekananda, Subhas Chandra Bose, Sufi Farid Al-Din, LalonSha etc. we get different dimensions of truth. The interpretation of truth may be different but the realization of the necessity of love in our life is commonly found in every writer’s works.
Likewise, the sense of delight in Rabindranath Tagore’s songs inspires us to accept our miseries as the world is all about happiness residing in both grief and contentment, in both gaining and losing. In fact, as per Tagore’s philosophy, even sacrificing or suffering is tantamount to a sort of attainment that leads to happiness. As such, the Nobel Laureate of Bangla literature says, “The more you have accepted of me, the more you have made me grateful to you”. He has urged us to be cheerful. This very universe is a delightful ceremony to Tagore and he is thankful to be invited to this ceremony. This ceremony has provided a feast for his eyes and ears. In Tagore’s words ‘I have had my invitation to this world’s festival, and thus my life has been blessed. / My eyes have seen and my ears have heard. /It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have done all I could/ Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and see thy face and offer thee my silent salutation? (Gitanjali Poem-16).’ Since this world is a blissful place, Tagore wants us to live life in high spirits. He wants us to be motivated even in the face of all odds. Tagore wants us to wake up our spirits and get our daily works/ things done with perfection until we are done for the day.
Similarly, William Wordsworth in his poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud develops the vision of the daffodils as the central event emphasising the act of seeing and exploring its philosophical significance. Here the relationship between the poet and landscape is one of intimate union, suggesting an identity of mood between subject & object. As the poet says, “And then my heart with pleasure fills. /And dances with the daffodils.” Contemplating nature, we feel oneness with the universe. It addresses the heart of our despair, of our suffering and egoism and reveals them to be baseless. So to preserve life, it is not enough to refrain from destroying it. We must also make it wider, deeper, bolder, and more joyful. Fortitude or strength to undergo circumstances is the only truth which allows man to rise higher. Through the solidarity of the body and the soul which does not admit the possibility of defeat: the joy which permeates our whole being to love our self, the hope to act comes into existence and lets life flourish.
Due to the influence of mechanical civilization, life is getting mechanical. We are running like mammon. But there is still an un-trodden region of mind which remains unaffected by the cries and bustle of day to day life. The aesthetic zeal of love & delight stimulates our mind as expressed by Robert Frost in his poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening through the lines, “Woods are lovely, dark, and deep,/ But I have promises to keep,/ And miles to go before I sleep,/ And miles to go before I sleep.” Here the very word sleep is used as a symbol of death. Death ceases a man’s ability to go on with earthly enterprise. So life must be made meaningful by doing duties to oneself, to society and to humanity.
Above all, perception in a hard situation makes it easy to accept a difficult situation and thus overcome depression. Therefore, being duly grateful towards our Creator enables as well as strengthens us to accept hardship & misery as impermanent but love & delight as the ultimate truth of life.
The writer is Professor of Institute of Modern Languages, Jagannath University, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her email address is protiva.karmaker@gmail.com
Dr. Protiva Rani Karmaker is an accomplished writer and columnist for national dailies, renowned for her contributions to education, youth development, and literature. As a professor and first director at the Institute of Modern Languages, Jagannath University, her expertise spans literature, education and research. She has authored twelve books by Bangladeshi renewed publishers, 01 book by Indian publisher, 22 journal articles and 200 columns. In recognition of her exceptional work, she received the International ERUDITE SCHOLAR 2022 award from the Council for Teacher Education Foundation (CTEF), India, and the International Award of Academic Excellence and Leadership 2024 by the Council for Educational Administration and Management (CEAM) India.
Bankim Chandra Tola
(The look of a magnanimous lady marks a signature of patience)
Human life is a mix of wills and woes, ups and downs, and twists and turns. Invariably an individual goes sad and becomes upset when failure or danger is encountered. At that time he/she seldom holds patience to see through the problem that causes debacle or disaster. A weak person in this circumstance goes nervous and fails to apply own prudence to tread in right direction to come out of the crisis. Nonetheless such person more often than not falls into the trap of wrong hands and loses everything by taking awry decisions one after the other. On the other hand, if a strong individual is impatient to face an untoward, unwelcome, unfavourable situation or incident or transaction, goes berserk and creates an obnoxious situation thereby disturbing peaceful coexistence of others.
There are very few people who hold patience to counter the odds in difficult days with indomitable spirit. Those, who exercise patience and persist in working out on remedies, succeed in the long run and fetch incredible results that last long. Aristotle says, “Patience is bitter but its fruit is sweet.” Holding of patience may be boring, irritating, and unbearable but its aftermath is always pleasant. The most used alphabet ‘A’ does not appear in the spelling of numbers counted from 0 to 999. It appears only in 1000 and continues. This indicates, one has to hold patience to count from zero to one thousand to find the letter A in the spelling of numbers. Benzamin Franklin rightly says, “He that can have patience can have what he will.”
A thought provoking story of King Bhoj is alluded to here to illustrate the significance of patience.
Long long ago, in central India King Bhoj, the legendary ruler of Dhar was renowned for his justice, wisdom, and benevolence. Above all, he was a symbol of patience. Stories of his reign are agog with examples of how he helped his subjects and stood by them in their bad days. All the subjects were leading a happy and peaceful life in his domain. He was so virtuous that all the deities blessed him with everything going good and favourable for his kingdom.
(A lofty statue of King Bhoj)
King Bhoj had an enviable quality of examining and experimenting things by himself to get at the facts instead of relying of vox populi or hanging on his ministers fully. For that matter he used to wander about in his kingdom incognito regularly to get the stock of his subjects’ wellbeing and feedbacks about his administration and his personality. One day, the king disguised as a common man, while walking through the marketplace noticed a seller who seemed utterly distressed. Out of curiosity and concern, the king asked the seller the cause of his dismay.
The seller explained, "I am a carpenter and I make dolls for sale. Once I made this doll of “Alaksmi” with utmost care expecting it to be sold at a better price, but to my bad luck, for about a month hence no one came forward to buy it. When asked the buyers say that if this idol is kept in their homes, it will bring misfortune and poverty and they turn their face off. I have no other means to support my family if I fail to sell this idol. I regret and repent now for shaping this idol by using materials and employing my labour for nothing.”
(Image of Alaksmi)
Recognizing the seller's distress, King Bhoj resolved to assist him in a manner that would not only alleviate his suffering but also serve as a lesson for his subjects against their fanatical belief in superstitions and rumors. After contemplating for a moment, he offered to purchase the idol. The seller was delighted yet bewildered, wondering why a stranger would be interested in the idol when all others had rejected it.
Having read the scruple from which the seller was confounded, the King, still in disguise, calmly said, "Look! every aspect of life has its place and purpose. Misfortune teaches us resilience and helps us appreciate the good times even more. By accepting Alakshmi, I acknowledge the balance in life."
After purchasing the idol, King Bhoj took it to the palace. There, he revealed his true identity and explained his actions to his ministers and courtiers who were surprised at unusual decision of the king. Being unfazed, the king ordered a special place to be made for the idol in his palace, signifying that misfortune and adversity are parts of life that one must accept and learn from.
At such unexpected move of the king the ministers and courtiers were in conundrum being afraid of impending disaster. The chief of the ministers begging apology said, “Maharaj! Alaksmi is the sign of misfortune and calamity. Should it be wise to keep it in the palace?” The king expected this kind of reaction and promptly replied “Bad and good luck are parts of human life; as it were, they are complementary to each other. Neither can anyone avoid misfortune coming upon nor can one hold back good luck passing out of its own. So why should one be scared of misfortune and get panicked? If the idol Alaksmi is kept in the palace, all of us shall be reminded of both misfortune and prosperity which often come in one’s life. Incidences of bad and good luck in human life is purely ephemeral. Therefore there is nothing to worry; just have patience to face all adversities as and when encountered in life and they will pass of their own.”
The king further explained, “A seller who was distressed for not being able to sell this idol made by him, became very happy when I bought it. Is it not my responsibility to see my subjects who live on their labour, happy?” Minister and the courtiers could not counter the king further nevertheless they were terribly fear-stricken on thinking of probable catastrophe.
By chance-coincidence very soon their trepidation came true. The kingdom encountered numerous challenges one after the other in quick succession after the idol, Alaksmi was placed in the palace. Poor harvest owing to scanty precipitation led to an economic downturn. Simultaneously, escalation of border skirmishes aggravated the situation. The subjects were horrified and started telling openly that the idol of Alaksmi in palace has invited misery and suffering. Goddess Lakshmi had abandoned the kingdom forcing everyone to plunge into the pit of misery and despair.
But the king Bhoj instead of panicking or regretting his decision, remained calm and steadfast. He encouraged his people to face these adversities with patience. He implemented measures to alleviate the economic strain, supported farmers with new techniques, and strengthened defense to protect the border from outside intrusion. He repeatedly urged his courtiers and subjects not to be nervous during difficult times by blaming the idol, Alaksmi for misfortune. He consoled them saying, the dark cloud covering brightness of the sun would be dispelled soon. Now they should face the situation with full vigor and patience. It was not the time to curse fate and sit tight. Sri Krishna has advised Arjuna in the battle field of Kuruksheta :
“Karmanye vadhikaraste Ma Phaleshu Kadachana,
Ma Karmaphalaheturbhurma Te Sangostvakarmani”
That means, You have a right to perform your duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your action. Let not the fruit of action be your motive, nor let your attachment be to inaction. This eternal saying of Sri Krishna signifies one should not desist from doing work for not being attached to results of action and lose patience to perform one’s duties with dedication. Because, impatience breeds despair of not expecting the fruits of action and that may pose a cause of one going inactive.
Albert Einstein also, when asked about his persistence in completing work giving problems said, "It is not that I’m so smart, it is just that I stay with problems longer."
By virtue of King Bhoj’s undeterred resolution and extraordinary patience to keep on working for remedies to alleviate the sorrowful plight of his subjects and his kingdom resulting from disaster looming large, a novel change of climate set in to ensure good harvest. He was proud to declare that Goddess Laksmi has returned to his kingdom to bless him and his subjects with all prosperity and happiness. Border intrusion was also aptly tackled ensuring peace.
(Image of Goddess Laksmi)
The kingdom regained its valour and the perception of ill luck for the idol Alakshmi changed. It was no longer seen as a symbol of misfortune but as a reminder of the importance of resilience and balance in life. The idol became a revered symbol in the palace, embodying the idea that accepting and overcoming challenges is the way to success and prosperity.
The story underscores the timeless lessons embracing all aspects of life. Both good and bad are essential for true and lasting prosperity by dint of perseverance and holding of rock-steady patience.
N.B. - To enrich this article a video on patience downloaded from net is attached in the following link which may be opened in google or You tube and seen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZbKHDPPrrc
Finally for the sake of refreshment, following link be opened either in You tube or Google to enjoy a melodious song sung by the famous American Singer Doris day for the film, “The man who knew too much” that conveys the spirit of patience.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZbKHDPPrrc
Bankim after his retirement from a nationalized Bank two decades ago is settled in his own house in Bhubaneswar. Though he is not a writer or a poet, takes pleasure in writing small articles on various matters mostly pertaining to human behavior and conduct and certain social issues in addition to travelling, gardening and doing some social work for passing time.
Bankim Chandra Tola, a retired Banker likes to pass time in travelling, gardening and writing small articles like the one posted here. He is not a writer or poet yet he hangs on with his pursuit of writing small miscellaneous articles for disseminating positive thoughts for better living and love for humanity. Best of luck.
THE ART OF PHOTOGRAPHY: MUCH TO UNRAVEL!
Kunal Roy
You would not discover a single individual on the earth who does not love to take pictures. Be it a wedding ceremony, a simple gathering or with friends and partners, the camera is always a ‘yes’ factor to one and all. Moreover, at times we come across people taking selfie(s), posting them on social media to draw likes and comments. Camera is in fact an easily accessible gadget now. You don’t have to purchase it separately, it is with all the smart phone(s) we carry with us all the times. Besides, with the booming of the ‘tech com’ world, photography has become an inseparable part of our life and surely we enjoy every bit of it!
There is a least grain of doubt that this art has created a magic over the years. But it should also be borne in mind that ‘photography’ is not just about some fun and entertainment. The story of lens, aperture and shutter carries a profound significance in the accepted sense of term. The expressions like ‘creativity’, ‘ aesthetic sense’ and ‘technical knowhow ‘ are proportionately blended to cater a unique touch to the finished product. Moreover, an individual’s hard work, patience, dedication, discipline, devotion and perseverance matter a lot in this field. Once upon time ‘photography’ was a less popular factor, but at this very hour it is a passion for millions, no matter what the cost is! Gradually when this passion transforms into a very lucrative profession the person makes his or her journey into the realm of this art of inspiration, interest, enjoyment and many more surprising ingredients!
Getting acquainted with the world of news and journalism remains incomplete unless ‘photography’ is a part of the curriculum. You may find innumerable reporters, anchors but ‘good photographers’ is a rare factor even today! And therefore a need has raised its hood to create good photographers. Numerous institutes with the best faculty members have been set up to teach the course at three different levels viz. certificate, diploma and post graduate diploma. The duration varies from six months to a maximum period of one and a half year! Admission is either in January or July. One has to keep a track so that one does not miss the bus! Both theory and practical aspects are equally emphasized to hone the skills. Outdoor campaigning for the shooting purpose is also on the list. On the successful completion of the programme(s), recognitions are received by the candidates.
Remember ‘Photography’, being a costly affair, you need to check your pockets before you take a huge leap! The course fees can extend even to a few lakhs, quite unreachable! Though the instalment facility is there, the money occupies the apex followed by the aspects of studying the course, training and placement. However, the attempt is on to make it a reachable factor among the truly interested candidates. And this something which can only be possible through scholarships.
Dreams never stop chasing us. But we ought to know the art of translating into reality. ‘One fine morning I wake up and want to do a course on photography’ - this kind of mental set up won’t serve the purpose. You need to chalk out a plan properly; move logically and eventually set your goals for success! In the not - too - distant future such technology based courses will have a high demand in the market. The pay packets will be simply awesome. Various categories like candid, food, fashion, wedding, wild and others will get a different dimension al together! The whole scenario will hopefully change to keep pace with the time. However, the one and only thing you need is to fan your passion to see the best days tomorrow! #BEST #WISHES!!
Kunal Roy has always been an ardent lover of literature. He has received various awards for his literary contributions. He is a poet and a critic of poetry. His works have been published both here and abroad. Currently working as an Assistant Professor of English Language and Communication in George Group of Colleges, Kolkata.
Ashok Kumar Mishra
Arrival of Sri Chaitanya in Odisha opened a new chapter in the religious history of the state. The Vaishanavite religion already had deep roots and had a deep impact in the minds of the people of Odisha. The same further got strengthened as the spell of teaching and Sankirtan(mass spiritual prayer) of Sri Chaitanya influenced the common people of Odisha. No sooner the bravery and valour of its courageous people, for which they were known quickly till the period of Gajapati kings was on the wane and they quickly lost their military skill. Sri Chaitanya’s Sankirtan had spread to every nook and corner of Odisha and his Bhakti cult had a deep impact on the life and culture of the people of Odisha.
Sri Chaitanya (1486-1533 A.D.), who was known as Visvambhara before renouncing family life, hailed from Navadvipa of Bengal He was born in a Brahmin family in 1486 A.D. in Navadvipa. Also known as Gouranga he established a Sanskrit Tol (school). At an early age he lost his father when he was only eighteen. Soon after he lost his wife Lakshmidevi, who died of snake bite very shortly after the marriage. He then married Vishnupriya. After the second marriage, he went to Gaya to offer ritual offerings to his ancestors. He was initiated into the cult of Bhakti by Isvara Puri, a Vaishnavite saint at Gaya and turned into a great devotee of Lord Krishna. On his return from Gaya, he gave up his scholastic profession, and started living the life of a religious devout and organized Sankirtans which attracted people from all categories of life. In 1509 A.D., at the age of twenty-four, he left home renounced the world and took to Sanyasa from Keshav Bharati. The Master gave him a new name Sri Krishna Chaitanya, who undertook a pilgrimage to Puri with some of his associates.
Sri Chaitanya roused huge religious devotion and enthusiasm on his way and his Sankirtan parties attracted a large crowd all along the way to Puri. On his arrival at Puri, he had religious discussion with the great Vedantic scholar, Vasudeva Sarbabhauma, who enjoyed patronage of the then Gajapati king Prataparudra. Impressed by the teachings of Sri Chaitanya Sarbabhauma embraced Vaishnavism. From Puri, Sri Chaitanya proceeded to south, and in June 1509 A.D., met Roy Ramananda, the governor of Rajamundri. They had an interesting religious dialogue which is narrated in the Chaitanya Charitamrita. Both appreciated each other's religious inclination. Soon Ramananda resigned from the royal duty to spend time with Sri Chaitanya at Puri. Chaitanya embraced Pratapurudradeva with devotion and Gajapati became one of his ardent followers.
Sri Chaitanya considered Jagannath as identical with Krishna and regarded Krishna as the complete manifestation of personal godhead in his perfect form. The Chaitanya faith heightened the importance of Radha, the consort of Krishna. For many of his disciples Sri Chaitanya was considered as the living embodiment of Jagannath. He was also regarded as the dual incarnation of Radha and Krishna. Sri Chaitanya emphasised the importance of devotion and demonstrated the same in his living. His faith roused religious devotion among all sections of society, breaking the barrier of caste distinctions and reinforced Vaishnavism in Odisha. Finally, Sri Chaitanya breathed his last at Puri before the image of Lord Jagannath in 1533 A.D. He spent six years of his Sanyasa in pilgrimage, and the remaining eighteen years of Sanyasa at Puri in the company of his devout followers.
The relation of Sri Chaitanya with the Panchasakha, the five greatest of the scholars and religious peers of Medieval Odisha, who brought in renaissance in the socio-cultural life of the people of Odisha needs a mention. Vaishnavism was already popular in Odisha before the coming of Sri Chaitanya to Puri. Sri Chaitanya had high regards for the Vaishnava saints like Raya Ramananda, widely considered as a spiritual guide of Sri Chaitanya, Jagannath Das and Balaram Das of Panchasakha group. All the Panchasakha poets were initiated by him. Nevertheless Panchasakhas maintained their distinctiveness. As a religious movement the Panchasakhas emphasised the concept of void, inner purity, mantra, tantra and yoga, instead of being guided by rituals. As social reformers, the Panchasakhas sought to pull down "the hegemony of the social bigots" and raised up the lower strata of society through social upliftment. They took disciples from all castes. Sri Chaitanya and Vaishnvaism had a long march in the religious and cultural history of Odisha. During the Ganga period, it flourished receiving royal patronage. During the Gajapati period, it reached the pinnacle of glory. The coming of Sri Chaitanya and his Sankirtan made Vaishanavaism more popular all over Odisha. Sri Chaitanya popularized Radha-Krishna cult and the arrival of Sri Chaitanya in Odisha opened a new chapter in the cultural and religious history of Odisha.
Panchasakhas of 16th Century and their works
As already mentioned Pancha Sakhas played a great role in the religious and socio-cultural history of Odisha. Towards the 16th century five poets emerged Balaram Das, Jagannath Das, Achyutananda Das, Ananta Das and Jasobanta Das. Although their dates of activity span one hundred years, they are collectively known as “Panchasakhas”, since they adhered to the same school of thought, i.e., Utkaliya Vaishnavism. They started their own Sampradaya, preaching Bhakti for Radha and Krishna in Odisha before the arrival of Chaitanya, following a tradition that had been established by Jayadeva’s Gita Govinda. Many other Oriya poets such as Dinakrishna, Abhimanyu, Bhakta Charan, Baladeva and Gopala Krishna etc. composed poems about Krishna’s romantic stories which is famous as Bolis.
The eldest and the most radical of the Panchasakhas,Balarama Das’s ancestors worked as a ministers in the court of Gajapati kings. By the time Sri Chaitanya arrived in Puri, Balaram had already composed Jagamohan(Dandi) Ramayana. After meeting Chaitanya Balaram left the Government service. His residence in Puri is called Gandharva Matha which was a meeting place of the panchasakhas. Besides Dandi ramayana Balarama Das’s works include Gita Abakasa, Bhava samudra, Gupta Gita, Vedanta Sara, Mriguni Stuti, Saptangayogasara tika, Vedanta sara or Brahma tika, Baula gai gita, Kamala locanachotisa, Kanta koili, Bedha parikrama, Brahma gita, Brahmandabhugola, Vajra kavaca, Jnana chudamani, Virat gita, Ganesh vibhuti, Amarakosha Gita, Lakshmi Purana (which is very popular in Odisha). In his Bata Abakasa he writes that Lord Jagannatha is served by 64 yoginis. In his Virata Gita, he describes the nirakara form of Krishna as Sunya.
Achyutananda Das mostly famous for the book of prophecies called Achyutananda Malika, Achyutananda also translated into Oriya and commented Harivamsa, Tattva bodhini, Sunya samhita, Jyoti samhita, Gopala Ujjvala, Baranasi Gita, Anakara Brahma Samhita, AbhayadaKavacha, Astagujari, Sarana panjarastotra, Vipra chalaka, Mana mahima.
Atibadi Jagannatha Das(1487A.D. some say in 1490A.D. up to1557 A.D.)As son of the Purana Panda, Jagannatha Das used to sit by his father who used to recite Bhagabata in Jagannath temple. One day, while visiting the temple, Chaitanya noticed the 18 years old boy sitting near the Bata Ganesha Deity in Sri Mandira, reciting the Brahma stuti from Gopa lila and honored him by offering him a cloth and the title of Atibadi (Greatest).
A famous incident regarded such confidential exchanges with Medha and Sumedha, two ladies endowed with great spiritual power and who were said to be going in the night to visit Jagannatha in the temple by their mystic powers after it was closed. People jealous of Jagannath Das complained to king Prataparudra accusing Jagannatha Das of immoral behavior (illicit relationships with women) and the King called him for questioning. Jagannatha Das replied that for him there was no difference between men and women; he said that in fact when he was associating with ladies, he actually regarded himself as a woman, too. The King did not believe him but when Jagannatha Das was put in jail he actually manifested himself in the form of a woman and the guards, impressed, called the King to witness such an extraordinary feat. King Prataparudra realized he had committed an offense to a great devotee, so he not only released him/her from prison, but he also asked that s/he gave initiation to his chief Queen into Bhakti yoga. The Queen invited Jagannatha Das to the royal palace, where he could open his own Matha, called Bada Odiya Matha.
It is said that by the order of Narada Muni, Jagannatha Das translated Srimad Bhagavatam into Oriya. This work gave him the reputation of the greatest spiritual teacher in Odisha in his times and is still extremely popular even today. Jagannatha Das wrote also Gupta Bhagavat, Tula vina, Sola chapadi, Chari chapadi, Tola bena, Daru brahma gita, Diksa samyad, Artha koili, Mruguni stuti, Annamaya kundali, Goloka sarodhara, Bhakti chandrika, Kali malika, Indra malika, Niladri vilasa, Nitya guptachintamani, Sri Krishna bhakti kalpalata and other books. He established two Mathas in Puri, the Bada Odiya Matha and the Satalahari Matha. Jagannatha Das passed away in1557, and his Samadhi Mandira is on the beach.
Yasobanta Das wrote Govinda chandra, Shiva sarodaya, Sasti mala, Prema bhakti, Brahma gita, a Malika and several bhajans. The Govinda chandra became very famous in Assam, Bengal and north India; it is basically related with traditional dance and teaching of dance, connected with the Vaishnava tradition. His best disciple was Lohi Das. It is said that also the famous saint Salabega was his disciple.
Sisu Ananta Das wrote the Bhakti muktidayagita, one of the oldest and most important popular scriptures of Odisha, and other texts like Sisu Deva gita, Artha tarani, Udebhakara, Tirabhakana, a Malika and several bhajan songs. In Udaya bhagavata he describes Lord Jagannatha as the combined form of Radha and Krishna.
Bhakti movements had played a significant role in the religious history of ancient and medieval Odisha. As a result, we know a great deal about various bhakti movements like the Alvar and Nayanar movements of Tamilnadu, the Virasaiva and Hari Das movements of Karnataka, and the Varkari movement of Maharashtra. We also know about individual saints like Tulsidas, Kabir, Surdas, Vallabha, Ramananda, Mira, Annamacharya and many others. However, bhakti movements in some parts of India have not received adequate attention from historians. The great panchasakha movement of sixteenth century Odisha is one of them.
Before meeting Chaitanya, Ramananda Raya had written the Mahabhavaprakasa, in which Kanhai (Krishna) describes Radha as the embodiment of mahabhava, and the Jagannatha vallabhanataka. Another work on Krishna Bhakti that enjoyed great popularity before the arrival of Chaitanya was Markanda Das’s Kesava koili.
Panchasakhas came in contact with Chaitanya, when he arrived in Sri Kshetra in 1510. Chaitanya also accepted low-caste people as his followers, embraced fishermen and honored “ex-Muslim” devotees such as Hari Das, Rupa and Sanatana etc. The liberal views of the Pancha sakhas antagonized the Brahmins, who disparaged the Oriya translations of the Mahabharata, Ramayana, Bhagavata and Harivamsa compiled by Sarala, Balarama, Jagannatha and Achyutananda. However, the literary work of the Pancha sakhas was vital to the development of the Oriya language and cultural identity, uniting the people and creating a feeling of solidarity that protected the region for a long time. The most important aspect of their preaching was the abolition of all discriminations among Vaishnavas, no matter from which caste or background they came. Panchasakhas met a strong opposition from the caste conscious Brahmins, who even disparagingly called Jagannatha Das's Oriya Bhagavata as“teli bhagavata” (“the Bhagavata of the oil-maker”). As a reaction against the excessive ritualism of the caste Brahmins and their monopoly and control over the temples and Deity worship, the Pancha Sakhas preached that Lord Krishna/Jagannatha could be worshiped as Sunya, “void”, a particular “non-shape” that transcended the Deity in the temple and therefore could be accessible by everyone at all times. According to their doctrine (that is also shared by many other groups, including the Natha yogis and several traditions of Bhakti in Bengal), the human body is a microcosm where the Supreme Lord resides, where Radha is the pure devoted soul and Krishna is Paramatma.
**(The end)**
Ashok Kumar Mishra
Ajay was coming back to his village after long twenty years. The moment he landed on the village road his memories took him back to his two decade back habitat, which was so dear to him. The only road which he used to take every morning and afternoon for to and fro journey between school and home had not changed much. In spite of so much development in road network outside his village, this road like Adam’s bridge still serves as the only link to the outside world, be it nearby school, market, bus stop, maternal uncle’s house or distant village fair. Every morning before day break amidst chirping of birds, the farmers would be carrying their ploughs steering their pair of bullocks to the field, smoke moving upward from the thatched roofs of villagers, village ladies cleaning the front of their houses and moving towards the river with pots to fetch water, milkman carrying milk to houses, bats returning to their nests and jackals returning to their holes, seasonal flowers on barbed fences with dew drops on them and amidst sound of puja bells from a few houses the villagers used to rise to activity. This road is witness to all these activities since ages.
Life of the villagers underwent a lot of changes but the village road has remained same. The hoof marks of cowherd on the muddy village road were although no longer visible and not many pot holes were noticed on it as before. Loads of boulders on both sides of the road suggested it would become a concrete road soon. This very road was too familiar to Ajay. But on this very road during his childhood days, when he used to cross the huge pipal tree that stood tall near the bend where there is a steep slope, Ajay’s hands would automatically join together in fear and his heartbeat would go up. He would feel cold sweat flowing all over his body and he would close his eyes and repeat “Hare Krushna, Hare Ram” to ward off any danger.
Ajay got delighted when he remembered that. The reason for his fear then was the wretched dilapidated hut of Udia nani. She was all alone and had none to fall back upon. She wandered from village to village and begged. Constant exposure to sun light, heavy rains and harsh winter tanned her face, which along with her uncared for hair gave her a ferocious look. But her almond shaped bright eyes with brown eyeballs, straight nose and tender childlike skin was a testimony of her charm during her youth. One would find her moving from village to village with a staff in hand to support while walking. Villagers hardly found her in the village and nobody counted or felt for her. Nobody ever bothered to know how she made a living. May be so little information of her was the reason for all the gossips and rumours around her. Apparently all the tittle-tattle about her that “she is a living witch”, that “she moves in grave yards in dead of the night”, “lifts babies from villages and bring home to suck their blood”, “she spits fire in the night”, “walks upside down on hands with legs up” and “can spell her charm on anybody at will” kept the grapevine busy.
Udia nani had a small pond in her sizeable homestead. Villagers find her cleaning utensils very early in the morning. This allegedly gave rise to the talk among village womenfolk that she eats flesh of young children every night and keeps the utensils clean before day break. All the absurd talks about Udia nani, the living witch created a cobweb of imaginary fear around her among the villagers, young and old, men or women alike. The distorted image of Udia nani got reinforced when the flawed descriptions were discussed repeatedly in village gossips and whispers about her. Utter false fears roamed around and appeared as truth. Ajay had been listening to all these during his childhood days which was the reason for fear. Once someone allows false fear to enter his mind it asks for more and more fear to fill in.
There were two huge tamarind trees behind Udia nani’s house which housed a pair of vultures. Udia nani mostly stayed out, so they reign over the space with full freedom. They get recharged in the sunlight sitting on its branches throughout the day and occasionally fly out in search of Caracas of dead animals. When they find dead cattle they gorge on them and bring bones occasionally to store for lean days. Village womenfolk spread gossips around this too saying the vultures were Udia nani’s pets. They were under spell of her charm and would bring meat from Caracas of animals to her. The uncared for thatched roof of the dilapidated hut of Udia nani had holes at several places and similarly the barbed fence had several openings. When Udianani would come across some paddy straw or date leaf she used to put it on her hut. Similarly when she used to get thorny branches on the way she carried it and would place them on the fence.
There used to be a big ber tree just behind her hut inside her compound. During fruiting seasons the tree bore lot of sweet ripe ber and was an attraction for the village kids. But everyone feared to enter her compound alone to pluck the berries. In group they were invading the tree in Udia nani’s absence. Ajay used to fear a lot to go inside and pluck them for him but always longed for them. When in a group other children used to go up the tree to pluck berries, he would keep a watch lest Udia nani would come and spell a charm on them. After many days he gathered courage to go atop the tree to pluck berries. Ripe sweet berries at the top of the branches invited him to go further up and he could not resist. He did not know that he was already at the top of the tree. All of a sudden there was a shout that “Udia nani is around” and all the children quickly got down one by one, except for Ajay who was at the top. Out of fear Ajay took a leap down, bruised his entire body while navigating through the thorny branches and fell down unconscious below the ber tree.
When he opened his eyes he found Udia nani sitting beside her head and sprinkle water on his face and wiping them with her sari. When she found Ajay gain consciousness, she offered him water. Ajay became speechless and dumb. Udia nani went inside and brought some red ripe berries which looked so attractive to Ajay. But Ajay feared to eat them when Udianani offered it to him. Udianani forced Ajay to pick them up and eat and he obliged. Ajay found them to be very tasty.
“Tell me in advance when you want the berries, i will pluck the ripe ones and keep it for you”, said Udianani. Ajay nodded his head. On one side imaginary fear in his mind with all the gossips about Udia nani and her flawed image and stories he had been listening since childhood and on the other side sympathy for her. Ajay as a child could not decide what is wrong and what is right that day.
In the entire village only village priest Dasarathi had no fear of Udianani. He was a sooth sawyer, medicine man, conjurer, witch doctor all combined into one. With his tall, heavily built body in a broad frame, he was an embodiment of divinity for the villagers. Himself being a tantrik he displayed an aura of confidence around him with bright burning eyes, vermillion spread on his entire forehead, Rudraksh necklace and four pairs of amulets tied to his chiselled arm, he was the trouble shooter and protector of the villagers against any ill or evil. He was the last word and everybody in the village revered him out of fear.
Udia nani used to fear Dasarathi a lot. He had a huge contribution for her makeover image as Udia , the witch from Udia nani. When she lost her husband during prime of her youth, this Dasarathi poisoned the minds of the villagers with all false propaganda against her as the root cause of all ills in the village. His evil design to grab his homestead was a secret not known to many people in the village. His sexual advances when she was alone in the hut were a secret she had never spilled. Every time he came with a evil design begging for sex, which was resisted bluntly by her. On several occasions he even came to her house in darkness of nights and pleaded to marry him and lead a comfortable life as his second wife. Resistance and refusal by Udia nani was the reason for his rage against her and Dasarathi never misses any occasion to take revenge by blaming her for all ills in the village. Whenever anything wrong happens he would call for Udia nani and in full public view would pull her on the ground, would kick her belly, would pull her hair and would put fire-stick to her limbs. Then she would pull her out of the village and would leave her at a far secluded place in the dark of the night after molesting and raping her at will.
Sensible young mind of Ajay found the suffering of Udia nani in the hands of Dasarathi and other villagers very difficult to tolerate. Several times he had gone to Udia nani’s house to secretly hand over some food, medicine and bandage cotton, when she used to suffer in pain and fever for days together following such ordeal and torture in the hands of Dasarathi. But Ajay always felt helpless in front of the feeling and common belief of the simple village folks and unjust treatment meted out to Udia nani.
Ajay reached the place of Udia nani and inquisitively looked around. He felt so miserable for not bothering to keep track of her so long. He came to know that once after such torture she left the village. But she came to know of the plan that villagers would soon set fire to her hut and returned to her hut. Soon Udia nani passed away suffering from hunger and disease.
Ajay came to know that after death of Udia nani, a meeting of the villagers was held, where many suggested building a temple on Udia nani’s homestead. But there was vehement opposition to the idea, as many felt land of the witch would not be suitable for the purpose. Others feared to build house and stay there. Finally, the villagers agreed that only Dasarathi had the power to stay on Udia nani’s land as she can do no harm to him. Besides it was Dasarathi who warded of the evil witch and protected the villagers so long, so he should enjoy that property. Displaying outward reluctance Dasarathi said “respecting the opinion of the villagers I have no objection to accepting the property of the witch.”
Soon the two tamarind trees were cut down and the pair of vultures flew away. The hut of Udia nani was raised to the ground.
For a while Ajay’s eyes became wet.
** The End**
Ashok Kumar Mishra’s stories are rooted in the soil and have sublime human touch. He has authored several books and written several articles on micro credit movement. Four tele films were made on his book titled “A Small Step forward”.
Did his MA and M Phil in Political studies from JNU and served as deputy general manager in NABARD.
He made pioneering contribution in building up Self Help Group movement in Odisha.
Served as Director of a bank for over six Years.
Many of his short stories in Odia vernacular and in English have been published in reputed magazines. (9491213015)
A NOMINAL CHANGE OF COURSE IN HISTORY
Sreeja Sree
Translated from Malayalam by Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
Cane in hand, Amina Thatha was at it again.
She was coaching her eight-year-old son for a quiz competition. She wanted him to win the prizes she might have dreamed of winning as a child but never did.
He was a shy, emotionally fragile boy. I used to teach him when I worked at his school. Amina would always badger me for daily updates on his performance and progress. She used to shower me with gifts back then.
I leaned through the window bars and asked, "What is it, Thatha?"
She glanced at me briefly before turning back to her son. It took me a moment to realize she was addressing me.
"It’s August 15th today, don’t you know? Independence Day!"
She was always like that—too proud of the little facts she picked up. And a bit arrogant about it.
I knew what was going on, but I pretended not to, just to start a conversation and give the boy a few minutes of relief.
Soon she was telling me about how her son's teacher had sent her ten questions that he had to memorize before going to school. None of it made much sense to the little boy, but he was trying his best.
I heard her reading out the WhatsApp message the teacher had sent that morning.
"Who is the father of our nation?"
"Mahatma Gandhiji."
I wanted to correct her—it's either Mahatma Gandhi or Gandhiji—but I knew that would waste my whole morning.
"When did we get independence?"
"1945, August 15th."
I couldn’t hold back this time, but before I could speak, her older daughter interrupted.
"Umma, it’s 1947."
"No, it says 1945," she insisted, showing her the message.
Her daughter looked at it and laughed.
"Umma, the teacher made a mistake. It's 1947."
"So what? We have to follow what his teacher said. If he writes 1947, she’ll mark it wrong. I don’t want to take that risk."
I stepped outside, leaned against the wall, and suggested what she should do.
"Thatha, just message the teacher and let her know she made a mistake."
Amina passed the task to her older daughter, who grabbed her phone and sent the message. Amina wasn’t one for reading or writing; her messages were mostly voice clips or emojis. She’s practically my emoji language tutor.
While these thoughts swirled in my mind, Amina's daughter sent the message, and we waited for a reply.
Finally, it came.
"Sorry, that was a typo. Please correct it to 1947, August 15th. And one more thing: change Mahatma Gandhiji to Mahatma Gandhi. Sorry for the inconvenience. Happy Independence Day."
The boy, who had taken his morning share of scoldings, peeked at us from the corner he had been hiding in. He was silently praying our conversation would go on forever. But as we adults know, the prayers of the meek often go unanswered.
Amina Thatha picked up her cane and continued her lesson.
"When did we get independence?"
"Mahatma Gandhiji," the boy replied.
"Who is the father of our nation?"
"1947, August 15th."
Looks like he had overheard us and made the correction.
Not bad.
Mrs. Sreeja Sree from Kattuppara, a village in Malappuram, Kerala, India, is a multi-talented mother. She writes, composes, sings, illustrates, and makes her living as a dance teacher at her own dance school, after teaching herself classical dance forms like Bharatanatyam which is almost impossible to learn on one's own.
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: ATOMIC THOUGHTS ABOUT THE LITTLE BOY AND FAT MAN !
Nitish Nivedan Barik
Come the month of August, we rejoice on the thought of August 15, our Independence Day! But August also brings the thoughts of agony to many. There comes the memory of the Little Boy and Fat Man.The famous “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” by Mahatma Gandhi means if we punish people who we believe to be cruel, we become just as wicked as the people who are punishing. We arenow talking about the World II cataclysmic events in its closing year where USA dropped two atomic bombs onHiroshima and Nagasaki. Many experts argue that the atomic bombings were required to endthe war with minimal casualties, ultimately preventing a greater loss of life. Conversely, criticscontend that the bombings were unnecessary for concluding the war and the act constituted a warcrime, raising significant moral and ethical concerns.
In the final year of second world war, the Allies were preparing for an invasion of Japanese mainland. This plan followed an extensive bombing campaign that severely damaged 64 Japanese cities. After Germany’s surrender on May 8, 1945, which ended the war in Europe, the Allies focused their full attention on the Pacific War. By July 1945, the US, through the Manhattan Project, had developed two types of atomic bombs: Little Boy, a uranium-based weapon, and FatMan, a plutonium-based weapon. The United States Army Air Forces; 509th Composite Group was trained and equipped with a specialized version of the Boeing B-29 nSuperfortress and stationed at Tinian in the Mariana Islands. On July 26, 1945, the Allies issued the Potsdam Declaration, demanding the unconditional surrender of Japan’s armed forces, warning that failure to comply would result inprompt and utter destruction. The Japanese government disregarded this ultimatum.
The United Kingdom’s consent was secured for the bombings, as mandated by the Quebec Agreement. On July 25, General Thomas Handy, the acting Chief of Staff of the United States Army, issued orders for atomic bombs to be deployed against Hiroshima, Kokura, Niigata, and Nagasaki. These cities were selected as targets due to their large urban populations and the presence of militarily significant facilities.
On that dreadful day of August 6 and 9, 1945 respectively , the United States dropped atomic bombs on theJapanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. These bombings resulted in the deaths of an estimated 150,000 to 246,000 people, the majority of whom were civilians. These events mark the only instances of nuclear weapons being used in warfare. Japan surrendered to the Allies on August 15, just six days after the Nagasaki bombing. The formal surrender was signed by the Japanese government on September 2, officially ending the war.
Many people say to prevent the atrocities carried out by Japanese soldiers this was needed. But it had a huge impact. Nuclear weapons are the most destructive, inhumane and indiscriminate weapons ever created. Both in the scale of the devastation they cause, and in their uniquely persistent, spreadinggenetically damaging radioactive fallout, they are unlike any other weapons. A single nuclear bomb detonated over a large city could kill millions of people. The use of tens or hundreds of nuclear bombs would disrupt the global climate, causing widespread famine. A single nuclear weapon can destroy a city and kill most of its people. Several nuclear explosions over modern cities would kill tens of millions of people. It hardly takes 10 seconds for the fireball from a nuclear explosion to reach its maximum size. A nuclear explosion releases vast amounts of energy in the form of blast, heat and radiation. An enormous shockwave reaches speeds of many hundreds of kilometres an hour. The blast kills people close to ground zero, and causes lung injuries, ear damage and internal bleeding further away. People sustain injuries from collapsing buildings and flying objects. Thermal radiation is so intense that almost everything close to ground zero is vaporized. The extreme heat causes severe burns and ignites fires over a large area, which coalesce into a giant firestorm. Even people in underground shelters face likely death due to a lack of oxygen and carbon monoxide poisoning.
In the long-term, nuclear weapons produce ionizing radiation, which kills or sickens those exposed, contaminates the environment, and has long-term health consequences, including cancer and genetic damage. Their widespread use in atmospheric testing has caused grave long-term consequences. Physicians project that some 2.4 million people worldwide will eventually die from cancers due to atmospheric nuclear tests conducted between 1945 and 1980.
In today’s time there is no room for the usage of nuclear bomb and conflicts should be solved through diplomatic talks. Nuclear weapons are the most destructive, inhumane, and indiscriminate weapons ever developed. Their unparalleled ability to cause widespread devastation, combined with the long-lasting, pervasive, and genetically harmful effects of radioactive fallout, sets them apart from all other weapons. A single nuclear bomb detonated over a major city could result in the deaths of millions. The deployment of tens or hundreds of such weapons would have catastrophic effects on the global climate, leading to widespread famine.
Albert Einstein had said ," Nuclear weapons have changed everything except our way of thinking, and thus we drift toward unparalleled catastrophe ." Today of course there is a widespread recognition that nuclear war would be highly dangerous than any conventional war. Today’s nuclear weapons have far more destructive capacity than the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs. Nuclear war once unleashed will efface humanity from the Earth and should be avoided at any cost.These are but hanging on the humanity without their conscious knowledge. As Pandit Nehru said the right to life of the humanity is taken away without their consent. There should be a worldwide demand for de-nuclearization and both declared and undeclared nuclear weapon states should give it up! But will it ever happen?”
Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik hails from Cuttack,Odisha and is a young IT professional working as a Team Lead with Accenture at Bangalore.
Sreechandra Banerjee
This might be serious! Will have to talk to him.
May be, in the evening today after I return from my chamber!
I couldn’t concentrate on my work. Examined some patients, but probably they could understand that I was unmindful! Went for a quick round to see the patients on whom I had operated.
Being a general surgeon, how can I neglect my work! Am just 60 years now and hope to continue till 70 years or more.
What I saw….
… it is indeed a cause for worry!
I returned home earlier than I usually did. Didn’t tell my wife Sona about what I had seen in the morning. She would have started worrying!
But why is our son Shuvam being so late! May be, stuck in his work. After all this is his new job.
No…, no…., why am I thinking about all this! Must be just a skin-boil.
And finally, Shuvam came home. Hearing the calling bell, I myself went to open the door!
“Baba, you came back early today?”
“Yes, my son, you must have had a distressing day today at work. Anyway, please get refreshed, have your tea, then I have to discuss something with you.”
“What! Discuss again? I told you everything that you wanted to know about her,” blurted Shuvam.
So, Shuvam thought that I wanted to know more about his new colleague – Sharbopriya. I was friendly with my son and in no time came to know that Shuvam was going on well with his new colleague. So, the other day, I started asking about her. I even told him to bring her home someday, so that we can talk to her.
But…bbbuutt! First I will have to solve this. If Shuvam decides to marry Sharbopriya! He is 28 years old now; all his friends are getting married.
But before he decides to marry, I will have to find out…
Yes, find out …and get rid of …
It was almost dinner time but as Shuvam had just munched something his mother had cooked and so wanted to have dinner an hour later.
I took this opportunity to take him to my chamber, “why don’t you come to my chamber, I will show you something,” I just managed to make it casual lest his mother suspected something.
“Oh no Baba, you will start asking me about her again,” Shuvam protested.
“No, dear, it is something different.”
And so, we went to my chamber examination room.
“Today morning, your cell phone was ringing and you came to pick it up, you had no time to put on your vest and shirt,”
“So, what!,” Shuvam seemed to be tired.
“I think I saw a lump on your breast!”
“Lump! What are you saying Baba! Just a skin-boil. You, being a general surgeon, you always see lumps everywhere!”
“No, no, as a general surgeon, I just can’t let it go!, I saw it from a little distance, it was probably under the skin, May I see it again” I pleaded.
“Oh! No Baba, I am a man, it can’t be breast cancer after all!,” Shuvam tried to convince me.
“It is a wrong idea. Though very rare, yet men can have breast cancer too.”
Thought of reminding him that his maternal grandfather had breast cancer!
So, I continued, “Don’t you know, your Dadu had breast cancer?”
“But he was elderly, Baba. How can I have…, at this age?”
“Yes, if it happens, it happens in the elderly, but it can happen at any age too.”
“I heard that the lump that Dadu initially had, was painless.!,” Shuvam was not ready to give in.
“Let me see it again. Tomorrow and day after we will go for the tests, Shuvam. If it is nothing serious, then okay. Don’t worry, my son. May be, it is nothing serious. But still , it is better to rule out at the very onset.”
“No way Baba, day after tomorrow I will have to go on office-tour and tomorrow I will have to attend office to get the paperwork ready.”
“Okay, then may be sometime next week.”
I was eager to make Shuvam aware.
So, I kept saying, “Male breast cancer is very rare, counts for less than 1% of total breast cancers.
But statistics say that incidence of male breast cancer has slightly increased over the years!
But don’t worry, my dear, this may not be cancer but just some form of a benign breast condition.”
Came next week. Shuvam started avoiding me. Then one day, I caught hold of him and said that I must examine him right away.
“No, no Baba, it is nothing,” probably Shuvam was embarrassed too to get his breasts examined by his father.
“No Shuvam, if you prefer some other doctor , then okay I’ll arrange for it. But it is necessary to go for examination and the tests as soon as possible. That day I saw it from far and maybe I am wrong. So why are you worrying?”
“No Baba, am not worrying, but I checked the internet, I don’t have discharge or anything like that!”
“If you don’t have discharge, very good, …well, that doesn’t rule out cancer.”
“So, I will have to undergo tests and see a doctor!”
“Yes, Shuvam, see some day , you would want to marry Sharbopriya. If you are not treated before for whatever it is, how can you marry her? What will she say!,” I couldn’t but say this in order to make Shuvam agree.
“Ok, Tomorrow… or day after is better, it is a holiday, I will go for the tests and see a doctor too.”
So, finally the tests were done.
I couldn’t but wait for the reports to come in, although the doctor who had examined had said….
And then came the reports…
.
.
.
It was not cancer, but sort of a benign boil. Anyway, I would get it removed so that at a later date, it doesn’t form cancerous cells.
Shuvam came to me to know about the reports. He seemed worried.
Then I told him about the reports.
“Baba am so happy that you cautioned me about this male breast cancer, I didn’t know about this. I will tell all my friends and others. But what are the factors and symptoms?,” Shuvam was now curious.
“There may be many factors – even hereditary too, but never… , never neglect if you notice or feel something abnormal , you must consult a doctor. Always remember that male breast cancers are there too – no matter even if its rare – it may happen! And symptoms may be different as you have already browsed the internet and know about them.”
That night I slept well. After all, all is well that ends well.
Information: From a doctor who knew a man who had had breast cancer and other statistics and information are from the internet (Disclaimer).
I have no right to the image at the top taken from the internet and to all other information taken from the internet (Disclaimer).
I felt that as a writer it is my duty to spread awareness. This I wrote from imagination to spread awareness.
All rights reserved except for the right of the image and some information taken from the internet to which I have no right (Disclaimer).
TYING THE KNOT OF FRIENDSHIP ON RAKSHA BANDHAN
Sreechandra Banerjee
This year (2024) Rakhi Purnima or the day of tying protection bands (Raksha Bandhan) was on 19 th August.
Earlier have authored many poems, articles, etc. on Rakhi Purnima and its significance. So, this year thought of retying the KNOT OF FRIENDSHIP on the occasion of Rakhi Purnima with all my friends while presenting something different.
Friendship is an all-encompassing relationship. Even parents become friends. There is a Chanakya-sloka on how a father should treat his son as and when the son turns 16 (Chanakya Niti, Chapter 3, Sloka/verse 18).
Here are some ribbons and floral Rakhis that I made.
This Rakhi I made with fresh Balsam flower.
Rakhis are not only symbols of bonding
but also, are emblems of protection (‘Raksha’).
It was on 19th July 1905, that the then Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon announced that Bengal would be divided! This order would be implemented on 16th October 1905.
Rabindranath Tagore declared this day (16th October 1905) as the ‘Day of National Mourning’ to protest against this partition.
To celebrate the bond between all Bengalis and as a call for uniting all, irrespective of caste, creed and religion, Tagore decided to tie Rakhis on each other on this day. He composed a song for the occasion.
Here is the song which glorifies the soil and water of Bengal: -
(Though the song is in Bengali, you can see the images of thousands thronging for the protest march along River Ganges.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fOX-vsXGwOo
You can copy and then paste on your browser to watch this video.
And now, here is an image that I received on Friendship Lessons from mythology, Ramayana, and Mahabharata.
Greeting you all on Raksha Bandhan
May this friendship knot
Protect you always,
And bring you sunshine days!
As the Purnima full moon
ties a silver knot
on the evening sky,
I tie this floral knot
of FRIENDSHIP
on my e-pages
to continue our
golden bonding
of friendship
till eternity.
Sreechandra Banerjee is a Chemical Engineer who has worked for many years on prestigious projects. She is also a writer and musician and has published a book titled “Tapestry of Stories” (Publisher “Writers’ Workshop). Many of her short stories, articles, travelogues, poems, etc. have been published by various newspapers and journals like Northern India Patrika (Allahabad), Times of India, etc. Sulekha.com has published one of her short stories (one of the awardees for the month of November 2007 of Sulekha-Penguin Blogprint Alliance Award) in the book: ‘Unwind: A Whirlwind of Writings’.
There are also technical publications (national and international) to her credit, some of which have fetched awards and were included in collector’s editions.
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
I rang the bell and stood outside our home, my heart pounding like a frog doing acrobatics. Sweat drops had gathered on my forehead, fear of the impending confrontation tightening the knot in my stomach.
Bhauja, my elder brother's wife, opened the door, looked at the bundle in my hand and took a step back as if she had just seen a baby Marilyn Monroe in my arms. She quickly recovered and a smile spread over her beautiful face,
"Look at my Romeo devar; I knew you were a chhupa rustam, sowing your wild oats all over the town. The raging hormones ooze from your body like gum out of a tube. Ok, now that the baby is here, where is the mom? Is she waiting at the gate, call her, let me welcome my Devrani. Where is she?"
I handed over the bundle to Bhauja, who was looking beyond me trying to locate her mysterious, absent Devrani. With the baby gone from my arm, I felt a great weight off my chest, as if I had been holding a python in my hand and there was great relief in getting rid of it. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I smiled pathetically,
"Bhauja, like you I am also looking for her. I don't know who this baby's mother is. She has vanished, handing her over to me"
Bhauja pounced on the weak link in my statement,
"Her? How do you know it is a girl if she is not your baby?"
"Bhauja, believe me, in God's name, I really don't know who is her mother. When she was talking to me she had referred to this baby as a girl child, that's how I know it is a girl"
Bhauja got another chance to punch me below the belt,
"Talking to you? If she is not my Devrani, how was she talking to you? And you had left home with a briefcase to go to Rourkela, how come you have returned with a baby? Where is your briefcase?"
I felt a jolt of high voltage current run through me like an express train running through an empty station. Oh my God! I had left the brief case at the bus stand! The night was unfolding as a great adventure for me. And Bhauja was holding the baby in her arms, waiting for an explanation.
I winced within. What explanation could I give? Who would believe my story? It had happened like a nightmare about an hour back. I had reached the Badambadi bus stand half an hour early for the eight o' clock overnight bus to Rourkela. I was to attend an interview for the post of Assistant Personnel Officer at the Steel Plant the next morning. The bus was yet to come to the stand. I was reading the Outlook magazine. Suddenly I felt a presence by my side as if someone was looking at me intently. I turned and saw a young lady sitting a few feet away on my bench with a baby in her arms and staring at me. The baby was sleeping, wrapped in a cream coloured cloth, only its sweet little face was visible. When our eyes met, the lady smiled,
"When is your bus? Where are you going?"
I was a little surprised by this attempt to strike a conversation,
"I am going to Rourkela, waiting for the eight o' clock bus."
She looked at her watch,
"O, still half an hour to go!"
"Yes, where are you going?"
She smiled, she was a beautiful woman, her face was tired, but her smile was captivating,
"Not very far…."
Before she could finish, the baby stirred and a faint cry came out of its Buddha like face. The girl blushed, "I think she is hungry, I have to feed her. Can you please hold her for a minute? Let me take out a sheet from the bag. This is a crowded place, it's so embarrassing to feed a baby!"
She looked more beautiful as she blushed even redder, and handed over the baby to me. The last time I had held a baby was six years back when my niece had been born to my elder brother and Bhauja. I took the baby very carefully and held her in my arms.
The lady smiled, actually I noticed that she was hardly a lady, may be a matured girl, she was so young, and delicate, it was difficult to guess her age.
She took out a thin sheet from her bag and gathered the baby in her arms. She smiled sweetly at me,
"You seem to be an expert in holding babies, and look at her! She was quiet when you were holding her! Looks like you have a way with babies!"
I shook my head,
"No, not much of experience, the last time I held a baby was six years back, my Bhauja's daughter."
She smiled demurely at this revelation, looking at me with a hint of adoration. She covered the baby with the thin sheet. Then blushing again, she said,
"Now, like a gentleman look the other way when I feed the baby."
Anyway I had no intention of observing how a baby was fed, so I immersed myself in the Outlook magazine. After a few minutes, the girl exclaimed,
"Oh my God, look at this girl, she is a champion piddler! Ugh, she wet my saree! And I also have to change her diaper!"
I had turned and was looking at her, hoping against hope that she would not hand over the urine soaked baby to me. She did exactly that. The smile was gone, however. She looked a bit off, as if something was weighing on her mind, I imagined she must be feeling bad to make me hold her champion piddler baby. She took out a diaper from her bag and put it on the baby while I was holding her. She finished and kissed the baby as if changing the diaper had made their bond stronger. She looked at me and said,
"Please hold the baby for a few minutes when I go to the washroom to change my saree. There won't be a clean place there to keep the baby when I change. I hope you don't mind."
I shook my head, although I was not sure. She took her bag, looked at me and at her baby. I somehow thought she appeared a bit distraught. With another intense, longing look at her baby she hurried towards the public washroom at the bus stand.
I looked at the baby. She was cute, really cute, sleeping quietly with not a worry about the world. No waiting for the bus for her, no sleepless journey through the night, no interview in the morning. How lucky babies were!
I looked at the watch. Fifteen minutes to eight, the bus for Rourkela had just entered the stand, it would leave in fifteen minutes. In a few minutes the girl should be back to take her baby from me and I would board the bus. I looked towards where the washrooms were, there was no sign of her. Ten minutes passed, what was keeping her at the washroom so long? How long would I hold the baby in my arms? The driver of the bus started blowing the shrill electric horn, to alert the passengers. I started sweating, where was the mother of the baby? In panic I ran towards the ladies' washroom with the baby in my arms, hoping I would find her coming out of it. She was not to be seen. I got worried. Did something happen to her? I stopped a woman who was entering the bathroom and asked her to check if someone had slipped on the floor and fallen down? She came out in a few seconds and said no one was inside. I rushed back, the bus had started moving.
For a moment I thought of dropping the baby on the bench and boarding the bus, hoping that the mother would come and pick up her baby later. But one look at her sweet face, and I could not do that. What if the mother didn't come back? What would happen to the cute, innocent child? I watched the bus leave and holding the baby in my arms I went around the bus stand searching for the mother. Her sweet, smiling face had got etched in my mind. I had no doubt I would spot her if she was somewhere around. But she seemed to have left. I got a shock, just thinking about it! Left? How could a mother vanish just like that, leaving her baby with a stranger? My head reeled, and I knew the only person who could come to my rescue at this moment of crisis was Bhauja, my smart, ever-dependable sister-in-law who had this magical quality of finding a solution to every possible and impossible problem.
So here I was standing before Bhauja, sweating and trembling like an innocent dog accused of stealing the juiciest bone from a dish of mutton roganjosh. And I knew the saga of explanation had just begun. Bou, my Hitler mother would spew fire and smoke when she saw an unknown baby arriving at home unannounced.
I panicked, and told Bhauja the whole story, not omitting a single dot or dash. Her face broke into a smile,
"Your story is incredible, who will believe that a young mother will abandon such a cute child and disappear? Now the big problem is how to convince Bou? She will throw a fit which will shake the foundation of Taj Mahal a few thousand kilometres away. I have to find some way out. So, what are you going to do now?"
"Let me rush to the bus stand and retrieve my briefcase, I wonder if it would be still there. My only hope is, with all the bomb scare these days, nobody would have touched it"
Bhauja smiled again,
"No, the first thing for you to do is to buy some baby food and diapers for your daughter."
I protested,
"My daughter? What do you mean my daughter? And why baby food?
Bhauja raised her eyebrows, scandalised,
"What do you mean, why baby food? You think your Bhauja is a Kamadhenu, giving milk all the time, year after year! You are an idiot, but an adorable idiot. And she is your daughter. You brought her here, she belongs to you, at least till someone comes to claim her. Now don't waste time, run and get me four tins of Lactogen, two feeding bottles and a few packets of napkins. Do it fast, before your daughter wakes up and cries her heart out, bringing Bou out of her Puja room."
Just a mention of Bou galvanised me like I had been kicked by a mule, I took the motor bike and rushed to the nearest store two lanes away. In a few minutes I returned and handed over the things to Bhauja. She whispered to me that Bou was still unaware of the baby's presence, but it was only a matter of time before all hell would break loose. I didn't wait to face it and drove away to the bus stand. I found the briefcase lying on the bench as I had left it. I collected it and went round again, hoping that the mysterious young girl of my adventurous evening was somewhere close by, looking for her baby. But there was no such luck.
I left the bus stand and on my bike roamed around in Cuttack town, visiting each and every hospital, nursing home, poly clinic and enquired if a beautiful young girl had given birth to a baby in the past three-four days and left a few hours back with her. No one knew anything about it.
Frustrated, I returned home around midnight, Bhai and Bhauja were still awake, Bou had gone to sleep after thundering like an earth quake, she wanted to give a piece of her mind to me for picking up a baby from "some garbage dump and bringing her with him, a child of unknown parentage polluting a Brahmin's home with her inauspicious presence! Was it the Sanskar she had given to her son, did he know he would rot in hell for this unforgivable act......." Bhauja would have read out the full statement to me in great gusto, Bhai stopped her. Bhauja called me to their bed room, where the baby was sleeping, along with Montu and Chinky, my nephew and niece, who had got tired of gazing at her in awe and gone to sleep. Now they were protecting her like two little guardian angels.
I knew there would be a big fight in the morning. All the three of us were thinking on the same line. Bhai smiled, patted me on the back and shook my hand before retiring to sleep. I wondered whether he was congratulating me for getting a child out of wedlock or thanking me for bringing a cute baby home. Bhai was always like that, a quiet man with an unquiet sense of humour!
Bhauja was waiting to have dinner with me. We talked about the impending disaster in the morning. Bou had insisted that I should take the baby and drop her at an orphanage in the morning itself. That broke my heart; I had somehow come to believe that the baby was my responsibility and deserved a better chance than being dumped at an orphanage. Bhauja looked at my worried face, and as always flashed a reassuring smile which seemed to convey to me that she would manage. Not to worry, her favourite line to everyone was, 'Fikar not, mein hoon naa!'
I asked her, what could be the reason for dumping of a baby by a young mother. We discussed different possibilities, a jilted lover? An unwanted child? A strict family? I described to Bhauja what a beautiful girl the mother was, her nice saree, the winning smile and her demure blushes. Was she a rape victim? Bhauja didn't think she was a rape victim, the way she had smiled at me and looked at the baby so longingly before leaving her with me. We hoped somehow the mother would find out who I was and come to take her baby back. Bhauja told me, that's the story she would tell Bou and buy some time. But she kept on giving me a curious look from time to time, as if part of her mind still believed that somehow the baby was the product of my “raging hormones”, the mother lurking somewhere round the corner to come and claim the baby.
She had already packed a small suitcase for me and suggested I should leave early in the morning and stay away from home for a few days, till she managed to pacify Bou. And she asked, shouldn't I call the Steel Plant authorities and ask them for another chance? Yes! It had not occurred to me, thanks to the way my mind had gone through a wringer and got chopped to pieces. That was my Bhauja, the smartest woman in the world, she always thought of everything!
I didn't wait till next morning, didn't want to take a chance with my Hitler Bou! I called a friend and told him I was coming to his place to spend the night there. He laughed and just asked one question, Beer chalega, or you want something stronger? That's what true friends are for, aren't they? To pour chilled beer on a distraught mind to cool it off?
I called the HR Director of Rourkela Steel Plant the next day and explained the situation. He dismissed the story as pure bullshit, but when I assured him that I would show him the unused bus ticket, he relented and agreed to give me another chance. I stayed with my friend for a couple of days, between two of us we emptied two dozen beer bottles. I boarded the bus on the third evening, attended the interview and got selected. I had been calling Bhauja all the time to know when it would be safe to return home and whether Bou was still an active volcano or the spewing of lava had stopped. Luckily my getting the job softened Bou. Bhauja convinced her that the new baby at home had brought me good luck. She had been working on Bou, pointing out how cute the child was, what a sharp nose; with her beautiful face and the champak colour, the baby could not but be from a good family. May be the mother was suffering from some dreadful disease and had to give up the baby, but the child must have been born under a good star, otherwise how could Abinash (me) get a job the moment she set her foot at our home? Hadn't poor Abinash given up hope after failing in all attempts to get a job for the last two years? Wasn't the girl like Laxmi, bringing good luck to those who desperately need it? In four days flat, Bhauja brought Bou round.
We named the baby Khusi, because she had this magical quality of making anyone who looked at her, happy. Montu and Chinky spent all their time at home playing with her, holding her hand and trying to make her smile. Miraculously, Bou had taken to her like a mother bird to a fledgling. She found great joy in holding Khusi when Bhauja was busy cooking, both of them started giving the baby oil massage to make her strong, my Bou lamenting all the time that the "poor darling" was deprived of her mother's milk. She used some real bad words against Lactogen, but we had no choice. I had a month to join at my job at Rourkela. I mostly spent it at home, hoping that the mother of Khusi would come to take her back, although we were getting so attached to the baby that parting with her would have broken our heart.
I joined at my new job, frequently coming down to Cuttack to see "my daughter". Bhauja kept on insisting that Khusi belonged to me and would always be my daughter. The prospect of her mother coming to claim her had completely faded. We no longer talked about it. Gradually Khusi grew up, became a true livewire, running around the house, playing, shouting, fighting with Chinky and generally being the centre of everyone's attention. Bou treated her as the apple of her eye, and couldn't live a minute without the sight of the lovely child. Khushi had the absolute, unfettered freedom to take the mobile and "talk" to her "daddy" at any time. My evenings were spent on listening to her blabbers. She spread khusi the way only a Khusi could do.
Bhauja had started pestering me for marriage to "control my raging hormones" and I had given her the green signal to choose her Devrani. One day she called me and asked me to proceed directly to Kendrapara to meet Sumana, a Post Graduate in English, waiting for a lecturer's job. Bhauja had seen her photograph and described her as a stunning beauty. Those were the days one could go to "see" a prospective bride, without getting trolled in WhatsApp or Facebook. I asked Bhauja to accompany me, she refused, she didn't want to be a "kababme haddi".
I hired a taxi and landed up in the small town of Kendrapara around five in the afternoon. Sumana was indeed a stunner, tall, slim and bubbly. She greeted me like a long lost friend; she was easy to talk to. There was no question of my not agreeing to marry her, I couldn't have hoped for a better life mate. After her parents and younger brother left the room we chatted freely, making plans for the future, particularly the prospect of her getting a job in Rourkela. Small boys and girls of assorted age kept peeping in, giggling and a few of them making ugly faces at me. I asked Sumana if I could get one more cup of tea, I was a bit tired after a seven hour journey. She called one of the girls,
"Ei Mili, go and ask Madhu Nani to bring some tea and snacks for your Bhaina", pointing to me. Mili giggled and ran away. Sumana smiled at me,
"Now you will meet my best friend and cousin Madhumita Mahapatra. Let me warn you she is twice more beautiful than me. Boys here call her Miss Kendrapara. She is irresistible, but don't fall for her. Remember, you are committed to me!"
I assured her I wouldn't fall for her best friend, no matter how beautiful, because I had just pledged my heart to a Professor of English.
There was a knock at the door and a girl entered the room with a tray in hand. She was indeed incredibly beautiful. When she came near and I looked at her closely, my heart skipped a beat and I stood up,
"You! O my God!"
She looked up and with a loud gasp; she put her hand on her mouth, her eyes widened. The next moment she started running away from the room. Sumana stood up and grasped her,
"Wait, Madhu, wait. Tell me why you are running away!"
Madhu just stood there and melted into tears. Sumana looked at me,
"You have met her before?"
I nodded.
She lifted Madhu's face, wiped the tears and asked her softly,
"Badambadi?"
Madhumita broke into a loud wail. Sumana went and locked the door, led Madhu to a chair and made her sit. She looked at me and asked,
"First tell us where is Madhu's daughter?"
"At our home. We have named her Khusi, she is the throb of everyone's heart, my Bhauja treats her as a little princess and my Bou can't live for a minute without seeing her. Khusi, as pretty as her mother, spreads joy wherever she is." Madhu's sobs grew louder, pining for a baby she had abandoned two years back.
I looked at Sumana, "Do you know about the Badambadi incident?"
"There is nothing that Madhu and I don't know about each other. In fact she had stayed with me in my hostel room in the last four months of her pregnancy. God has been very cruel to my sweet, unlucky sister. After our B.A. here I went to Cuttack for Post-Graduation in English, she went to Vani Vihar in Bhubaneswar for M.A. in Psychology. There she fell in love with Debdutt, the smart, dynamic President of the College Union, who was one year senior to her. He was very forward looking and was scared of nothing, a real gem. They used to spend most of their days and nights together and Madhu eventually found she was pregnant. She wanted to abort the child, but Debdutt was adamant. He assured her that they would get married much before the child's birth, as soon as the exams were over. He had already been offered a job by Deloitte. Unfortunately he died in a road accident while returning from Berhampur after attending a College Union function there, and Madhu was shattered. She couldn't abort the child as the pregnancy was in its sixth month and she could not disclose it to her parents either, they are very very conservative. So she came to me, I kept her in my room and when the labour pain started I got her admitted in a private nursing home a little away from the town on the Cuttack-Bhubaneswar Road. She wanted to keep the baby, I advised against it. She has two younger sisters and her having a baby before marriage would have been too scandalous for a small town like Kendrapara. I gave her the idea to leave the baby with a responsible person at Badambadi bus stand. I couldn't accompany her to Badambadi because we had the final exams the next day. She left the baby with you and from the washroom came straight to the hostel and cried the whole night and the next day. Look at her, how much she is suffering now at the thought of the baby she had given away to you!"
Sumana looked at me,
"Now you must restore Madhu's daughter to her, poor thing!"
I got a shock, as if someone had shot a bullet through my knees,
"How is it possible? You want my home to descend into darkness? Khusi is the apple of everyone's eye. They won’t part with her."
Sumana shook her head,
"I am not suggesting Khusi coming away from your home. It's the other way, let Khusi's mother come into your home."
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in,
"How is it possible? I am already committed to you! Unless you want me to take one and get one free!"
"O, O, look at the Casanova, your mind running wild! Can't blame you, it must be your raging hormones. All that I am saying is, you marry Madhu instead of me. Take her as a gift from me, her best friend. OK?"
I looked at Madhu, who had collapsed like a paper bag, her body wracked by uncontrollable sobs. Somehow my heart overflowed with love and sympathy for this unlucky mother who had drifted in the wind like a helpless, fallen leaf. I could imagine what great joy it would be when she reunited with her lost child.
Although a bit reluctant initially, I agreed to Sumana's suggestion for the sake of my daughter Khusi and left for Cuttack promising to them that I would confirm the date of marriage after discussing with Bhauja, who had the amazing ability to find a solution to every problem. I told Madhu to have a little patience, we won't delay the marriage too long and she would see her daughter soon.
I came to Cuttack and told everything to Bhauja. She almost danced with joy at this turn of events,
"See, I told you, Khusi is a blessed child and brings good luck to everyone. Now her mother will be united with her! Don't worry; keep your hormones in control for a month or two. I will convince Bou and your Bhai. We will have an early marriage, leave it to me, fikar not, my Devar, get ready for Devrani!"
As I sit here on the roof of my official quarters in Rourkela under a moonlit sky, writing my incredible story, I marvel at the twists and turns life takes. Dear readers, all of you are invited to attend my wedding on 31st April, a month and half away. Come for the khusi of my Khusi in getting united with her mother, who had been left behind at some milestone in my life, but thank God, she managed to catch up with us.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . Four collections of his short stories in English have been published under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali, A Train to Kolkata, Anjie, Pat and India's Poor, The Fourth Monkey. He has also to his credit nine books of short stories in Odiya. He has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
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