Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVI (25-Oct-2024) - SHORT STORIES, ANECDOTES & TRAVELOGUES
Title : Ma Durga (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, ANECDOTES & TRAVELOGUES
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
DEATH OF SANSKAR
02) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
VASTHUHARA
03) Snehaprava Das
MOON IN MUMMY`S FACE
04) Hema Ravi
HYMNS IN AN ARCHIPELAGO
05) Shri Satish Pashine
EXPLORING REIKI: THE SCIENCE BEHIND THE HEALING PRACTICE
THE SECOND CHANCE
BOUNDARIES OF LOVE
06) Surya Rajesh Kavi
A GUEST FROM NOWHERE
07) Jay Jagdev
WHY GANDHI MUST BE RESURRECTED
08) T. V. Sreekumar
WILL YOU MARRY ME
09) Pravat Kumar Padhy
HAIBUN: THE ART OF BRAIDING PROSE WITH HAIKU
10) Bankim Chandra Tola
A SAD YET SWEET ENCOUNTER
11) Sreechandra Banerjee
AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER
12) Gouranga Charan Roul
A TRIBUTE TO JIM: A LOYAL PET FOR 16 YEARS
13) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
VICTORY IN UNITY
14) Dr. Viyatprajna Acharya
THE CYCLE OF LIFE
15) Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: ABOUT A BOOK THAT SHATTERED SILENCE
16) Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE DEER CUBS
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DEATH OF SANSKAR
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Ekant Shama’s office attendant handed over a visiting card to him bearing a name - Himmat bhai Mehta, MD, M/S Himmat bhai Mehta and Sons Co Pvt Ltd. The attendant informed him the visitor was waiting in his outer room for an audience with him.
Ekant Sharma was a general manager heading the wing of his consultancy firm, consisting of several managers and executives, that dealt with chemicals, and raw materials used for manufacturing drugs and cosmetics. It also dealt with the problems of firms making and trading in those items in the local market and overseas through export/import. His wing in the company researched on the problems of such companies in trouble and advised them in matters of earning higher profit and trouble-shooting.
Generally, executives from trading, manufacturing, export/import sectors would meet Ekant for consultation on quality control, profit margin, harassment by agencies, workers’ strike and welfare, and advertising, and any other trouble. But a Managing Director bringing a problem was new to him. So, he personally ushered Himmat bhai Mehta, MD, into his room.
Himmat bhai Mehta was a man of average height and build, with no visible belly-bulge common to Gujarati males on the wrong side of the middle age. He wore an ensemble of a shirt with full sleeves on a full-pant, the shirt not tucked in but hanging to its full length, both in white. He wore immaculately polished black shoes. An open-front-full-sleeve, light grey jacket was on his white shirt with the collar button open. A typically dressed elderly Gujarati businessman.
Himmat bhai Mehta by his dress code imparted the impression of a man one could depend on. Gujaratis wearing such archetypal combination of clothes ruled Bombay’s business zone and kept ruling Bombay, turning into Mumbai in 1995, for better or worse, and still formed the backbone of the city’s economy. Mumbai being the major financial hub and financial CPU of India. It was rightly said, “If Mumbai’s money-market sneezes, India’s economy catches cold.”
The affable gentleman had an infectious smile and to Ekant’s asking, “Mr Mehta, you could have sent an executive of yours with your problem. Why should an MD take the trouble?”, he mildly replied, “Sharma ji, I would love it if you call me Himmat bhai, a friendly address. I consider myself as my company’s everything, from CEO to the tea-boy. Mine is a company with medium-large turnover. My three sons are directors, but their grips over the subjects are still unripe. By the way I will not beat around the bush, and come to the point…”
Ekant’s team by his side took details of Himmat bhai’s problems and later he was advised to his complete satisfaction. His chemical company, he admitted, excelled over his competitors by following Ekant’s advice. Through him, other clients came to Ekant. He liked Himmat bhai as a good and kind man.
One day, Himat bhai, with an ingratiating smile entered his room and said, “Sharma ji, I have brought a little love for you." With a nod from Ekant, he produced from his leather portfolio bag a big packet of dry-fruit sweets and a small envelope that he whispered contained a little cash. He said, “It is no bribe. It is a miniscule part of my first extra profit earned because of your advice.”
Ekant could feel affection and honesty in Himmat bhai’s open smile and direct talk. He liked the man’s guileless smile. He kept the box of sweets to be distributed among his team members. He returned the money with a polite word, “Himmat bhai, you are very kind. You have paid my company generously already and I was given a bonus on that. This money will weigh heavy on me.”
One day, Ekant went to Himmat bhai’s office on invitation on the occasion of Chopda-Pujan, the ‘worshipping of books of account’. His sons were yet to arrive. Ekant found him sweeping his and his sons’ rooms. Then he made tea in the pantry for Ekant, himself and his sons.
His sons arrived and drank their cups made by their father. Later Ekant asked, “Why did you act as your sweeper and tea-boy, Himmat bhai?” He replied, “They were allowed to come late that day. My Sanskar tells me, ‘work is worship’, any work.” Ekant noticed in Himmat a live epitome of that virtue, Sanskar, noble upbringing.
Ekant was impressed by Himmat bhai’s humility as he learnt, “Sir, I started life from the cradle of poverty. I made this business house before I married. My sons were born with proverbial silver spoons in their mouths. I have tried to give them the best Sanskar, but have felt disappointed often.” He swallowed his difficult spit to continue, “I am timid. In fact all Sanskari (individuals with good conduct) Gujaratis are timid.”
Ekant Sharma understood Himmat bhai’s plight. His name was Himmat, meaning ‘the brave’ but his circumstances had driven him into timidity. He could not hazard a guess in that quarter. He was no trouble shooter in family matters. Maybe, Himmat's self-respect, social reputation, image among friends and workers were his Achilles’ Heel in transmitting Sanskar to his children. He was a prisoner of his own Sanskar.
Repeated meetings made Himmat bhai a lovable friend to Ekant. His warmth and goodness, ready to help attitude, made him a dear. In certain domestic matters Ekant would take his advice. He would guide like a true friend. One trait of Himmat bhai, which was self-appointing himself as Ekant’s benevolent older brother in an alien city, Mumbai, made Ekant grateful. But on his first visit to Ekant’s house, the latter’s wife and Himmat bhai joined hands to find fault in Ekant’s Sanskar.
Ekant’s two daughters, fourteen and twelve in age, treated him as their friend. His wife however objected to their whispering to him out of her earshot, hugging and kissing him like little kids, or putting hands on his shoulders or holding him by waist during family outings. Himmat bhai also supported his wife’s views and there was a mock fight, between his wife and Himmat bhai on one side and he and his girls on the other.
Himmat bought a chemical factory, his second one. He came to take Ekant for cutting the ribbon at the inauguration. While on the way, he suddenly said, “Sir, I haven’t taken my old father’s blessings.” He asked the driver to take Ekant to his new factory. He got down to rush home by a taxi to take his father’s blessings and return to the factory. Ekant was touched by Himmat bhai’s Sanskar.
Himmat bhai had informed Ekant that he lived with family in a big seven-bedroom bungalow, jap on Dadar sea-beach. There was nothing between his house and the sands leading to rolling waves of the sea except the narrow stretch of sand. The beach was not popular among tourists from the city or outside like the ones at Juhu or Girgaon for its black sand, a quirky behaviour of nature.
Himmat bhai never called Ekant to his house, that Ekant attributed to the former’s forgetfulness. He knew Himmat bha's family ate dinner at seven in the evening as they were Jains and Jains did not eat after dark. One day Ekant was going home at Himmat bhai’s dinner time by his car and he passed about hundred paces away from the Dadar sea-beach. He informed his wife he would eat dinner with Himmat bhai and therefore, would be late. He wanted to join by inviting himself to their dining table.
Ekant turned his car, found Himmat bhai’s house easily, parked the car in the sprawling paved space in its front, and surprised Himmat bhai and his family at their dinner table. Surprisingly he found his affable friend, the immaculate Gujarati businessman, dressed in his typical dress even while dining.
Ekant met Mrs Himmat, his sons and their wives, his only grandson of around twelve, and a Raamaa, the male house-help. They were making the cacophony of a coop of ducks just released for grazing. But Himmat bhai talked in whispers and was polite even to his man-servant Raamaa. A Sanskari to a fault.
After food, Ekant wanted to see around his friend’s house. On Ekant’s request, Himmat bhai’s eldest son took him around the house. Others quietly trooped behind them. He was shown four big well-furnished bedrooms, “These three rooms are mine and my brothers’. This one is my mother’s, also shared by her grandson who is my son, the only child in this house.” Ekant asked, “And your father’s room? Does he share your mother’s?” The eldest son hesitated, “No.”
With reluctance as if hiding an ulcer in a private zone of his body, the guide led Ekant to the last corner room, “This is father’s bedroom.” The room was small, almost ten by ten feet with a double bed, a small TV, a ramshackle sofa, all looked worn, poor, and old. Ekant stared sternly at the young man of around thirty-five, quite a man of the world. He withered before his gaze and demurred, “Sir, he loves the austere life of a Jain Muni (monk).”
“Why don’t you sons, let your father sleep in your mother’s room and furnish that small room of your father and shift your growing up son there?” Ekant looked rather stern to fight for his gentle friend Himmat bhai who was in fact the master of the house but lived like a shadow, walking invisibly, timidly in his own den.
Then the eldest son revealed a truth, “My wife is stern like you. Running the house is under her thumb.” Ekant subsided, and thought the feminist movement was taking its toll. As a feminist himself, he felt the movement’s purpose had been defeated. It suppressed the male brutes but gave rise to archetypal vamps.
Ekant on his way to the sitting room, heard someone’s phlegmatic cough. He looked for its source, and found a very frail old man curled up under a worn old quilt on a narrow rope-cot placed under the staircase going to the terrace. “Who is he?” Ekant asked his guide, but the guide was gone.
The frail, sick, old man sat up to cough freely. Ekant poured water into a glass from a pitcher on his side and offered him. He took a few sips and his dry cough subsided. He said, “I am Himmat’s father. He is in trouble. They beat him. Help him, my good man.” Ekant walked away feeling he had been thrashed himself. This was the old father without whose blessings the new factory could not start.
Ekant sarcastically asked his guide, Himmat bhai’s eldest son, “Another Jain Muni, lying under the staircase, I presume. Why can’t he have a room to himself, when you have two more unoccupied bedrooms? He is supposed to be the head of your joint family, your grandpa, with a right to the best of everything.”
Himmat bhai started, “My hundred requests are ignored.” He was overtaken forcefully by his oldest daughter-in-law, “No, the old fellow loves it that way. He loves that space, that rope-cot, his quilt and everything, Sahib. You are a guest. You don’t know anything.” She stood up and folded her hands, a not-so-polite gesture for ‘Get out’.
Himmat bhai walked him down to his car and spoke like a king caught with his clothes down, “Ekant bhai, forget whatever is troubling your conscience.” Ekant turned on him, “How did your lessons in Sanskar misfire, go awry, my friend?” The timid man looked upwards like all Karmic believers, and uttered one word, “Destiny.” Ekant asked, “You and your wife are around fifty. Don’t you need each other sometimes?” “Yes”, he replied, coyly blushing, “Once a few weeks when her demons trouble her, she visits me in the silence of the night.”
I drove home, thinking, “A rabbit among hyenas! Sanskar, the biggest bullshit!!” That night in bed with the lights switched off, my wife asked, “How Sanskari was the family?” I replied, “Very.” She detected my anger and wanted to douse the fire by absorbing me into her, then saying, “Of course, let’s forget Sanskar for now. I will love you to be yourself, a brute in such occasions, not a Sanskari.”
Next morning, after the children left for school, Ekant took a day off from office and spent time with his wife. He was afraid of the future. The most well-behaved children might grow up into oppressive fiends, may keep them apart for some nonsensical reasons. By and by he told the story of Himmat bhai’s Sanskar misfiring on the gentle giant’s face. Sanskar made him a timid wet cat before his own family of wolves.
Ekant got a transfer suddenly to Delhi. He was entrusted to set up a new branch of his consultancy firm and would be the branch-head there, promoted as vice-president. He hardly could talk to Himmat bhai after that, maybe once a month. In all talks his older friend sounded guarded and cautious as if talking from behind a fig leaf. He presumed Himmat bhai wanted to keep his own problems out of his hair. Then their talks became more infrequent and stopped. Being the head of management at his Delhi branch took its toll. Ten years passed like in sort of blinks. He visited Mumbai on work one day.
He wanted to surprise Himmat bhai and without pre-messaging, he arrived to partake his Jain-dinner before the dark set in. He found the big door to the opulently furnished sitting room shut and bolted, just like all windows of the house. He thought the family was out, visiting some place. He hoped their Raamaa, the male house-help, might open the door and give him his friend’s news. He rang the bell.
Himmat bhai himself, looking pale, weak and worn, opened the door and hesitatingly ushered him in. The previous opulent sitting room looked devastated, bare of furniture, TV and wall hangings. It lay dirty. All furniture and wall hangings gone, the room looked like a Hindu widow. He quickly moved around all rooms and found them equally devastated, lying in squalor. As if looted by hooligans during a riot or war. He looked under the staircase, the rope cot was empty.
He looked at Himmat bhai who was looking away to hide tears. Ekant came to know that his sons took over the control of his factories and trading units, local and export/import, all. They banned Himmat bhai’s entry into the office or factory premises. He couldn’t openly quarrel in fear of his Sanskar-obsessed Jain-Samaj. In a settlement by the Jain-Samaj, he, his wife and father were allowed to retain the bungalow and the sons got manufacturing and trading units. The sons were to provide them a monthly allowance and prepared food from their kitchens.
Himmat bhai, rued over his fate. His sons left this bungalow and forcibly took away all its furniture and everything to their flats bought earlier by Himmat bhai in their names. The old couple and his old father were left behind in the house, bereft of its opulence and souls.
Ekant heard Himmat bhai saying tearfully, “Whatever, however, yet they were our sons. We missed them in spite of their misbehaviour under the evil influence of their wives. My wife especially missed her grandson. While they left, my wife had quarrelled and retained bare minimum cooking pots and pans with which she cooked for the three of us, as the sons never paid the allowance nor regular food from their kitchens. I had little cash in hand or liquid money in my account, as my money remained invested to which I had no access.”
He paused, and went on, “We carefully spent the little money we had. Our Jain-Samaj helped us sometimes. One evening the four brothers with wives came and wanted us to sign a sale deed for the bungalow. I refused. They started making threatening telephone calls. In a few months my father passed away. My wife followed him. They died in poverty, getting the free treatment of the poorest quality in a hospital run by Jain-Samaj, and were cremated by them. Our sons did not lift a finger.”
Ekant then moved into Himmat bhai’s room. His room looked more bereft of things, more austere, but very clean. He resolved Ekant’s bafflement, “I have a very sincere friend, a Muslim, his name is Umed Bhai Khan. Every morning his wife visits me with two tiffin boxes, in one my lunch and in the other my dinner, cooked in pure Jainy vegetarian manner.”
He continued, “The kind woman also does the sweep-clean-swab of my room and the corridor, cleans and fills up my pitcher with fresh drinking water. They keep me alive. Today being a Saturday, the husband Umed Bhai may come now with his wife on a special weekly evening visit.”
Like a lizard’s proverbial timely ‘tick, tick, tick…’, the doorbell rang and Himmat bhai ushered in an unassuming couple, who introduced themselves as Umed Bhai Khan and wife Zubeida Khatun, they being Kutchi-Gujaratis like Himmat bhai. They sat and Ekant left with appropriate words for ‘bye’, as he had to catch a flight home.
Before he took a taxi to the airport, he went to the nearest ATM, drew twenty thousand, put that in an envelope bought at a pan-shop, and went back to ring the bell. This time Umed bhai opened the door. Ekant handed over the cover with money to Umed with just three words ‘For Himmat bhai’, and left.
Ekant thought of the Sanskar taking its toll on Himmat bhai. All along his return journey he planned to persuade his wife to take the old lonely friend to live with them as a big brother they never had. At home his wife agreed readily to his proposal as they had an extra room since their daughters were married and had moved away with their husbands. But that was not to be.
He received a call from Umed Bhai, Himmat bhai’s Muslim friend, and heard the sad news. When Umed with the packet of money returned and handed it over to Himmat bhai, the latter looked into it and said, “I knew my friend Ekant would do some childish thing like this, a good gesture, of course, but an imprudent one for a man with a fixed income.” He kept just one currency note from the bundle and handed over the rest to Umed, “My friend, buy a nice dress for Bhabhijan this EId which is only a few days away.”
Next day, Umed’s wife went with two tiffin boxes for Himmat bhai, his lunch and dinner. She rang the bell to no response. She then banged the door but found it unlatched. Himmat bhai was lying dead on the other side. Perhaps, after Ekant had left followed by the leaving of the Muslim couple, the separation was too much for Himmat bhai. Probably he had a heart attack. He must have tried to go and open the main door to call for help, but collapsed and died there. Jain-Samaj cremated him and performed the rituals for his soul’s Sadgati.
Ekant heaved a sigh. Himmat bhai did not die alone. Along with him died his Sanskar. Ekant’s wife cried like a child. The word ‘Sanskar’ was banned in their family by his wife herself. They would often fondly speak of the brave man under a thin veneer of timidity. It needed great courage to live with hostile children. Himmat bhai was that bold practitioner of Sanskar and he took it to his grave. (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.
VASTHUHARA
Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
The new house, like all the others built hastily along the hillside, stood stolid and silent, its walls concealing the grief inside. It was Ponnonam, the festival when the godlike king, once banished to the underworld, returned to visit his beloved people.
That thought brought tears to Madhavan’s eyes again. Only gods can do that—return to the people they’ve lost.
Inside, Lakshmi stood by the dining table, her hands resting on the edge of a banana leaf. The sadya was ready, and the smell of sambar and avial filled the small space, but her eyes kept flitting to the door, waiting.
“He’s not coming, Lakshmi.” Madhavan’s voice was soft but firm as if trying to convince himself as much as her.
Lakshmi shivered. "You know what? Maybe he’ll be late."
“It’s the same every year. He doesn't come. You have to accept it."
"How can I?" Her voice trembled, breaking under the weight of grief. "He’s my only son. How can I forget him? You men... you don't know the flutter of a child in the womb, or the ache of a full breast."
Madhavan turned away, his face tightening with a pain he could not show her. "I’m not asking you to forget. But we have to live, Lakshmi. We have to keep going."
Lakshmi’s eyes brimmed with tears, her silence filled with resistance. Finally, after a long pause, she whispered, "I’ll eat, but I’m laying a leaf for him too. If I don’t, I won’t get a single grain of rice down."
Madhavan didn’t argue. He didn’t have the heart to. So they set the table, placing an extra leaf for the son who wouldn’t come. They served it with all the dishes he had once loved. Then they sat down, the silence between them thick, heavy, uncomfortable. The untouched curries on his leaf stood like unspoken ghosts.
Minutes dragged on. With each passing second, the fragile hope in Lakshmi’s eyes dimmed, replaced by the well-worn despair that had come to reside there. The food cooled and hardened on the leaves, but Lakshmi’s hands kept moving through the rice, as if searching for something that wasn’t there.
Madhavan finished his meal quietly. He folded his leaf and pushed it aside. He hadn’t tasted much—grief had a way of numbing the senses. But he did not show his sorrow. Lakshmi could barely carry her own grief; he knew she couldn’t bear his too.
“He’s not coming,” he whispered to himself, over and over, as if trying to break the spell of hope that had held Lakshmi captive. It was too much for her. It had always been too much.
She didn’t respond, didn’t look at him. She stared at the cold food in front of her, the leaf still full, untouched. After what seemed like hours, she stood up, began clearing the table in slow, automatic movements. Every now and then, a tear would drop onto the table, and she would wipe it away absently.
When she reached for the extra leaf—the one set aside for their son—her hands trembled. She turned her head toward the door one last time, as if expecting to hear footsteps, to see him walk in with the warmth and laughter of past Onams. But only the emptiness greeted her.
With a sharp motion, as though angered by the weight of her hope, she tossed the untouched leaf into the garbage, bitterness welling up inside her.
Night crept in slowly, an uninvited guest they couldn’t refuse. Lakshmi and Madhavan went to bed in silence, the weight of their loss crushing them like the earth that had once buried everything they had known. The landslide had taken more than their home—it had left behind empty spaces where their son should have been.
In every house around them, the same story played out. The identical homes were silent. No comforting lullabies, no laughter. The lazy beat of Thiruvathira had been replaced by the heavy echoes of grief, shared by every family in the new settlement. Even the moon, once a symbol of hope and rebirth, hid guiltily behind a shroud of clouds.
This was their first Onam in this strange new place, far from the land they had once called home before the earth swallowed it whole. The village had built rows of identical houses for the families who had survived the landslide, but there was little comfort to be found in those hollow victories.
Survival, for them, had become a vacant space, just another hollow.
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.
MOON IN MUMMY`S FACE
Snehaprava Das
She was getting late for the school. There was a staff council meeting to discuss the preparation for the annual examination of different classes. Eva was in a hurry. She prepared a sandwich breakfast for her six year old son Anshu and warmed the milk. She looked at the table clock for the third time that sat wirh an annoying nonchalance on the top of the cupboard. On other days she went to her school after leaving Anshu at his school which was only a few hurdles meters away from her house. Then Jamuna the babysitter-cum- cook, would bring him back home at twelve o'clock. She would give him a bath and feed him. But there was a problem now. Some rennovation work was going on in Anshu' s class room. And the classes were dropped for a week. Eva had asked Jamuna to come a little early in the morning. But she had not turned up yet.
Where was she ? She should have been here by now. Eva was getting worried. She tried her number on the mobile phone but it said the no.was switched off.
Jamuna was a plump, middle aged and an affectionate woman who took good care of the boy. Anshu too was very fond of her. Jamuna has never given her any cause to get angry or disappointed in her. In fact Eva felt relaxed when Anshu was with Jamuna. Eva's husband was a marketing manager in a private company and had to do a lot of travelling. Eva taught in an Upper Primary School . She had to discharge the duty of a responsible teacher and take care of the house hold affairs at the same time. The burden of the dual responsibility exercised a heavy pressure on her. But there was no other alternative.
Jamuna was a godsend who relieved her from this difficult situation. Not only that she took good care of Anshu but she helped Eva a lot in other matters like cleaning the house and keeping things in order. She could trust Jamuna with many of the household responsibilities without any hesitation.
Eva walked to the grill gate and looked out. There was no sign of Jamuna.
She came inside and looked at her son, trying to take a decision.
'Anshu, my darling,' she coaxed her son. 'Jamuna aunty is late today. But she must be on her way. Can you manage alone for a few minutes? I will lock the grill gate from out side and give you the key. Jamuna aunty has a key too. If by any chance she has forgotten the key you give it to her and she would open the grill gate. Mummy has to attend an important meeting in the school. Mummy would be back as soon as the meeting is over. Are you afraid to stay alone for a while, son?'
Little Anshu looked up from the sandwich plate and gave a broad smile to his mother. 'Why should I be afraid, mummy? I am a big boy now. You go to your school.'
Eve's eyes watered. She ran her fingers through her son's hair and muttering curses on Jamuna she tried her mobile number once again. 'The number you are trying to connect is currently switched off,' the mechanical voice repeated.
'Where the hell is she?'
There was no time to speculate things. She wiped Anshu's face, switched on the cartoon channel on the TV, slung her handbag over her shoulder and rushed out. She latched the gate and turned the key in the padlock . She pulled the padlock twice to be sure, and gave the key to Anshu who stood behind the grill gate waving at her.
'Bye, Mummy'
Bye, son, be careful. Do not give the key to anyone except Jamuna aunty. I ll be back as soon as possible.
Eva started off on her scootty.
Anshu came back to take his seat before the TV set leaving the front door open. He kept the key carefully by his side.
'He is not afraid', he assured himself. 'It is a question of a few minutes. Jamuna aunty would be here soon.'
But as time moved on he began to feel a little uncomfortable. Why was Jamuna aunty taking so much time? Suddenly he felt irritated with the noises the cartoon characters were making. He got up and switched the TV off. The house was plunged into silence. Anshu sat quietly for sometime on the sofa listening to the sound of the occasional vehicles that passed by bringing in a short relief. The house was situated away from the main road in a residential area and so there was not much traffic on the road. He walked to the front door and stood waiting for a motor vehicle to pass by. One motor bike vroomed past. Anshu kept standing by the door till the noise died away. The silence returned, in rushing waves, now more intense, more heavy.
Then he heard it!
Tick.. tick ...tick...
Gentle, but persistent. What is the sound? A bird? Rat?
In the oppressive silence the soft, constant tick-tick sounded like the ticking of a bomb. Summoning up his courage he walked in to discover the source of the sound. Then he saw it. The tick-tick came from the table clock that was on the cupboard. He looked at the clock closely. The three luminous hands were moving following a steady pattern behind its glossy shiny glass surface. Anshu knew the clock was an expensive one. His grandfather had gifted it to his mother and mummy cherished it as something very close to her heart. She kept it on the top of the cupboard out of Anshu's reach. But the clock looked strange now.
Even as Anshu watched the it seemed to assume a face, a weird looking face that was neither human nor animal. And it seemed to be teasing him. 'Stop me if you can....tick..tick...tick...stop me if you can ..tick..tick..'
With every ticking sound it made it inched forward to the edge of the cupboard. Any moment now it could lunge at him and its hands would take his throat in their sharp, biting clutch. Anshu turned his eyes around frantically in search of a stick to counter the attack. He ran to the utility space and picked up the broom. Holding the broom handle in the tight grip of his small hand he raised it and swept a blow at the clock. Down came the clock with a loud crash scattering smithereens of glass on the floor.
What happened Anshu baba?
Jamuna cried from the front door. She rushed into the dining space and took Anshu in her strong arms before he stepped on the broken pieces of glass. She carried him to the drawing room and put him on the sofa.
Now sit here quietly and do not get down until I say so.
She went back and cleaned the floor with meticulous care. After cleaning the place she returned to the drawing room and called Eva. ' I am so sorry Didi. I had some unexpected guests this morning. My phone too had some problem so I could not contact you. Nor could I receive your call. But I am here now. Anshu baba is all right but... ' She stopped and looked at the boy.
'But... but what? Any problem?'
'Not exactly. The clock is broken. '
' Broken..? The clock? How?'
Eve's anxious voice crackled from the speaker of the phone.
'Seems Anshu baba was trying to bring it down and it fell ..' Jamuna said haltingly.
'O my God! My father's gift! Anshu has become so unruly. Where is he now?
He is now studying. Jamuna replied looking at Anshu who sat watching her, listening to the conversation.
'Ok . Let him have his lunch in time. I will be back by two O clock. Tell him that he would be punished if he did not behave,'
Eva said and broke the connection.
Anshu took his bath and ate his lunch which Jamuna had cooked without any complaint.
'Now be a good boy and go to sleep...Anshu baba. I will finish the cleaning up.and then come to you.'
Anshu lay quietly in the bed. Time and again his gaze travelled to the big silver framed photo of his father and mother that stood on the bedside table. His mother wore a big sweet smile. Her face was round and fair .. like the moon. Anshu thought as she looked at the photo. Then her mother's face changed. It no longer looked like the moon. It resembled the face of the clock. 'Wait, I am coming. I will.see that you are duly punished for the damage you have done. You have hurt me, destroyed me. I will not spare you.' Anshu closed his eyes tightly.
A few minutes passed. He opened his eyes with utmost care as if the clock in his mother's face would pounce upon him the moment it saw him opening his eyes. He cast a guarded look at the photo. Mummy smiled at him from it. 'The clock is perhaps hiding somewhere behind the photo stalking..' Anshu thought.
Jamuna came in after finishing the clean up of the kitchen, spread out a mat on the floor and lay down. Soon the sound of her gentle snoring filled the room. Mother would be arriving any time now. He had to escape or else she would punish him for breaking her favorite clock.
He slid off the bed, careful not to make any noise, walked up to the door and opened it. He went to the front veranda. Jamuna aunty had not put a lock on the grill gate. Anshu opened the gate and walked out into the scorching sun. The road was deserted. Motorbikes plied in ones and twos. He kept walking straight. Anshu was not much acquainted with the road because he had never come that far alone. But he was not afraid. He was only afraid of the clock, and
the way it could persuade his mother to exact revenge on him. Somehow the clock and his mother seemed to be partners in a conspiracy to inflict pain upon him, Anshu thought bitterly. He had walked far away from home. His legs began to ache and he was feeling terribly tired. His eyes searched an unfrequented solitary spot to sit down and rest. There was small temple that stood under a Banyan tree. The place was well shaded and cool. A stack of bricks that had formed a small wall stood by the tree. Anshu squeezed his small body into the narrow space between the tree and the brick wall. He was sure that his.mother or Jamuna aunty could not find him now. The soft breeze caressed his exhausted limbs.He closed his eyes and fell asleep. He slept for a long time. It was dark when he woke up. He was feeling hungry. A big round moon looked at him from a cloudless sky. The moon smiled at him. Anshu looked at the moon intently, and his heart skipped a beat. The clock, god knows how had gone up to the sky and merged into the moon. The moon-clock jeered at him from above. 'You can't escape now,' it said and leaned out, ready to jump at him. Anshu snapped his eyes shut, pressed his ears with his hands and began to scream,
' No....Don't hit me. I am sorry. Don't hit me.. I will never touch you. Please..spare me..!!
He was still screaming at the top of his voice when a frantic and dishevelled Eva followed by an equally dishevelled Jamuna and the police inspector and two constables reached the spot. Eva, tears streaming down her eyes gathered him up and held him tight. She began to kiss her son all over. ' Anshu, my darling!! My baby...she kept mumbling amidst sobs.
Anshu opened his eyes and looked at his mother's tear washed face. The clock was not there. He saw the police inspector who was looking anxiously at him. He turned his eyes up to look at the moon. The moon smiled sweetly. The clock was not there, too. Perhaps the clock has got frightened of his mother and these police men and had gone away for good. He sighed with relief and clung closer to his mother.
Once again he looked at his mother's face. Yes, the clock was not there. In stead the moon smiled at him from his mother's face. He buried his head in his mother's comforting lap and closed his 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.
HYMNS IN AN ARCHIPELAGO
Hema Ravi
Civilizations and places fall into ruins within decades, or after a few centuries, while others gain prominence even after centuries. Places of spiritual importance restored by devoted followers, continue to attract seekers from far and near.
What makes this place so charged with positivity and heavenly bliss - I wonder, as I gaze at the pictures of the Vivekananda Cottage and Vivekananda Rock on the Thousand Islands Park, reliving the moments of the visit- blessed are those who tread foot on this soil! The Vivekananda Cottage is open in July- August every year. What is the power of this place? Why does it attract people from so many countries? How did Swami Vivekananda come to be here? Archipelagos in the mind…
Unlike other religious mystics, Swami Vivekananda believed in mitigating the suffering of mankind and realizing truth through ‘service.’ “I BLESS THESE THOUSAND ISLANDS…” said Swami Vivekananda just a day before his return to India after a series of “Inspired Talks” shared with his twelve students and other visitors in the idyll surroundings for about seven weeks. It is said that on his last day August 7, 1895, Swamiji went into the dense woods to meditate; deep in ‘nirvikalpa samadhi’ he was oblivious to torrential rains as one of the disciples held an umbrella over his head.
And it is said, that he composed the ‘Song of the Sannyasin’ at this place.
Strike off thy fetters! Bonds that bind thee down,
Of shining gold, or darker, baser ore;
Love-hate-good, bad- and all the dual throng
Know, slave is slave, caressed or whipped, not free;
For fetters, though of gold, are not less strong to bind;
Then off with them Sannyasin bold! Say-
“Om Tat Sat Om!”
(From The Song of the Sannyasin – Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda)
After Swamiji left the park, it faded into ‘obscurity,’ until in 1947, Swami Nikihilananda, the leader of the New York Center who found it in a state of “total disrepair,” purchased the cottage, and had it restored to its earlier condition.
But how did Swami Vivekananda come to be here is the next question. After the Parliament of Religions speech in Chicago in July 1893, Swamiji kept touring through the US, which was quite strenuous for him. A devout Westerner Ms. Mary Elizabeth Dutcher who was struck by the dynamic spiritual strength of Swami Vivekananda offered him space at her cottage in the Thousand Islands Park for his comfort and privacy. And the arrival of Swamiji on June 18, 1895 marked several new beginnings that was bound to have a compelling effect on millions of spiritual seekers in the US and elsewhere. (After his return to homeland, Swami Vivekanands founded the Ramakrishna Order of India, whose ideals include ‘realization of truth through service to humanity.’ In Swamiji’s own words, he was “at his best” in the serene scenic cottage on the Wellesley island, which is the largest island on the US side. The Thousand Islands constitute an “archipelago of 1864 islands” straddling the US-Canada border in the St. Lawrence River, just as it emerges from the north eastern corner of Lake Ontario.
To mark Swami Vivekananda's 150th birthday, the authorities of Thousand Island Park issued a proclamation—the ‘Vivekananda Landing’—at the spot where the young saint landed by riverboat on June 18, 1895.
The serene silence in the endless stretches of green and blue is certain to kindle the divinity of the prosaic minds too. In conclusion, I would like to share Swami Vivekananda’s words:
“Each soul is potentially divine. The goal is to manifest this Divinity within by controlling nature, external and internal. Do this either by work, or worship, or psychic control, or philosophy - by one, or more, or all of these -- and be free. This is the whole of religion. Doctrines, or dogmas, or rituals, or books, or temples, or forms, are but secondary details.”
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
EXPLORING REIKI: THE SCIENCE BEHIND THE HEALING PRACTICE
Shri Satish Pashine
Introduction
Reiki, a healing practice that originated in Japan in the early 20th century, was developed by Mikao Usui after his spiritual awakening. The term Reiki is derived from two Japanese words: “Rei,” meaning universal, and “Ki,” meaning life force energy. Practitioners of Reiki believe that by channeling this universal energy, they can promote relaxation and healing, reducing stress and bringing about balance in the body and mind.
In this modern age, where stress and anxiety are rampant, Reiki offers a simple yet powerful tool for personal well-being. Whether you’re a seasoned practitioner or a curious beginner, this DIY guide will take you through the essential principles, practices, and techniques to incorporate Reiki into your daily life.
Aim of Reiki
Reiki aims to achieve holistic healing by bridging the gap between the physical and etheric bodies, promoting overall health and well-being. It works by channeling energy through the hands of a practitioner, allowing the universal life force to flow through the body, clearing blockages, and restoring harmony. Reiki is not just about healing others; it is a way of life that encourages compassion, mindfulness, and kindness. As it continues to gain popularity worldwide, the integration of Reiki into traditional medicine is also being explored, making it a valuable complementary practice for those seeking physical and emotional healing.
Reiki Treatment
A typical Reiki session involves a practitioner gently placing their hands on or hovering them over the recipient’s body in a series of hand positions. Each position is held for a few minutes, allowing energy to flow into the person’s body. The practitioner serves as a conduit, transferring healing energy that helps balance the recipient’s energy field, promoting relaxation and stress relief. The soothing nature of Reiki sessions can reduce anxiety, alleviate pain, and encourage emotional healing.
While the effectiveness of Reiki is still debated in scientific communities, many people have found value in its calming effects. By integrating Reiki with conventional medicine and researching its benefits, we may better understand its potential in promoting wellness.
The Connection Between Physical and Etheric Bodies
In Reiki, there’s an emphasis on the relationship between the physical body (the tangible, material body) and the etheric body (the energy field surrounding the physical body). According to Reiki principles, disruptions in the flow of energy in the etheric body can manifest as physical and emotional discomfort in the physical body. Through Reiki, a practitioner works to clear blockages in the etheric body, allowing energy to flow freely. This free-flowing energy is believed to promote healing in the physical body and improve emotional and mental well-being.
Will Reiki Work for Nonbelievers?
One common question is whether Reiki can work for those who do not believe in it. The answer is yes – Reiki can work for nonbelievers, though the results might vary. Since Reiki is based on energy, it does not require active belief in its mechanisms. However, a person who is open to the process may experience more profound relaxation and healing effects. Nonbelievers may still benefit from the stress relief and relaxation that come from simply being in a peaceful, calming environment during a Reiki session.
The Five Reiki Principles
Reiki’s healing power is rooted in its five guiding principles. These principles are meant to help practitioners lead a life filled with peace, gratitude, and compassion. By focusing on these principles, practitioners can elevate their practice and bring positive energy into their lives and the lives of others.
1. Just for today, I will not be angry.
This principle encourages letting go of anger and practicing forgiveness. Holding on to anger can block energy flow, so releasing it helps foster inner peace.
2. Just for today, I will not worry.
Worry can drain your energy. By focusing on the present moment, you can avoid unnecessary stress and anxiety, promoting a more peaceful mind.
3. Just for today, I will be grateful.
Gratitude raises your vibrational energy. By appreciating the blessings in life, you align yourself with positive energy that promotes healing.
4. Just for today, I will do my work honestly.
Living with integrity and honesty strengthens your energy field, encouraging a sense of purpose and fulfillment.
5. Just for today, I will be kind to every living thing.
Compassion and kindness open the heart chakra, allowing healing energy to flow freely to and from yourself and others.
Reiki Self-Treatment: 20 Hand Positions
Reiki self-treatment involves a series of hand positions that direct energy throughout the body, promoting healing and balance. Here are 20 hand positions for self-treatment, which you can practice daily to nurture your well-being:
1. Crown of the Head: Place both hands gently on top of your head.
2. Forehead (Third Eye): Rest your hands across your forehead, fingers touching.
3. Temples: Lightly cup your temples with your hands.
4. Back of the Head: Position your hands on the base of your skull.
5. Throat: Place one or both hands over the throat area, being mindful not to apply pressure.
6. Heart (Center of the Chest): Place your hands over your heart, one hand atop the other.
7. Upper Chest: Rest your hands just below the collarbone.
8. Ribs/Side of the Chest: Put your hands on the sides of your chest, near the ribs.
9. Solar Plexus: Place your hands on your upper abdomen, just above the navel.
10. Stomach: Position your hands over your stomach, covering the belly button area.
11. Lower Abdomen: Rest your hands on your lower abdomen, just below the navel.
12. Pelvic Area: Place your hands gently over your pelvic area.
13. Shoulders: Rest your hands on each shoulder or alternate between the two.
14. Upper Back: Reach over and place your hands on your upper back, near your shoulder blades.
15. Middle Back: Position your hands on the middle of your back.
16. Lower Back: Rest your hands near the base of your spine.
17. Hips: Place your hands over both hips.
18. Knees: Rest your hands on your knees.
19. Ankles: Position your hands over your ankles or the tops of your feet.
20. Feet: Place your hands on the soles of your feet or as close as possible.
Each position should be held for 3-5 minutes, or as long as feels comfortable. By practicing Reiki self-treatment in a relaxed, quiet environment, you can foster better energy flow and enhance your overall well-being.
Reiki Attunements
Attunements are an essential part of Reiki training. During an attunement, a Reiki master opens a student’s energy channels, allowing them to connect to universal life energy. This process helps practitioners channel energy more effectively, enabling them to perform Reiki on themselves and others.
Stages of Attunements
Reiki training is divided into three degrees, each focusing on different aspects of Reiki practice:
1. First Degree (Shoden): Introduces self-healing and basic techniques for hands-on Reiki.
2. Second Degree (Okuden): Teaches distance healing and advanced techniques.
3. Third Degree (Shinpiden): The Master level, where students learn to teach and perform attunements on others.
Preparing for Attunements
Before receiving an attunement, it’s essential to prepare mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Here are some tips:
• Define Your Goals: Clarify your intentions for learning Reiki.
• Grounding Meditation: Practice grounding meditation to center yourself and open your energy channels.
Grounding Meditation
Grounding meditation is an effective way to connect with the Earth’s energy, helping you stay present and balanced. Here’s a simple grounding meditation to practice before attunements:
1. Find a Quiet Space Outdoors: Sit or stand barefoot on the ground.
2. Feel the Earth: Notice the sensations under your feet—whether the ground feels warm, cool, dry, or damp.
3. Breathe Deeply: Take three slow, deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth.
4. Gratitude: Express gratitude for the Earth and its support.
5. Walk or Sit Mindfully: If standing, walk slowly, paying attention to each step. If sitting, touch the ground with your hands, feeling its texture.
6. Reflect: After a few moments, take three more deep breaths and reflect on the connection you’ve made.
Chakra Alignment and Reiki
Chakras are energy centers in the body, each associated with specific physical and emotional functions. Aligning your chakras through Reiki can promote balance and healing.
The Seven Chakras
1. Root (Red): Grounding and stability.
2. Sacral (Orange): Creativity and relationships.
3. Solar Plexus (Yellow): Confidence and personal power.
4. Heart (Green): Love and compassion.
5. Throat (Blue): Communication and expression.
6. Third Eye (Indigo): Intuition and insight.
7. Crown (Violet/White): Spiritual connection.
Quick Chakra Alignment with Reiki
Chakras are the energy centers of the body that play a vital role in our physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. A quick chakra alignment using Reiki can help you balance these centers, restore harmony, and improve your overall energy flow. This practice can be done in just a few minutes and is an excellent way to realign yourself during the day.
Steps for Quick Chakra Alignment:
1. Ground Yourself:
Begin by sitting comfortably with your feet flat on the ground or, if preferred, in a cross-legged position. Take a few deep breaths, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth. Focus on connecting to the earth beneath you, imagining roots extending from your body into the ground. This grounding prepares you to channel energy effectively.
2. Activate the Crown Chakra (Sahasrara):
Place your hands just above the top of your head, about 1-2 inches away. Visualize a bright white or violet light radiating from the top of your head. Allow the Reiki energy to flow through your palms and into your crown chakra. Breathe deeply and feel the connection to universal energy. Spend 1-2 minutes here, envisioning this energy expanding.
3. Move Down to the Third Eye Chakra (Ajna):
Gently place your hands over your forehead, covering the area between your eyebrows. Visualize a deep indigo light swirling around your third eye. This chakra governs intuition and perception. As the Reiki energy flows, feel your mind becoming clear and focused. Hold this position for 1-2 minutes.
4. Align the Throat Chakra (Vishuddha):
Bring your hands to your throat, palms facing your skin without touching. Visualize a bright blue light swirling around your throat. This chakra governs communication and expression. As you channel Reiki energy, imagine your ability to speak your truth improving. Breathe deeply and hold here for 1-2 minutes.
5. Balance the Heart Chakra (Anahata):
Place your hands gently over your chest, just above your heart. Visualize a soft green or pink light radiating from your heart center. This chakra governs love, compassion, and emotional balance. Allow the Reiki energy to flow into your heart, releasing any tension or emotional blockages. Hold this for 1-2 minutes, feeling love and warmth expanding from your heart.
6. Harmonize the Solar Plexus Chakra (Manipura):
Move your hands to your solar plexus, just below your ribcage. Visualize a bright yellow light at this chakra, which governs personal power and confidence. As the Reiki flows, feel a sense of empowerment and strength. Hold for 1-2 minutes, focusing on the sensation of self-worth and courage growing within you.
7. Balance the Sacral Chakra (Svadhisthana):
Place your hands just below your navel. Visualize a bright orange light swirling at this chakra, which is associated with creativity, passion, and emotional balance. As the Reiki energy flows, feel any blocked creative energy releasing. Hold this for 1-2 minutes, breathing deeply into your lower abdomen.
8. Ground the Root Chakra (Muladhara):
Finally, bring your hands to rest on your lower pelvis, near the base of your spine. Visualize a deep red light at your root chakra, which governs stability, security, and grounding. As Reiki energy flows, imagine your connection to the earth growing stronger, providing a solid foundation. Hold this position for 1-2 minutes, focusing on feeling grounded and secure.
9. Complete the Alignment:
After spending time at each chakra, take a few deep breaths and place your hands over your heart to center yourself. Visualize all the energy centers aligned, balanced, and glowing brightly. Take a moment to feel the energy flowing freely throughout your body, bringing a sense of calm and harmony.
Chakra Alignment in Daily Life
Incorporating quick chakra alignment into your daily routine can help you stay balanced, grounded, and emotionally centered. This practice only takes 10-15 minutes and can be done in the morning to start your day with clarity, or anytime you feel out of balance. With regular practice, you’ll notice improvements in your emotional, mental, and physical well-being, as well as an increased ability to channel Reiki energy with ease.
Reiki Symbols and Mantras
(Second Degree)
Reiki symbols are sacred designs that help practitioners channel energy more effectively. Here’s a brief overview of key symbols and their associated mantras:
1. **Power Symbol (Cho Ku Rei)**:
Increases power and focuses energy.
**Mantra**: "Cho Ku Rei" (Draws power to you).
2. **Mental/Emotional Healing Symbol (Sei He Ki)**:
Balances emotions and promotes mental clarity.
**Mantra**: "Sei He Ki" (Brings harmony to the mind and emotions).
3. **Distance Healing Symbol (Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen)**:
Facilitates healing across time and space.
**Mantra**: "Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen" (Connects to all beings).
4. **Master Symbol (Dai Ko Myo)**:
Represents enlightenment and mastery.
**Mantra**: "Dai Ko Myo" (Connects to the highest source of energy).
How to Use Symbols and Mantras:
**Visualize**: Draw or visualize the symbol while focusing on its meaning.
**Chant**: Repeat the associated mantra silently or aloud to enhance the energy flow.
**Integrate**: Use the symbols and mantras during self-treatment or when working with others to deepen the healing process.
Guided Exercises for Energy Sensitivity-Building Energy Sensitivity:
1. **Practice Mindfulness**: Focus on your breath and body sensations.
2. **Ground Yourself**: Walk barefoot in nature or visualize roots anchoring you.
3. **Meditate on Energy**: Use chakra meditation or try Qi Gong to enhance energy flow.
4. **Energy Exercises**: Create an "energy ball" by sensing energy between your hands.
5. **Breathing Techniques**: Practice deep, calm breathing or alternate nostril breathing.
6. **Trust Intuition**: Pay attention to your gut feelings and energy shifts.
7. **Journal**: Record your experiences and sensations.
8. **Be Consistent**: Practice daily for gradual improvement.
Distance Healing Practice:
1. **Set Intention**: Focus on the person's well-being.
2. **Ground Yourself**: Use deep breathing or visualization.
3. **Visualize the Recipient**: Picture them or use a photo.
4. **Send Healing Energy**: Use visualizations like healing light or symbols.
5. **Trust the Process**: Release the outcome, trusting the energy will work.
6. **Close the Session**: Ground yourself and express gratitude.
7. **Practice Regularly**: Build your skill with consistent sessions.
Preparing for the Attunements Ceremony:
Preparing a sacred Reiki space:
1. **Find a Quiet Spot**: Choose a peaceful, clutter-free area.
2. **Cleanse
Post-Attunement Care
1. The 21-Day Cleanse:
Track emotions, physical sensations, and energy shifts during the post-attunement detox.
A 21-day cleanse routine typically focuses on detoxifying the body through clean eating, hydration, and mindfulness. Here's a simple guide:
1. **Eliminate Processed Foods**
- Cut out sugar, refined carbs, junk food, alcohol, and caffeine.
2. **Eat Whole, Plant-Based Foods**
- Focus on fruits, vegetables, whole grains, nuts, and seeds.
3. **Hydrate**
- Drink at least 8-10 glasses of water daily. You can add lemon for detox benefits.
4. **Incorporate Smoothies or Juices**
- Start your day with nutrient-dense green smoothies or fresh juices.
5. **Eat Lean Protein**
- Include lean sources of protein like beans, lentils, or fish.
6. **Practice Mindful Eating**
- Chew slowly and focus on your body’s hunger signals.
7. **Daily Exercise**
- Engage in at least 30 minutes of light exercise like walking, yoga, or stretching.
8. **Sleep and Rest**
- Aim for 7-8 hours of sleep to support the body’s natural detoxification.
9. **Meditate and Breathe**
- Spend time each day on mindfulness or breathing exercises to cleanse the mind and body.
10. **Supplement as Needed**
- Use natural supplements like probiotics, fiber, or herbal teas to support digestion and detox.
This routine can help reset your system and promote long-term healthy habits.
Strengthening Your Reiki Practice:
Continue self-Reiki, practice on others, and engage in distance healing.
To strengthen your Reiki practice:
1. **Practice Regularly**: Commit to daily self-Reiki to deepen your connection with energy.
2. **Meditate**: Enhance your focus and energy sensitivity through meditation.
3. **Expand Knowledge**: Study Reiki symbols, principles, and advanced techniques.
4. **Attend Workshops**: Learn from other practitioners and stay updated on new techniques.
5. **Ground Yourself**: Use grounding techniques like deep breathing before and after sessions.
6. **Use Intuition**: Trust your inner guidance during healing sessions.
7. **Practice Gratitude**: Cultivate gratitude to enhance positive energy flow.
8. **Share Healing**: Offer Reiki to others frequently to gain experience and strengthen your skills.
Reflection and Growth
Reflect on how Reiki has changed your life and document your spiritual and emotional growth throughout the attunement process.
Reiki, a form of alternative healing that originated in Japan, claims to promote healing through the transfer of "universal life energy" from practitioner to patient, typically through hand placements or non-touch methods. While Reiki has gained significant popularity, particularly for stress relief and relaxation, its scientific validation remains a topic of debate.
Scientific Studies on Reiki:
1. **Limited Empirical Evidence**:
Most scientific studies on Reiki have been small, anecdotal, or methodologically weak, making it difficult to draw firm conclusions. Some clinical trials suggest that Reiki can reduce stress, anxiety, and pain, but these effects are often attributed to the **placebo effect**—a psychological benefit derived from the belief in the treatment's efficacy rather than the treatment itself.
2. **Systematic Reviews**:
Multiple systematic reviews have been conducted to assess the effectiveness of Reiki. A notable review published in *Complementary Therapies in Clinical Practice* (2008) concluded that while Reiki has some beneficial effects on well-being, there is **insufficient evidence** to support its use as a medical intervention.
3. **Biofield Theory**:
Proponents of Reiki claim that it works by manipulating the body's biofield, an unproven concept of an energy field surrounding living organisms. However, current scientific instruments cannot reliably detect or measure this biofield, leading to skepticism in the scientific community. The **National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health (NCCIH)** acknowledges Reiki as part of energy medicine but points out that there is no scientific proof of biofields.
4. **Placebo Effect and Relaxation**:
Some studies show that Reiki can help with **relaxation, stress reduction, and emotional well-being**, which are all beneficial for general health. However, these results may be largely due to the calming environment, the practitioner-patient relationship, and the power of suggestion, rather than a direct energetic effect.
5. **Criticism from the Scientific Community**:
Many scientists and medical professionals criticize Reiki for lacking a solid theoretical foundation. They argue that Reiki’s claims violate fundamental principles of physics, such as energy conservation, and that there is no biological mechanism to explain how it works.
Conclusion:
While Reiki may offer psychological and emotional benefits for some individuals, particularly through stress relief and relaxation, there is **no strong scientific evidence** to validate its effectiveness as a medical treatment. For this reason, it is typically recommended as a complementary therapy rather than a replacement for conventional medical treatments.
References
1. “The Reiki Manual” by Penelope Quest and Kathy W. McNutt
2. “The Healing Power of Reiki” by Raven Keyes
Insights into Reiki applications in healing.
3. “Reiki for Dummies” by Tina M. Zion
4. “The Art of Reiki” by William Lee Rand
Detailed overview of Reiki principles and techniques
5.Lee, M. S., Pittler, M. H., & Ernst, E. (2008). Effects of Reiki in clinical practice: A systematic review of randomized clinical trials. Complementary Therapies in Clinical Practice,
6.National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health (NCCIH). (n.d.). Reiki: What You Need to Know. National Institutes of Health.
7.Engebretson, J., & Wardell, D. W. (2002). Experience of a Reiki session. Alternative Therapies in Health and Medicine,
8.Park, R. (1999). The Physics of Alternative Medicine. Skeptical Inquirer.
Shri Satish Pashine
In a quiet town nestled between rolling hills in Himachal , there lived a woman named Amar Preet - Amara in short. Her house, an old stone cottage with ivy creeping up its walls, had once been filled with laughter, the warmth of a family, and the tender moments of love. But now, it stood silent, a reminder of the passage of time and the inevitable losses that life brings.
Amara had known love in many forms. As a young girl, she had loved her parents dearly, clinging to their every word, feeling safe and cherished in their presence. But they had passed away many years ago, leaving a void that time could not fill. Then came her husband, Ravi, the love of her life. Their bond was deep and enduring, built on years of shared joys and sorrows. But one fateful day, Ravi too was taken from her, leaving her heartbroken and alone.
For a while, Amara felt as though her world had come to an end. The silence of her home echoed with memories that brought both comfort and pain. She believed she had lost everything, that love had abandoned her.
But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, something began to change within her. Amara noticed the small things—the birds that sang outside her window every morning, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting golden patterns on the ground. She began to find solace in the simple beauty of the world around her, a beauty she had overlooked in her grief.
One day, while tending to the garden she and Ravi had once nurtured together, Amara felt a strange sense of peace wash over her. It was as if Ravi was there with her, guiding her hands as she planted the seeds, whispering words of encouragement as she pruned the roses. She realized that in a way, he had never truly left. His love was still with her, not in the same form as before, but present nonetheless, in the things they had shared and in the memories they had created together.
As time went on, Amara found herself drawn to the local orphanage. She began visiting the children there, reading them stories, helping them with their studies, and simply being there when they needed someone to talk to. At first, she thought she was just filling her days, trying to escape the loneliness. But soon, she realized that these children were giving her something far more valuable—a renewed sense of purpose and a new kind of love.
The love she felt for these children was different from the love she had known before, but it was no less profound. It was a love that brought light back into her world, that filled her heart with a warmth she thought she had lost forever. Each smile, each hug, each tear wiped away became a new thread in the tapestry of her life, weaving a pattern of love that was both familiar and new.
One evening, as she sat by the fire, with a book in her lap and a contented smile on her face, Amara realized that the love she had thought was lost had simply transformed. It had shifted, taking on new shapes, new colors, and new meanings. The love she had for her parents, for Ravi, for the children at the orphanage, was all part of the same endless thread that wove through her life, connecting every moment, every memory, and every emotion.
She understood then that the fear of losing love was just an illusion. Love never truly disappears; it changes form, grows, and evolves. It is a force that transcends time and space, a part of the soul that is infinite and unbreakable. With every ending, there is always a new beginning, and with every loss, a new dimension of love emerges, bringing with it the light of hope and the promise of peace.
And so, Amara continued her journey, knowing that no matter what life brought her way, love would always be there, in some form, guiding her forward, filling her soul with the energy to embrace each new day, and teaching her that the journey of love is truly a story of moving forward—ever deeper, ever more meaningful, ever infinite.
The orphanage was tucked away at the edge of town, surrounded by a grove of oak trees that cast long shadows over the old brick building. It was a place filled with memories, both joyful and bittersweet. Amara parked her car near the entrance, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before stepping out. She had been here many times before, but today was different—today, she was here to meet someone who had once called this place home.
As she walked through the gates, she noticed a group of children playing in the yard, their laughter ringing out like bells in the crisp morning air. A caretaker waved to her from the porch, and Amara waved back, her heart warming at the sight. This orphanage had always been a place of refuge and hope for the children, and she had done everything in her power to support it over the years.
Inside, the familiar scent of old wood and fresh bread greeted her. The walls were lined with photographs—pictures of the children, the staff, and various visitors who had come to offer their help. Among them was a framed portrait of a young boy, his eyes bright with determination even then. It was Colonel Bennett, though back then, he was just “Benny” to everyone who knew him.
Amara was led down a hallway to a small sitting room where the Colonel waited. He was standing by the window, gazing out at the playground where the children were still at play. His posture, though a bit more relaxed, still held a quiet dignity.
“Colonel Bennett,” Amara greeted him with a smile.
He turned to face her, and a smile broke across his weathered face. “Amara,” he replied warmly, extending a hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been back here.”
They shook hands, and Amara could feel the strength still in his grip. “I thought you might like to see the place again. I’ve heard so much about your time here.”
The Colonel nodded, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for memories. “This place saved my life,” he said softly. “It gave me a chance when I had nothing and no one.”
Amara gestured for him to sit, and they both settled into the comfortable armchairs by the fireplace. “Would you like to share more about those days?” she asked gently. “I think it would mean a lot to the children to hear your story.”
The Colonel leaned back, his eyes growing distant as he thought back to his childhood. “I was brought here when I was seven, after my parents passed away. I didn’t have much—just the clothes on my back and a heart full of anger at the world for taking them from me. But the people here… they didn’t give up on me. They taught me discipline, respect, and how to channel my anger into something constructive.”
Amara listened intently, picturing a young Benny, angry and lost, finding his way in a world that had been so cruel to him. “Is that when you decided to join the military?” she asked.
He nodded. “I was about fifteen when I made that decision. The headmaster here, Mr. Collins, was a veteran himself. He saw potential in me that I couldn’t see in myself. He started training me, teaching me what it meant to be part of something bigger than myself. By the time I was old enough, I knew there was no other path for me.”
The door to the sitting room opened, and a group of children peeked in, curious about the visitor. Amara smiled at them and waved them in. “Come on in, everyone. I want you to meet someone very special.”
The children gathered around, their eyes wide with awe as they looked at the Colonel. He chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “You remind me of myself when I was your age,” he said, his voice gentle. “Full of questions, full of energy.”
One of the boys, maybe about eight years old, spoke up. “Were you really a soldier?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.
The Colonel nodded. “I was, and it all started right here, in this very place. I learned how to be strong, not just physically, but in my heart. And that’s what helped me become a good soldier.”
Amara watched as the children listened, their attention rapt. She knew that this moment, hearing the Colonel’s story, would stay with them for a long time. It was a lesson in resilience, in overcoming the odds, and in finding strength even in the darkest of times.
As the conversation continued, the Colonel shared more stories of his time in the military—tales of bravery, of comradeship, and of the lessons he learned along the way. The children asked questions, eager to know more about the man who had once been like them, and who had gone on to achieve so much.
Finally, as the sun began to set and the children were called away for dinner, Amara and the Colonel were left alone once more.
“Thank you for sharing that with them,” Amara said softly. “I think it meant more to them than you know.”
The Colonel smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “If my story can help even one of them find their way, then it was worth it.”
Amara nodded, understanding the depth of his words. “You’ve done a lot of good, Colonel. Not just in your service, but here too.”
He stood, and Amara followed suit. “This place,” he said, looking around one last time, “will always be home to me. It gave me a future when I thought I didn’t have one.”
As they walked back to the front entrance, Amara felt a deep sense of gratitude—for the Colonel, for the orphanage, and for the countless lives that had been touched by both. And she knew that as long as places like this existed, there would always be hope for those who needed it most.
Amara and Colonel Bennet continued to meet at the orphanage, their paths crossing more frequently as they both dedicated their time to the children. Each visit brought them closer, sharing stories of their past, their sorrows, and the quiet joys they found in helping the little ones.
Amara admired the Colonel’s resilience and strength. Despite his tough exterior, she noticed the tenderness he showed toward the children, particularly those who reminded him of his younger self. For his part, Colonel Bennet found solace in Amara’s gentle presence. Her warmth and compassion eased the loneliness that had followed him for so many years.
One afternoon, as they watched the children playing in the garden, Amara broke the silence. “You know, Colonel,” she began, her voice soft but steady, “life has a strange way of bringing people together when they need it most.”
Colonel Bennet turned to her, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding. “Yes, it does,” he replied. “I never thought I’d find peace in this place again, but meeting you, Amara, has given me something I didn’t know I was missing.”
Amara smiled, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I’ve been thinking… perhaps we don’t have to face the rest of our years alone. We’ve both lost so much, but maybe, together, we can find a new beginning.”
The Colonel took her hand, his grip firm but gentle. “I’d like that, Amara. I’d like that very much.”
From that day on, they were inseparable. They continued to dedicate their time to the orphanage, but now, they did so as partners, not just in their work but in life. The children began to see them as a pair, drawing strength from their bond and love from their shared kindness.
In their twilight years, Amara and Colonel Bennet found a second chance at happiness. They weren’t just companions; they were a testament to the fact that love and companionship can bloom even in the later stages of life, bringing light to the darkest corners of their hearts. And so, they walked into the sunset together, hand in hand, ready to face whatever life had left to offer, not as individuals, but as a united front.
Shri Satish Pashine
Snehil and Harish lived in a quaint, picturesque town nestled between hills and valleys. Their marriage was one filled with love and respect, and they had built a peaceful and well-functioning family life. Harish, a dedicated Ayurvedic doctor, was the son of a humble farmer, but his work had brought him a certain level of respect in the town. Snehil, a devoted and efficient homemaker, took great care of their home, creating a warm and welcoming environment. Together, they lived a life that, by most standards, could be described as content and harmonious.
Everything in their life seemed to move smoothly, like the steady rhythm of a well-oiled machine. But things began to change when Harish’s mother, Jahnavi, moved in with them. Jahnavi, though well-meaning and loving, brought with her a set of traditional values and expectations that soon began to shape the dynamics of the household in unforeseen ways.
Jahnavi had always been a strong-willed woman, deeply rooted in her customs and traditions. Her late husband had left her a sizable inheritance and a large, old-fashioned two-storey house in the town, ensuring that she never faced financial difficulties. Despite her secure position, Jahnavi had never quite adjusted to the idea of letting go of control. When she moved into her son’s home, she naturally assumed the role of matriarch and began to impose her views on how things should be done.
At first, Snehil tried to adjust. She was respectful towards Jahnavi, acknowledging her as the elder and matriarch of the family. However, over time, it became clear that Jahnavi’s interference was not limited to advice. She began to involve herself in every aspect of household management, from how the meals were prepared to how the children were raised, and even to the smallest decisions about decor or daily routines.
One day, after weeks of frustration building up, Snehil gently confronted Jahnavi while they were in the kitchen together. Snehil wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and took a deep breath.
“Maa, can I talk to you for a moment?” Snehil’s voice was calm, but there was an undertone of stress that she couldn’t entirely hide.
“Of course, dear,” Jahnavi replied, looking up from the vegetables she was chopping. “Is something wrong?”
Snehil hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words. “Maa, I know you mean well, and I deeply respect your experience and wisdom. But I feel like you’re involved in every little decision that Harish and I make. It’s starting to feel… suffocating.”
Jahnavi’s hands paused in mid-chop. Her eyebrows furrowed as she processed Snehil’s words. “Suffocating? That’s not my intention, Snehil. I’m just trying to help. You’re still young, and there’s so much you haven’t experienced yet. The traditional ways have always worked, and I’m simply ensuring that you don’t make mistakes.”
“I understand that, Maa,” Snehil replied, her voice softening. “But we also need the space to make our own decisions, even if that means making mistakes sometimes. That’s part of growing as a family.”
Jahnavi pursed her lips, not entirely convinced. “I see. But, you know, sometimes the younger generation thinks they know better, and it leads to trouble. I’m only trying to guide you.”
Snehil nodded, realizing that this was not a conversation that would resolve itself in one sitting. “I know you are, Maa. I just hope you can see that we need to find our own way, too.”
Later that evening, Harish found Snehil sitting on the porch, a concerned look on her face.
“What’s bothering you, Snehil?” he asked, sitting down beside her.
“I spoke to Maa today,” she replied, still staring out into the darkening sky. “I told her how I felt about her constant involvement in everything.”
Harish sighed, running a hand through his hair. “How did she take it?”
“She wasn’t happy. I don’t think she understands how much her presence is affecting our daily lives.”
Harish leaned back in his chair, staring up at the stars. “I know, it’s been tough for me too. I respect her so much, but it’s hard when every decision we make feels like it needs her approval.”
Snehil turned to him. “Do you think we should talk to her together? Maybe it would help if you also shared how you feel.”
Harish nodded slowly. “I think we need to. This isn’t sustainable, and it’s starting to strain our relationship.”
The next morning, Harish found his mother sitting in the living room, reading a religious text. He approached her with a sense of hesitation.
“Maa,” he began gently, “Snehil and I would like to talk to you about something important.”
Jahnavi looked up, her expression curious but slightly apprehensive. “What is it, Harish?”
He sat down across from her, glancing at Snehil, who joined him moments later. “We both respect you deeply, Maa, and we value all the advice and guidance you’ve given us over the years. But we feel like we need to make more of our own decisions, without feeling like we have to seek your approval every time.”
Jahnavi’s face hardened slightly. “Are you both saying that I’m overstepping my bounds?”
Harish shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly, Maa. It’s just that… we need our space. We’re trying to build our own life together, and sometimes it feels like we’re still living under your shadow.”
Snehil chimed in, her voice gentle but firm. “Maa, we love having you here with us, but we need to find a balance. Everyone’s independence and dignity are important in a family.”
Jahnavi’s initial reaction was one of defensiveness. “I’m only trying to help! This is my family too. I’ve raised you, Harish, and I want the best for you both. If I don’t guide you, who will?”
Snehil reached out and touched Jahnavi’s hand. “Maa, we appreciate your guidance. But guidance doesn’t mean control. We need the freedom to make our own choices and mistakes. That’s how we’ll learn.”
Jahnavi fell silent, her eyes downcast as she reflected on their words. She had always believed she was helping, but now she could see that her overbearing presence was causing tension. She had never intended to stifle their independence, but in her quest to protect them, she had crossed boundaries.
After a long pause, Jahnavi looked up, her expression softened. “I hadn’t realized how much I was interfering. I’ll try to step back and give you both more space.”
Snehil and Harish exchanged a look of relief. “Thank you, Maa,” Harish said. “We want you to feel comfortable here too. It’s just about finding a balance.”
In the weeks that followed, the atmosphere in the home noticeably improved. Jahnavi made a conscious effort to step back and let Snehil and Harish take charge of their own lives. Decisions were now made together as a family, with Jahnavi offering advice only when asked. The tension that had once clouded the household began to dissipate, and a sense of harmony returned.
However, as the days passed, Snehil couldn’t help but notice that Jahnavi seemed to be withdrawing more and more. She no longer interfered in the daily decisions, but she also seemed distant and quiet. Her once vibrant energy had dulled, and she spent most of her days looking after the children or sitting alone in her room.
One afternoon, Snehil approached Jahnavi as she was sitting by the window, gazing out at the garden.
“Maa, are you alright?” Snehil asked, concern etched on her face.
Jahnavi smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, dear. Just thinking.”
“You’ve been so quiet lately,” Snehil continued. “I can’t help but feel like you’re not yourself.”
Jahnavi sighed, her eyes softening as she looked at her daughter-in-law. “I’ve spent my whole life looking after this family, Snehil. Now that I’ve stepped back, I feel like I’ve lost my purpose. I thought giving you and Harish your freedom would make things better, but now I feel like I’m losing my own freedom.”
Snehil’s heart ached for her mother-in-law. She hadn’t realized that Jahnavi was struggling with her new role. “Maa, you’ve given so much to this family. But you deserve your own space and freedom too. Maybe it’s time for you to focus on yourself, to rediscover the things that make you happy.”
Jahnavi’s eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and realization. “You’re right, Snehil. I’ve been so focused on taking care of everyone else that I forgot to take care of myself. I think it’s time for a change.”
That evening, Jahnavi sat down with Harish and Snehil to discuss her thoughts. “I’ve decided to return to the old house,” she announced.
Harish looked surprised. “But, Maa, why? We want you here with us.”
Jahnavi smiled gently. “I know, Harish. But you and Snehil need your space, and I need mine. I don’t want to be a burden, and I don’t want to feel like I’m just a passive observer in my own life. Going back to the old house will give me the freedom to live life on my own terms, while still staying connected with all of you.”
Harish frowned, visibly concerned. “But, Maa, what about your safety? Living alone in that big house… I don’t want you to feel isolated.”
Jahnavi chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about me, son. I’ll arrange for tenants to live on the upper floor, and the outhouse can be used by our old maid and her husband. They’ll be nearby to help me if I need anything. Plus, I’ll visit you all regularly and you can come to the old house during festivals.”
Snehil, sensing the firmness in Jahnavi’s decision, placed a comforting hand on Harish’s shoulder. “Maa has thought this through. We can’t keep her here if it’s not what will make her happy.”
Harish sighed deeply. “It just feels like you’re leaving us, Maa. The house won’t be the same without you.”
Jahnavi reached out and touched his hand. “I’m not leaving you, Harish. I’m giving us all the space we need to be happy. This isn’t goodbye. This is me finding my own happiness while letting you and Snehil create yours. I’ll be back often.”
In the days that followed, Jahnavi made her preparations for moving back to the old house. She arranged for tenants to move into the top floor and invited her old maid, Radha, to live in the outhouse with her husband, who worked as a taxi driver. With Radha’s help, the house was cleaned, and Jahnavi started her new life, with the freedom she had longed for.
At first, living alone was an adjustment. The large house, once filled with the laughter of family members, now seemed eerily quiet. But with time, Jahnavi found herself enjoying the solitude. She woke up early each morning to meditate in the garden, visited old friends in the neighborhood, and even reconnected with relatives she hadn’t seen in years.
One afternoon, as Jahnavi sat sipping tea on the porch, Radha joined her.
“You seem much happier now, Maaji,” Radha remarked. “It’s nice to see you smiling like this.”
Jahnavi nodded, a serene expression on her face. “Yes, Radha. I didn’t realize how much I needed this. For so long, I thought that my only purpose was to take care of the family, but now I see that I can live for myself too.”
Radha smiled warmly. “You’ve always taken care of everyone else. It’s time to take care of yourself now.”
As the months went by, Jahnavi settled into her new life. She began attending community events, rekindling old hobbies, and hosting small gatherings at her house. Each time she visited Harish and Snehil, she could feel the warmth and happiness in their home, knowing that her decision to give them space had strengthened their bond rather than weakened it.
One evening, a few months later, Harish and Snehil visited Jahnavi at the old house for a family dinner. As they sat together, enjoying the meal, Snehil couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Jahnavi seemed.
“Maa, you look so at peace,” Snehil said with a smile. “I think this move has been good for you.”
Jahnavi laughed softly. “It has been. I didn’t realize how much I needed my own space until I got it. I have so much time now to do the things I love, without feeling like I’m intruding on your lives.”
Harish reached across the table and took his mother’s hand. “We miss you, though. The house feels different without you around all the time.”
Jahnavi smiled warmly. “You don’t need to miss me. I’m always just a short trip away. And besides, this arrangement has given us all a chance to grow. You and Snehil have your independence, and I have mine. We’re all happier for it.”
Snehil nodded. “Maa, we’ve learned so much from you. Your decision to step back has allowed us to become stronger as a couple. We respect your wisdom even more now, because we know you trust us to make our own choices.”
Jahnavi beamed with pride. “That’s what I wanted. To give you the freedom to grow, while finding my own happiness in the process.”
As the evening came to a close, the family sat together in the living room, sharing stories and laughter. There was no tension, no unspoken frustrations. It was clear that the boundaries they had established had brought them closer together, not driven them apart.
Before leaving, Harish hugged his mother tightly. “Maa, thank you. You’ve taught us that love doesn’t mean control—it means trust, respect, and freedom. We’re all better because of it.”
Jahnavi hugged him back, her eyes misty with emotion. “I’m proud of both of you. Family isn’t about living under the same roof—it’s about supporting each other, no matter where we are.”
In the months that followed, the balance in their lives continued to flourish. Harish and Snehil’s relationship deepened as they took charge of their household, raising their children with the values they had learned from Jahnavi, but also with the freedom to forge their own path.
Jahnavi, on the other hand, continued to thrive in her own way. She found fulfillment in the simple pleasures of life—morning walks, tea with friends, and the joy of rediscovering herself after years of living for others. She remained an integral part of her family, visiting them regularly and celebrating important moments together, but with the knowledge that they were each living their own lives fully.
Her decision to move out had been difficult at first, but ultimately, it was one that gave everyone what they truly needed—space, freedom, and love. Jahnavi had learned that sometimes, the greatest act of love was to let go, to trust that the bonds of family could thrive, even with distance.
And in doing so, she had created a new kind of harmony, one that allowed everyone to flourish in their own unique way.
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
Surya Rajesh Kavi
I left this village eighteen years ago—a place I loved deeply, where beautiful memories sleep. I had decided to return one day, but never thought it would be like this.
Amidst the isolation of the city, the memory of the village was always pleasant.
When I stepped onto the soil of Ilantur village, I felt like I was an eight-year-old girl again. After the lamp worship at Ilantur Temple, the lights went out.
The lamp under the "Soul" still remains unextinguished, guiding wayfarers.
In the courtyard of the temple, a banyan tree and a mango tree stand together in love, like Ardha Narishwar. A circular platform is built around them, with a stone lamp placed upon it. Locals call this ‘Soul.’
It is said that if trees can fall in love, these two are the perfect example.
Once upon a time, this was the place where Leena and I waited for our mothers after school. How many nicknames Leena and I had given to passers-by!
A fifteen-minute walk south along the road in front of the temple leads to Leena’s house.
The road used to be made of red mud in the past, with Gliricidia sepium plants lining both sides. During the summer, when the road was being renovated, these plants would bloom with pink flowers, as if showing their love for the red mud road.
I can still hear my mother calling, “Nila baby…,.Walk with your shoes on.”
I loved to jump and play barefoot in the muddy water on the road while holding Leena’s hand.
By the time we reached school from home, our hands would be full of various flowers picked from the hedgerows.
Now, the red mud road and Gliricidia sepium plants are gone, replaced by concrete walls on both sides of the tarred road. However, many old houses still remain.
It has become difficult to separate night from day ever since I moved to the city that never sleeps, twenty years ago. Thick darkness began to engulf the village.
In the village, it is dark in the night and bright in the daylight
While walking along the slope of Anakera Hill, I felt like someone was following me. From their conversation, it was clear that they were two very drunk men. There is no way that their intentions are good.
Is baby Nila coming? Let's go and light an oil lamp.”
Leena’s mother used to stop on the road and ask
I dressed in silk skirt and blouse, with a new, tinkling ankle chain, was waiting for them.
It’s nice to walk around in a silk skirt and blouse with a new ankle chain. No matter how much I talked to Leena, I never got bored, though I can’t remember what I used to say to her. A day could not pass without seeing her, and it was the same for her.
I still remember what Leena’s mother said when she showed me the shrine:
“This is Yakshi Amma’s temple. Mother Yakshi is the savior of children and women. Whenever you are in trouble, just pray to Yakshi Amma.”
Remembering Leena’s mother’s words, I decided to go that way. On both sides of the alley, the tops of the densely planted Niepa bark trees stood side by side like interlocking fingers. Even during the day, this alley was dark. I walked through the alley to the Yakshi Temple. It was a place where Leena and I had played hide and seek many times.
The voices of two men could be heard behind the bend.
‘Come quickly, find her,’ one said.
The Yakshi Temple was open. Without thinking of anything else, I entered, closed the door, and sat next to the idol.
When I was sure that those following me had left, I got down and walked to Leena’s house. Her small, beautiful house was still there. As soon as I entered in the house, I felt a sense of peace.
As before, I entered through the open door without asking or telling anyone. Rabindra music played softly in the background. A stranger, blindfolded, reclined in an armchair next to the music system.
Seeing the stranger unexpectedly, I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. The words stuck in my throat.
Where would I go on this dark night? What would I do?
When only a few days stand between life and death, the first thing I wanted was to see my beloved village once more. I wanted to spend one day with my dearest friend. Only after that could I entrust myself to the doctors, who do not know whether I will come back or not.
During the journey, I came to know the story of a young doctor who, after serving patients, fell asleep in the hospital’s visitors’ room and was brutally raped and murdered by a gang of vicious men.
A girl traveling alone In a country that is very backward in terms of women’s safety is being reckless.
Death is just around the corner, but I do not want to die in a way that disturbs the peace of my family members, neighbors, and friends. It would be considered my fault. There will be a series of mistakes people will find in me—calling me a supercilious woman who travels alone at night and wears clothes that attract men, etc. No, I can’t think. The man who sat near the music system opened his eyes when I feared that I would be the main topic of the next day’s channel discussion.
There was no expression on his face at the sight of a stranger. He groped his way out of the armchair and moved into the next room as if he hadn’t seen me. At first, I thought that when I entered the Yakshi temple, I had become invisible. But soon I realized that notion was wrong. When I followed him, I understood that he was blind.
Half of the fear was gone. I decided to spend the night here without him knowing. Another fear soon dawned on me—that someone else might come. But no one came. I spent the night like a dumb person with that blind man. He woke up before sunrise. He is a man who lives with clockwork precision.
This poor man would not have been cheated by me if there had been any other way. I did what anyone does when there is nothing else to do. A family photo of him hangs on the front room wall, but apart from him, there is no sign of anyone living here. Seeing his isolation, I felt relieved that I had a big family to be with me till the end of my life. I decided to spend all my remaining precious time with my family .
I wanted to say goodbye to him in the morning before leaving the house. But what could I say? That I had hidden in his house last night without him knowing? I wasn’t sure how he would react. So, I silently looked at him for a while and said goodbye in my mind. Many questions remained unanswered.
When I turned on my phone, which had been off, I saw countless messages from my mother. I responded with just one sentence: ‘I’ll be home on the evening flight.’
Surya is a global citizen with a heart rooted in Kerala, India, where she was born and raised. Her journey took her to northern India, where she shared her passion for learning as a teacher with her students. Today, she finds herself in Italy, embracing new experiences and cultures. With a blend of Indian traditions and international perspectives, she is a teacher, traveller, and tale-spinner, always looking for new inspirations
WHY GANDHI MUST BE RESURRECTED
Jay Jagdev
“Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s needs, but not every man’s greed.”
It’s a part of the full quote from the letter Gandhi wrote to RM Pearce, in December 1947. The full quote is “God forbid that India should ever take to industrialism after the manner of the West… The earth has enough for everybody’s need, but not enough for everybody’s greed.” Gandhi expressed the idea barely a few months after independence when the country was taking its first few baby steps to stand and walk properly. This quote has since become a popular phrase, highlighting the tension between Basic human needs (food, water, shelter, dignity), and Insatiable desires driven by greed (excess wealth, power, material possessions). He had already seen the ills of frenzied industrialization and was conceiving the country of his dreams.
He was a visionary and like a true leader was thinking ahead of time.
He was just not clear about the need to avoid the mistakes of the West, but he gave the various ways to avoid it. Gandhi emphasized the importance of simplicity, sustainability, and equitable distribution of resources. He advocated for a self-sufficient economy and criticized excessive consumption. Gandhi’s wisdom remains relevant today, inspiring conversations around sustainable development, environmental conservation, social justice, and mindful consumption.
The world is now grappling with the tension between economic development and sustainable development. The effects of climate change are real, and, on many counts, its negative effects are irreversible. We have made giant strides since independence. So big are our strides and such restless is our pace that it shows no sign of slowing down to pause and ponder its effect on us.
To quote the Science Advances, “Planetary boundaries framework update finds that six of the nine boundaries are transgressed, suggesting that Earth is now well outside of the safe operating space for humanity. Ocean acidification is close to being breached, while aerosol loading regionally exceeds the boundary. Stratospheric ozone levels have slightly recovered. The transgression level has increased for all boundaries earlier identified as overstepped. As primary production drives Earth system biosphere functions, human appropriation of net primary production is proposed as a control variable for functional biosphere integrity. This boundary is also transgressed. Earth system modelling of different levels of the transgression of the climate and land system change boundaries illustrates that these anthropogenic impacts on Earth system must be considered in a systemic context.”
October 2nd marks the 155th anniversary of Gandhiji.
What we have left of him is his name, a few busts in a few city crossings and memorials in select locations – the current generation is completely detached from him, his life and his teachings. The only time he is resurrected is when a certain section of a certain political thought vilifies him for his personal and political decisions. Movies like Munnabhai MBBS have done more to bring back his values and principles than our successive political satraps and administrations.
On his birth month, this article is an attempt to reintroduce his principles and prescriptions to the current generation and evaluate its relevance, especially at a time when we are facing an existential crisis caused by anthropogenic activities. Let’s know what they were and if we can do anything in our personal capacities to live by those principles.
A. Simplicity and Minimalism:
Gandhi emphasised living simply with bare necessities. His personal belongings could be fitted into a small bag. A few loin clothes, a shawl, a chappal, his watch stuck to his waist, the round-rimmed glass he wore, and a walking stick he used was all that he needed. When Mahatma Gandhi met King George V in 1931, wearing his traditional Indian clothing, a simple loincloth and shawl, journalists asked him if he felt underdressed. Gandhi famously replied: “The King had enough on for both of us.”
This witty response highlighted Gandhi’s simplicity, humility, and commitment to Indian cultural identity, while also subtly critiquing the excesses of Western colonialism.
Sadly, we also have fallen victim to those consumption models and patterns. Our rooms are now filled with more cupboards stuffed with clothes and belongings that we didn’t use in the recent past or are never going to be used in the near future leaving no space for us to use. ‘Do we need to have this’ is a question we must ask ourselves before falling for the temptation of a new dress, a gadget, a car or anything for that matter. The subculture of giving away things we have stopped using has caught on in the West and things like kids’ toys, and cycles are handed down to the ones who need them once one’s child outgrows them. There are apps and WhatsApp groups which aggregate the needs and availability of such things. The idea is to reduce purchases and waste without compromising on lifestyle conveniences.
B. Self-Sufficiency and Localism:
When Gandhi started his Swadeshi movement, hatred for foreign goods or foreigners didn’t propel this idea. He wanted all of us to be self-reliant at a personal and community level. Doing your things, growing your food, and helping each other during difficult tasks was what he proposed to make us live with dignity without depending on others at a distance who have turned it into an industry. He was for supporting local farmers and businesses to thrive with local support. When we see grapes imported from countries like Australia and the ones from Andhra or Maharastra sharing shop space giving us an option to choose from; how many of us think of the ‘Food Miles’ each lot carries? We are swayed by its cosmetic appearance and premium pricing. The current trend is to source local produce even if there are cheaper and better options available with the eye to reducing our carbon footprint.
C. Non-Violence:
The reductionist and mechanistic science and modern-day science taught us to dominate nature and all other living and non-living things around us. Our ancient culture taught us to respect natural elements and animals to the point of worshipping them like Gods. Now in the name of development, we have unleashed a war on mountains, rivers, lakes and seas. The ill effects are now realised in the form of massive landslides, floods in the hills sweeping away human habitations, and our urban habitations experiencing flooding even in moderate rains. When Gandhi talked of Ahimsa, he didn’t mean to be tolerant to external aggression, or internal violence. What he talked of was environmental stewardship and our ethical treatment of all living beings.
D. Ethical Consumption:
The first line in this article talks about Gandhi’s views on the importance of ethical consumption as the resources on the planet are finite and need to be shared equitably with all. He urged everyone to balance Need and Greed because the greed of a rich man to get richer will only rob the poor and weak of their right over the common natural resources.
E. Community and Collective Action:
With the masculine development models and centralised decision-making being the current characteristic of the Governments, the voices of the local communities are either quelled or bought over. The current society treats demonstrations, and strikes, not only as anti-development but as regressive and anti-national. Gandhi put a higher emphasis on community-level collective actions as a way to influence the government’s policy decisions. Democracy allowed this route for the communities to express their voices. The current climate crisis requires honesty and transparency at the top and collective action and participation of all to ameliorate the ills caused by our development models. Without both ends working together towards a common goal the desirables will always remain unattainable.
The current strategic political movement to rewrite history to erase its colonial past, and replace its syncretic cultures, and diversities with a singular-centric culture stands at odds with what our ancient culture taught us and had made it thrive. Gandhi and his teachings have fallen victim to this house-cleaning exercise. With the economy going global many might question the rationale or practicality of many of Gandhi’s prescriptions, but it’s necessary to realise how the global business models came crashing down when the pandemic spread like wildfire and brought the countries to a grinding halt. At that time self-sufficiency at the community level provided the necessary spring of resilience to rural India.
Those who think that Climate concerns are an exaggeration and those who believe that modern science will find a solution to the problem without their involvement and contribution are for a rude shock. Recent research by the Indian Institute of Tropical Meteorology after conducting research at the caves of Gupteswar, Koraput and Kadapa, Andhra Pradesh have revealed the interplay of climate factors, strikingly similar to those affecting modern-day monsoons, likely led to the collapse of highly developed Indus Valley Civilization 4000 years ago. They have found that reduced solar radiation, El Nino and many other factors had collectively weakened the monsoon which resulted in the downfall of the civilization. And 4000 years is just like yesterday in the evolutionary timeline.
I hope the learnings of the past and evidence of science alert our governors not to waste precious time in hand to repaint the past but to think of the future which doesn’t look good at all for everyone. With the world at the throes of facing another pandemic and the catastrophic consequences of anthropogenic activities; not bringing back the teachings of Gandhi to us and the younger generation will be to the peril of us and our future generations.
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
T. V. Sreekumar
Bombay 2019
Having had to relocate to Mumbai as it is now known, from my native state because of my employment, life was difficult due to language issues, cultural differences and food. Struggling days with no friends, life was monotonous except for the books that gave me company. Daily travel by metro to my workplace was an outlet, observing people and their mannerisms, which was fodder to my creative writings published online.
The incident happened on April 2nd and why do I remember it so strongly? When 1st April is registered in our mind for exotic reasons can 2nd be far away? Well, I happened to notice this girl standing a few feet away in the train. Our eyes locked as if in some kind of recognition. It lasted just for a flash of a second but had its own impact. A second look and a smile was exchanged. That was the beginning of the story that changed our two lives.
The exchange of smiles lasted only for a few days and let me confess that by nature I am a shy person and talking with strangers, especially females, was a task impossible. One day when the proximity was tantalizingly close, I picked up all my courage and asked,
“Kerala?"
She nodded with a smile.
The acquaintance progressed day by day and we started talking and it became routine. Boarding from the same station we managed to sit together and she got down two stations ahead of me. The conversations led to knowing each other more with time. Almost identical family background as both our parents were teachers and we were a single child family. She also came through my path, writing the bank exam and getting posted in the big city. Like me, she was also struggling with language and cultural handicaps.
We talked about the blunders we committed at various places, especially when it came to numbers in Hindi. Cursed ourselves for not studying Hindi seriously while at school. In between, I had to go to Delhi for a few months' training and we missed seeing each other but our phones were active and kept us connected. All minute details were exchanged over phone during the days of separation.
I joined back after training and life started slowly limping back to normalcy. I started going to work and travelling together became routine again. One day very casually she told me,
“Groom searching is going on at a fast pace at home and I may be forced into marriage soon.”
My heart skipped a beat and I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. Certain that my face must have reflected my feelings I could only say “Congratulations”. I did not bother to look at her, nor did I have the courage to look up when she got down from the bus. Thoroughly disturbed, my work suffered and I was forced to take half a day leave. Back home I got a message from her to join her for dinner on Sunday at a particular place. I did not respond immediately as I was in two minds whether to go or not. It was a heartbreaking and embarrassing situation to part with one I loved dearly even though nothing about it was spoken till then or indicated. It was my failure to have kept quiet for so long and the silence had paid me back with revenge. Finally I decided to respond to her invitation positively and there was no point brooding at this late hour. Let her have a life of her own and that too a good one.I should not stand in her way causing any misery or unhappiness to someone so good.
Both of us reached the hotel almost at the same time. I forced a smile and I could feel the stiffness and artificial behaviour in me. The conversation was also forced, ending in monosyllables from me. Both knew it was going nowhere. When the food came, she paused for a while, reached for her handbag and took out something. I was curious and was sure it was a parting gift. Pretending to be happy for the good life in store for her I turned to accept the gift. With a smile she took out a ring and holding it with all care and devotion asked me sweetly,
“Will you marry me”?
The biggest shock hit me like a thunder and left me speechless for a moment. She had gauged from my nature that the question would never come from me however high the urge may be. I for one loved her so much and the thought of parting was pinching and almost killing me. She had taken the courageous step of breaking the custom. She was bold and I was shy and had it not happened life would have been miserable for both of us. Even though I knew, it hit me again that opportunity struck only once and I had remained a dumb fool till then. A decision not taken on time would have resulted in endless, irreversible loss. Now that it happened whichever way, the world was singing and dancing in celebration right there. I never dreamt that it could happen like this. My hands were unsteady but I stood up and stretched my hand towards her and said,
“A thousand times”.
My voice was breaking. I was stammering and tears of joy were flowing.from my eyes.
In my loudest voice I almost screamed,
“I WILL MARRY YOU.”
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..
HAIBUN: THE ART OF BRAIDING PROSE WITH HAIKU
Pravat Kumar Padhy
Introduction
The combination of prose with poetry has been often observed in the literature. The composition Champu or Chapu-Kavya, a combination of poetry and prose, has been found in ancient Indian literature during the Vedic period (c. 1500 – c. 500 BCE). The champu-kavya, inscribed in the 2nd century BC, consists of prose episodes (Gadya-Kavya) and poetry passages (Padya-Kavya), with verses interspersed within the prose sections. They are primarily dealt with love, bravery, and other aspects. The Brahmangranthas, some parts of the Mahabharata and Jatakas, etc. are written in a combination of the prose-poetry genre. There are a few folk cultures in India where the story is narrated along with a part vocalised in a lyrical style.
The practice of writing mixed verse and prose, a prosimetric literary form, originated in Japan way back during the 8th century. The Man’y?sh?, the first major anthology of Japanese poetry that appeared in c. 780 contains the first tanka prose (prose with waka poetry). In the early 12th century, the word “prosimetrum” (prosa : prose and metrum:verse) is associated with the Rationes dictandi of Hugh of Bologna. Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy (c. 524), Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla (c. 1230), Dante’s La Vita Nuova (c. 1295), The Voyage of Bran (c. 800) , Sweeney’s Frenzy (c. 1300) and texts of the Old Irish and Middle Irish traditions are some of the memorable historical examples of synthesizing prose with verse.
Haibun is a literary expression of poetic prose with haiku. Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) coined the word “Haibun” (HIGH-BUN) in 1690 in a letter to his disciple Kyorai. His ‘Oku no Hosomichi’ (Narrow Road to the Interior), considered the masterpiece of haibun in Japanese literature, narrates the ecstatic beauty through the traverse of 1500 miles over 156 days, mostly on foot, from Edo (modern-day Tokyo) to the northerly interior region known as Oku.
Shin hana tsumi (The New Gathering Flowers) by Yosa Buson (1716-1783); Oraga Haru (My Spring) and Chichi no sh?en nikki (Last Days of My Father) by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828), By?sh? rokushaku (Six-foot Sickbed) by Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) and K?shin’an-ki (Notes from K?shinan’an), Tsukiyo s?shi (Sketches of Moonlit Nights) both by Kurita Chod? (1749-1814) are some of the iconic works in haibun literature. Uzuragoromo (Mottled Quail Cloak) by Yokoi Yay? and ‘On Releasing a Sparrow’ by Kawai Chigetsu are some of the noteworthy Japanese haibun.
The word haibun, earlier to the seventeenth century, was also associated with old genres of memoirs, diaries and travel literature (nikki and kikôbun) and even existed in the form of a preface, headnotes to hokku with a short essay written by haikai masters. Basho infused the aesthetic sense of haiku spirit (aware) into it. Kyoriku Morikawa’s Honch? Monzen (“Prose Collection of Japan”), published in 1706, is considered the first Japanese anthology of haibun.
The haibun in English can be dated back to the '1950s or '1960s considering the symbiosis of prose and verse of Jack Kerouac or Jack Cain as the starting point.
Jack Kerouac’s “The Town and the City” (1950) is classical poetic prose. Gary Snyder’s travel diary, “Passage through India”, written during the mid-sixties, is one of the memorable modern haibun-like genre. Carolyn Kizer’s “A Month in Summer” was published in Kenyon Review in 1962 though the work, “Paris” (1964) by the Canadian writer Jack Cain is considered the first formal modern haibun in English published in the Haiku Society of America book A Haiku Path
James Merrill's “Prose of Departure”, from The Inner Room (1988), is one of the finest examples of haibun. Poet Maureen Thorson’s “Time Traveler’s Haibun: 1989 ” is an interesting poetic creation. Bruce Ross’s “Journey to the Interior: American Versions of Haibun” (Tuttle) published in 1998 is the first anthology of English-language haibun. Ken Jones, Ray Rasmussen, Bruce Ross, Jeffrey Woodward, Stanley Pelter, Paul Conneally, George Marsh, Patrick Frank, Nobuyuki Yuasa, John Brandi, Miriam Sagan, Bill Wyatt, William M. Ramsey, Judson Evans, William J. Higginson , Patricia Prime, James Norton , Seán O’Connor, Jim Kacian, Michael McClintock, Lynne Reese, Jim Norton, Richard Straw, Robert Wilson, Peter Butler, John Stevenson, Cor van den Heuvel, Tom Lynch, Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, David Cobb, Charles Hansmann , Janice M. Bostok, W F Owen, Dru Philippou, Michael Dylan Welch, Ruth Holzer, Tish Davis, Jeffrey Harpeng , Diana Webb, Glenn Coats, Owen Bullock, Rich Youmans and others have contributed a lot to enrich the haibun literature in English. The journal “American Haibun and Haiga (AHH)” was published in 2000 and was renamed “Contemporary Haibun” and subsequently “Contemporary Haibun Online” (CHO) in 2003. Prior to AHH, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Lynx and others use to publish a few haibun. Haibun Today, a premier journal of haibun and tanka prose, was founded in 2007 by Jeffrey Woodward. “Spring and All by Williams, 2011 is a hybrid write-up of alternating prose sections and free verse. George Marsh founded an e-group known as “Haikuprose Group”.
Among many Indian poets, Dr. Angelee Deodhar contributed immensely to haibun genre. The four international anthologies (first in 2014, Journeys 2015, Journeys 2017 and Journeys 2018) edited by her are referred to as modern treatises of haibun literature.
There are three primary components of haibun: i) The prose section, ii) The verse section or haiku and iii) the title. The prose comprises wide topics such as short stories with a lighter tone, biographical episodes, travel writing, conversations, prose-poems, diaries etc. The haiku associated with the prose is the cornerstone of this genre and needs to be imaginative and meaningful with a creative twist of fulfillment rather than a narrative continuation of prose. J. Marcus Weekley says, “I think it's important to note how haibun self-consciously juxtaposes the poetic and the prosaic on the page (or screen) via the verse of the haiku and the prose in sentence form (broken up by the end of the page or screen or by the return key). I believe it's integral that haibun include verse and prose on the page; that's what makes the genre itself, otherwise, it’s prose poetry or flash fiction, not haibun.”
Keith Polette highlights ‘ character of the image, ‘The tonal qualities of sentences.’ Referring to Basho’s haibun, Narrow Road..” regarding ‘link and shift’ relationship between haiku and prose he ‘linguistic-close-up of an image, how haiku “links” to the prose “denotatively” and but in a “disjunctive move” shifts away from it.
Professor Nobuyaki Yuasa, in the introduction to his classic translation of Basho’s Narrow Road, maintains that “the interaction between haiku poetry and haiku prose is haibun’s greatest merit ...The relationship is like that between the moon and the earth: each makes the other more beautiful.”
One can experience the aesthetic blend of prose and poetry in the opening paragraph of Bashô’s ‘Oku no Hosomichi’:
Moon and sun are passing figures of countless generations, and years coming or going wanderers too. Drifting life away on a boat or meeting age leading a horse by the mouth, each day is a journey and the journey itself home. Amongst those of old were many that perished upon the journey. So — when was it — I, drawn like blown cloud, couldn’t stop dreaming of roaming, roving the coast up and down, back at the hut last fall by the river side, sweeping cobwebs off, a year gone and misty skies of spring returning, yearning to go over the Shirakawa Barrier, possessed by the wanderlust, at wits’ end, beckoned by Dôsojin, hardly able to keep my hand to anything, mending a rip in my momohiki, replacing the cords in my kasa, shins no sooner burnt with moxa than the moon at Matsushima rose to mind and how, my former dwelling passed on to someone else on moving to Sampû’s summer house,
the grass door too
turning into
a doll’s house
(from the eight omote) set on a post of the hut.
Translated by Cid Corman and Kamaike Susumu
(Back Roads to Far Towns, 1968)
Prose Section
The prose section of haibun constitutes a flash expression about nature, daily life, childhood memories, travel writing, diaries and personal experience in the form of concrete language with simple vocabulary. Professor Imamura Takeshi feels, “A haibun is a short prose piece … [that combines] feeling and emotion derived from a deep observation of nature and human life, in an attempt to fuse elegance with the commonplace.” Generally, prose writing is characterized by a sparse and haikai form (link and internal comparison style) with objectivity. The style of writing is lucid and musical, occasionally with abbreviated syntax with poetic use of sentence fragments, and having subtle allusion. The prose can be short (200-300 words) or longer interspersed with more than one haiku in between or one haiku at the end. Haibun can be written in the present tense, first person singular, plural or even third person to describe the happenings as of now, even if it is referred to from past events. However, a combination of the past tense can be used depending on the context. Philosophical content, unnecessary sentimentality, or loaded with flat passages, over-narrations and intellectualisation can be avoided. The emotional context if at all to be supplemented is to be along with literary imagery rather than mere narration. Instead of a monotonous description, one needs to espouse the art of infusion of poetic waves with rich imagery.
The prose should be concrete, elusive, economical, poetic and playful in its flow. It is always wise to maintain the art of ‘showing’ rather than ‘telling’. Instead of describing the sun, rain, or the cause, and effect of the rainbow, it is desired to enliven the reader with the joy of the image of the rainbow. One would appreciate what Ken Jones remarks, “ …in an effective haibun what is most significant is what is left unsaid or darkly suggested, hanging in the air as ambiguity, allusiveness and maybe even paradox.”
Often poets write very short prose of one line to a few lines only with deep effectiveness and ending with a haiku. Jim Kacian has introduced ‘One-bun’ with one-line prose ending with a one-liner (monoku). Alan Summers, following this idea, introduced ‘Monobun’ with one-line prose or single-paragraph prose with 3-line haiku. “Spring Journey to the Saxon Shore” by David Cobb is a classic haibun consists of 5,000-word haibun.
The Verse Section:
The haiku is the lifeline of the haibun. There should be a significant and sensitive linkage between prose and haiku. The haiku should not repeat as an extension of the essence of the prose. The haiku should stand out in prominence, beyond the common perspective of the narration of the text but at the same time complement in an allusive way. It needs to impart a twist to the prose part in an imaginative way. After reading the prose section, the haiku needs to render the readers the poetic spell and climactic sense of the literary piece. This delicate balance render the haibun its beauty and idiosyncratic in the literary sense. Replying in an interview with Patricia Prime, Jim Kacian enumerates, “There are two critical ways I believe it must be different. First, the very best haibun create a balance between the poetry and the prose. The one does not overpower the other, the other does not outshine the one. This control of balance is critical to its literary success.
And second, the way the poetry is employed is not in the direct way found in most literature, but rather in a suggestive, oblique fashion. It may seem the poem is about some other subject altogether, but in the hands of the very best practitioners, the reader will discover not only the thread that connects the two parts, but that it is an essential thread, connecting in both directions, providing meaning to both elements. This subtle linking is critical to the work’s success within the genre; that is, as haibun.”
It is better to avoid repetition of the word, phrase or image both in the prose section and haiku and not to use repeated words in the title as well. There should be a proper juxtaposition between prose and haiku with the distinct art of “link and shift” like the braided river descending from the hill and meandering through the valley and culminating in the ocean.
Generally, a paragraph with an insightful haiku at the end constitutes a simple haibun. However, more than one haiku can be interspersed within a long prose section with a sense of literary coherency. Often the haibun starts with a haiku instead of a prose paragraph. It is said ‘inverted haibun.’ Many poets write monoku in place of haiku at the end. There are sparse instances where haibun is written in typical haikai style without haiku.
Title:
The haibun generally contains a title. The title has its immense importance as it serves as the lighthouse of the genre. The title could be something related to the content of the haibun. Ray Rasmussen classified the title as ‘Denotative’ i.e., words or phrases having a direct and obvious context for the prose and haiku, and ‘Connotative’ as a title of imaginative and creative nature. A suitable title can be borrowed from memorable lines by renowned poets or writers with a note of the relevant source.
Roberta Beary says, “In haibun, the wrong title is like a wrong number. It makes the reader want to hang up the phone. A haibun’s title should be strong enough to draw the reader into the prose and make the reader want more. Let the title be a link to the prose and the haiku, not give away the rest of the piece. After reading the entire haibun, the reader should be able to look at the title and see more than one meaning.”
Synthesis and Experimentation
The magical spark of haibun lies in the subtle symbiosis of the prose and haiku. It goes without saying that the title is the guiding sign of remembrance of the literary piece. Ken Jones says, “The whole imaginative experience can be skillfully ratcheted up, with the haiku in turn powering up the prose. This is the distinctive and unique power of haibun as a literary genre.” He further adds, “The simplest is to encapsulate a metaphor in an image which reinforces what is being more explicitly expressed in the prose. …..The interaction of prose and haiku in haibun is an exciting area which repays exploration and experiment.”
Analogous to the juxtaposition in haiku, the art of leaps and links of prose and haiku is the cornerstone of the literary art of haibun. In the end, the amalgamation of both prose and haiku needs to arrive at a level so as to create imaginative resonance in the mind of the readers. It is essential that the wholeness of haibun remain an implied form as Donald Hall defines poetry as “the unsayable said” i.e, unstated can be conveyed. Makoto Ueda says, “it is up to the reader to grasp the meaning of the prose, and then of the haiku, and to go on to discover the undercurrents of meaning common to both…”
Ray Rasmussen says, “In my view, when we read prose, our brain functions in a story listening mode learned through reading prose stories throughout our lives. But haiku requires a different reading mode. The writer is offering two brief images and asking us a) to enjoy the phrasing of each; b) to imagine the relationship between the images; and, c) to consider the relationship between the prose and poem. In short, the haiku is like a Koan, inviting participation through contemplation.”
Haibun can be a simple one with one paragraph and one haiku at the end. Depending on the relative placement of verse with respect to the prose section, haibun can be classified as a prose envelope (haibun starts with a prose paragraph followed by haiku and finally followed by a prose paragraph), verse envelope (starts with a haiku followed by prose and ending with a haiku) or can be alternating with prose and verse elements. In such a complex association of the two different elements, it is prudent to maintain the poetic sentiment, tonal quality and rhythm with internal comparisons. There are some examples of writing haiku sequence within the haibun. Sometimes the usages of an epigraph or short quotation at the beginning of the haibun have been observed. One also can quote the lines of a poem written by the other poet or word phrase within the text depending on the due importance or reference. This adds a special relevance to the prose section and to the haibun at large. In How to Haiku, Bruce Ross writes, "If a haiku is an insight into a moment of experience, a haibun is the story or narrative of how one came to have that experience."
Over the years, poets attempted some experiments in haibun composition. A few examples of haibun, without normative haiku, have also been written. Also, occasional experiments have been made in haibun writing portraying the prose component in versification style with line-breaks and a haiku at the end (Ex. Shloka Shankar’s “The Twins”, Haibun Today, Vol. 13, No.3, September 2019). http://haibuntoday.com/ht133/H_Shankar_TheTwins.html
Some poets, instead of a normative 3-line haiku at the end, attempt to split the lines of haiku and interspersed between prose paragraphs with the 3rd line of haiku at the end. It is termed as ‘Braided Haibun’. (https://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho-18-2-table-of-contents/plaiting-poem-prose-by-rich-youmans/.)
There have been some publications of beautiful collaborative linked haibun. One of the interesting of this kind is “The Horizon’s Curve” by Lew Watts & Rich Youmans. It is written in an “open” style with each haiku serving as both a cap to one haibun and a springboard into the next by exhibiting the art of link and shift.
(https://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho-16-3/lew-watts-rich-youmans-as-if/)
Another excellent presentation is the linked form of haibun “Her Dance Card Full” by Terri L. French & Jane Reichhold written based on a traditional kasen renku format (originally appeared in the October 2013 Lynx: A Journal for Linking Poets (Vol. 28, No. 3). (https://contemporaryhaibunonline.com/cho-16-3/terri-l-french-jane-reichhold-her-dance-card-full/)
Interestingly, Ray Rasmussen experimented with modeling the work of other writers, and poets by borrowing and adopting the structure to write haibun with his own content and concept.
(http://haibuntoday.com/ht72/a_Rasmussen_Modeling.html).
It is pertinent to know that evidence of illustrative haibun with brush paintings goes back to the time of the 18th century (Kurita Chod?'s haibun Tsukiyo soshi, Sketches of Moonlit Nights). Like ekphrastic tanka prose (prose and tanka poem), a haibun with an image is known as Haibunga. The Graphic Haibun (combination of image and text) by Linda Papanicolaou are some of the most beautiful creations in haibun literature.
Conclusion
It is pertinent to revisit what Ken Jones has said in his Haibun: an introduction, “The essential feature is the interplay of haiku and prose. As with haiku, the “haibun prose” should be concrete and economical, free from abstraction, crisp, light handed and rich in imagery. The haiku serves either to intensify the feeling conveyed by the prose or to take the reader a step beyond it. Either way it provides some kind of shift in the flow of the prose.”
Instead of a simple narration, there has to be a thematic literary value addition to the genre so as to stand out as an independent poetic entity with creative exploration. There needs to be a flow of honest poetic talent embedded in its wholeness. Also, it would be better to experiment with the prose passages sort of impressionistic essays with verses of poetic prominence to render a distinction to the genre. More socio-cultural issues, historical aspects and scientific-based literary context can be included in contemporary haibun literature. The haibun is to be culminated in a way to allow the reader to paint his own interpretation from the sprinkled aroma and quest the garden which is not in his vicinity.
I feel, the prose is the flower, haiku is the fragrance and the title stands for the flower stick. Reading through the haibun, let the reader enjoy the poetic beauty of hide-and-seek of the moon with the sailing clouds. (Source: Editor’s Guide to Haibun, Under the Basho, Pravat Kumar Padhy).
The following are some haibun for the readers’ pleasure:
Paris
by Jack Cain
Lips that turn from mine.
Poor little one
Whom I pay.
How insistent this urge that recurs and to which satisfaction brings momentary rest. I lie on my bed, alone. . . .
There is a short letter that asks in tones that tear, please, oh please, come home.
In the cafe’s light
harsh and bright
faces talk.
(Volume 63, a biannual of poetry, October 1964, No. 2, Board of Publications, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, page:32-35).
Parallel Lines
by Angelee Deodhar, India
In eight decades only one Indian fi lm has captured the world’s imagination, a glitzy portrayal of poverty within which lies the poignant side of this country’s dilemma, the unwanted, unwashed, unfed children foraging with vermin for the dregs of a meal. For this the fi lm won eight Oscars.
At the same ceremony, a documentary about an Indian girl with a congenital deformity also won acclaim when a team of dedicated philanthropists restored her smile. The confused but happy parents are shown cuddling a shy little girl who clings to her mother’s sari, wondering why so many cameras are pointed at her. There was a time no one would play with her in her village . . . today she has new clothes, new friends. The air is thick with the shouts of the paparazzi.
How will one slum dog help the hungry children eking out an existence besides the railway lines?
hawk’s shadow
the songbird’s trill
suddenly shortened
Publication Credit: Frogpond, Issue 32.2, 2009
To Have or Have Not
by Pravat Kumar Padhy
To my surprise, yesterday I met a college friend without his usual moustache and felt as if he was a stranger. I greeted him fondly and we didn't discuss his reasons for shaving it off. And I wondered, should I follow suit?
After a bit of research, I learned that it has been a fashion of late to not wear a moustache. Indeed, college students seem to be letting their faces be as natural as a newborn's – neither beard nor moustache. I read about the historical, socio-psychological and socio-religious aspects related to facial hair.
Moustaches are thought to represent the masculinity and aggressive posture of man. Consider how the twisted up moustaches of the 18th- century Hungarian hussar cavalry units contribute to their fierce demeanors. On the other hand, recent styles tended to be worn by prominent personalities of different fields – politics, films, science, art, and literature. Thus they might represent warmth or attractiveness.
I’ve had my moustache from an early age. With the passage of time, it slowly changed colour to white. In recent years, I've applied hair dye in an attempt to keep a more youthful look.
coin toss –
heads, a new me
in the mirror
Note: To Have or Have Not is the title of Ernest Hemingway's 1937 novel.
Publication Credit: Haibun Today, vol. 13 No.1 March 2019 (Ed. Ray Rasmussen)
The Emojis Speak
by Pravat Kumar Padhy
Splash of New Year in the e-mail, the marriage invitation on WhatsApp, bursting balloons by the memes, and lighting candles on the birthday celebration. Grandparents collect "thumbs-up" signs. It looks like everything functions in the virtual world, until the sudden flash of an RIP.
dewdrops
all that I miss
with time
Publication Credit: Contemporary Haibun Online, Issue 17.2 August 2021 (Ed. Rich Youmans)
Doormat
By Pravat Kumar Padhy
I merely collect dust, slippery mud, crushed leaves, and wilted flowers as everyone rubs his shoes on me. Early morning, the sweeper mercilessly thrashes me on the floor.
temple city
the crowded road leads
to the destination
I prefer to remain calm and quiet. The street dog takes a long look at me when I render him a little bit of comfort of warmth in the winter night.
seaside
the footfalls
in silence
Contemporary Haibun Online, Issue 18.1 April 2022 (Guest Ed. Peter Newton)
Author’s note: This is the moderately revised version of the essay published in The Wise Owl, Walnut & Gold, January 2023.
Pravat Kumar Padhy, a scientist, poet and essayist, is based in Bhubaneswar, India. He obtained his Master of Science and a Ph.D from Indian Institute of Technology, ISM Dhanbad. He is a mainstream poet and a writer of Japanese short forms of poetry. His literary work is cited in Interviews with Indian Writing in English, Spectrum History of Indian Literature in English, Alienation in Contemporary Indian English Poetry, History of Contemporary Indian English Poetry, etc. His poem “How Beautiful” is included in the undergraduate syllabus at the university level. A short collage of video featuring his haiku is included in the school curriculum, The Trier High School, Northfield, Illinois, USA. Pravat’s haiku are featured at Mann Library, Cornell University and “Haiku Wall”, Historic Liberty Theatre Gallery in Bend, Oregon, USA. His tanka appeared in “Kudo Resource Guide”, University of California, Berkeley, and put on rendition in the Musical Drama Performance, ‘Coming Home’, The International Opera through Art Songs, Toronto, Canada. He introduced new forms of poetry: Hainka: fusion of haiku and tanka, Micro-Haiga and Braided Haiku. He served as a panel judge of ‘The Haiku Foundation Touchstone Awards for Individual Poems’ and is on the editorial board of ‘Under the Basho’.
He devotes time to writing scientific papers on ‘Planetary Geology’ and listening to classical music and songs.
Bankim Chandra Tola
“Hey!You are Arun, right?” A lady shopkeeper, maybe over fifty years old, asked me abruptly as I came to her stationery shop, to buy a Goodknight pack in the weekly market near my village. The market is the largest one in our locality where people from about fifty villages gather on Sunday of every week for shopping. In my childhood I used to go to that market every week. But in the last fifty years I had no chance to see that market as I was away from my village for studies, followed by employment. Even if I had made short visits to my home earlier, I could not make it to visit that market.
Unmindfully I responded to her query, “Yes, but tell me whether you have a Goodknight pack to repel mosquitoes?”
No response, she kept on looking at me with a bright smile tinged with a colour of surprise on her pretty, yet slightly shaded face. Market on that Sunday was very busy; two more customers were addressing her with queries whether she had this or that. But she overlooked them and kept on gazing at me.
I felt a bit awkward before the other customers. Suddenly it occurred to me to ask,
“How do you know my name? I have never seen you.”
She just swept away my question and said with a naughty smile, “Don’t you know me? Haven’t you seen me before?”
I looked at her disinterestedly, “I do not remember having met you earlier. Now tell me whether you have a Goodknight pack in your shop; if you have, give me, otherwise I will make a move.”
“Okay Arun Babu, this is your Goodknight”; She handed over a pack to me with sudden change in her tone and manner. Perhaps she thought that I was being rude to her.
Then she asked one of her salesmen to attend to other customers and coming near me said, “Now tell me Arun Babu, did you not study in Madanpur Middle English School about fifty years ago?”
“Yes, but how do you know that”? I replied with a note of surprise.
She was quick to answer, “Because I am from that village and you used to pass in front of my house daily while going to that School.”
“So what?”I was very casual in reply.
“Then you must not have forgotten that girl of around twelve years meeting you daily on your way.”
I felt as if a bolt from the blue came upon me all of a sudden. My memory rolled down fast to scoop the scenes of my school days lying buried in its depth. Soon every bit of past incidents flashed before me as if on a 70mm screen. Suppressing my guilt I said, “Yes, it was a horrible experience for me then. I did not know why that girl was following me. But who was she?”
“Gosh! She was none other than me only. Perhaps you are not able to recognise me. It is not your fault. My bad luck has made me suffer from the cruelty of time so that I stand before you like this. No matter; just tell me how are you and how are your near and dear ones?” She spoke out breathlessly, leaving me confounded.
Truly speaking, I might have cast a cursory glance at that girl coming daily on my way so as to remember her face. Meanwhile about half a century has gone by and it was not at all easy for me to conjure up memories of the past to identify what was appearing before me now.
I was a brilliant student in the class as my teachers used to say. In sixth class I passed by securing first position. I was very obedient to my parents and teachers; I had no time for gossiping with classmates but used to remain engrossed in my studies only. I was also neither flippant nor a fanciful brat like my other classmates who used to flirt with others for nothing.
One day, as I reached Madanpur village on my way to School, a pretty young girl with curly hair suddenly came before me after getting down from the stairs of the veranda of her house and asked me, “Hi, going to School, you are a very bright boy. I heard that you have come first in sixth class.”
Surprised as I was for an abrupt encounter, that too from an unknown girl, I said reluctantly “Yes, but why do you say this?”
As if prepared, she replied promptly, “I have been watching you every day from my veranda when you pass by my house but you have not looked up to see me even once. What a shy chap you are? I preferred to come forward to talk to you directly to make friends.”
I said, “Okay, move from my way now, let me proceed, otherwise I will be late for school.” Then I went away.
In my seventh class I was determined to secure a good rank so that I may get an easy entry into a reputed Govt. High School in my area with free studentship. With that target in view, I did not care for any other matter coming on my way. Although the said girl was stalking me daily standing in her veranda, I never bothered to look at her.
“Oye, where are you? I am asking you something.” The old lady interrupted.
At such a sudden attack I was shaken up and said, “Sorry, I am fine and all others in my family are also okay. Tell me something about you; what does your husband do?”
After asking this question I cursed myself - why did I ask like that? Why did I invite problems for nothing? But she was ready to answer:
“Arun, that is a long story. It is not the right place to narrate. But take it that I have been pulling on somehow. My husband is no more. Only last year he met with a serious accident while coming to market and passed away.”
Saying a big sorry I, once again walked down the memory lane involuntarily to recollect how this woman used to behave as a naughty girl decades ago. One day she boldly stood in front of me as if to block my passage and asked “What have you eaten, do you feel hungry in the School?”
Anybody in my place would have been delighted to see a beautiful girl with a chiseled face appearing close before him to make friendship and chat but I was a different material; I felt awry to see her blocking my road and asking such bogus questions. Without giving a reply I somehow bypassed her and hurried to the school. I thought, why was this girl doing like this? Doesn’t she study or do some household work?
Next day I became a bit cautious to get rid of her coming on my way. I walked very fast to cross her house without looking anywhere. But that naughty girl was not prepared to leave me. I heard some footsteps behind me and as I looked back, I saw she was following me. Out of sheer anxiety I ran to school fast. Luckily the school was declared closed for one week for the Puja festival from that day. I felt relaxed. At least I would not have to face her for a week. But what will happen when the School reopens? I thought and thought and finally decided to change my route, although it was painful.
On the reopening day of School I took a different route connecting Madanpur through another village for which I had to walk for about half an hour more. O God! I have escaped the notice of the girl. Likewise I carried on for about a month. I felt fully relaxed and thought, that monkey shall not trouble me anymore.
Suddenly the old lady interrupted, “Arun! What are you thinking? I am not going to trouble you anymore. I never expected that I would meet you so accidentally. Do you know I was frantically waiting for you to come before me one day and clarify some of my doubts ever since you turned your face against me for which I am mentally stressed. Now that you have come, do clarify to me and I also would like to clarify why I was after you then.”
When she was talking all this, reels of all the past incidents were playing in my mind. I remembered how the days rolled by and my going to school via the new route continued. Gradually I was recovering from that troublesome issue but suddenly one day when I, along with my classmates, was coming out of the School, I saw the girl was standing beside the gate. Shamelessly she came near me and asked, “Why are you playing a hide and seek game with me? But I am not going to leave you like this, be a friend of mine, both of us will be happy.”
Without answering her I walked fast on my way home and did not look back. Thereafter what changes came upon her I do not know, but she did not come to disturb me anymore. I passed out of that School and moved to a High School situated far away from my village as well as Madanpur. There was no chance of any further encounter ith the girl in future. I felt as if I was freed from the clutch of that girl.
Four years in High School passed by merrily and I became a matriculate securing first division. In those days very few students could secure first division in matriculation in remote villages. In that year I was the only student to pass in first division among all the three High Schools in our area covering more than 100 villages.
Currents of good wishes and kudos flowed in from all corners but I was not exalted. On the other hand, I was busy in shifting to our district headquarters town situated at a distance of about 80 kilometres for my college education.
I clearly remember, one day two elderly gentlemen well dressed in Dhoti and Kurta came to my house all of a sudden without prior information. My father was out in the fields but my uncle and grandmother welcomed them to sit. I was doing some work just outside our house. I came closer on seeing these strangers. One of them, after giving their introduction, said to my grandmother, “We have come with a proposal for marriage of our daughter with your grandson. If you agree we will take all responsibility for his future education.”
Upon hearing this, I felt as if the sky had fallen on me. What nonsense! Is it the right age for me to marry?
Child marriage was in vogue in those days in my area situated far away from the towns and cities. My grandmother and uncle did not create a scene, but thanked them and said, “He has just passed matriculation and he has to go a long way. Now it may not be suitable to talk of his marriage.”
Then one among them said, “We are also not in a hurry. If you agree, we will try our best to do everything for building his future.”
I was listening to the conversation standing nearby and at this, I could not restrain myself and bluntly spoke out, “I am not going to build my future on anybody’s grace when my parents are quite capable.”
My uncle immediately interfered and said, “Sorry, let us not proceed further in this regard. In due course, if required, we may inform you but not now.”
The two gentlemen left disappointed. I heaved a sigh of relief. When I came to know that those gentlemen came from the village of Madanpur, it struck me that they must be the relations of that girl who used to follow me four years ago.
“Arun! Where are you? I like to ask you something” The old lady's interruption broke the chain of my thoughts and I became conscious to respond to her. She asked, “Now tell me why were you avoiding me when I was approaching you to make me a friend?”
I said, “It was simple. As a serious student I learnt to keep away from unnecessary friendship and gossips. That too making friendship with an unknown girl was impossible for me those days. So I tried to avoid you.”
Then she said, “Four years thereafter when you passéd matriculation in first division my joy knew no bounds and I was extremely eager to congratulate you but there was no scope for me to see you again. At that time my father was frantically looking for a suitable boy to get me married. I thought it to be the only opportunity to come close to you; so I told my mother that if I was to marry I must marry you.. Accordingly my father and uncle went to your house with the proposal of our marriage. Why did you decline it and made them unhappy?”
“Oh! This was the mystery? Just tell me, as an ambitious student how could I have fallen to the bondage of marriage at such a young age? So I had to interfere and put a full stop to that issue. Do you think I was wrong?”
She calmed down and said with a heavy heart, “Look Arun, there was a reason for me to try to come near you. I wanted to get some positive help.”
“Positive help? What do you mean by that? I don't understand .” I said it with a note of curiosity.
She said after a deep sigh, “Arun, like you I was also a good student. But after passing out of Upper Primary School my father did not allow me to join M.E. School for further studies. I cried and cried for continuing my studies but he wanted that as a girl I must learn household work well so that I would not face any problem after marriage. He was in a hurry to give my hand in marriage with someone of his choice. So I was running after you for help. But you also disappointed me. Had you given me a chance to talk to you I would have disclosed my problem to get some help but you took it otherwise and kept away from me. Then I thought if my father was anxious to get rid of his daughter by giving me in marriage with someone, why not you who could have given me an opportunity to fulfil my desire for getting educated. So I was following you and persuaded my parents to go to your house with the proposal of marriage. Is it clear now?”
Having heard her sorrowful story I felt very sad and guilty. I said, “By the way would you tell me your name, sorry I did not ask you so far?”
“I am Supriya. At least carry my name with you.” she replied sadly.
I said, “Extremely sorry Supriya, at that time I had a different impression about you. Please forgive me if you can. We have already travelled a long journey in our respective lives; now there is no scope to mend it. So please tell me if you need any kind of help at any time, I shall be there to stand by you.”
“Thank you Arun. What more can you help me now? I have everything with me for a decent living but not the mental peace that I could not prosecute my studies for the stupid rural dogmas of treating girls as burdens and throwing them to serve someone’s family after killing all their desires and ambitions. How the rural people are fanatically devoted to this kind of superstitious beliefs! Loook at the way I was sacrificed in the altar of child marriage! This life is lost. What more can I expect from anybody? I am praying to God not to make me a girl child in my next birth. Be happy and if you feel like helping me, at least remember me as an innocent girl who ran after you once upon a time. Good bye.”
Before saying goodbye to Supriya, I felt as if I had committed a crime in the past unknowingly. It was me for whom the life of an innocent, ambitious girl was spoiled. I cursed myself and with a heavy heart I bade her goodbye.
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.
AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Sreechandra Banerjee
“Why does she always have to stay so long on Earth! It is Dashomi (Earthian) today and she is not back home. She must be bounded by “Maya” or illusion! I thought we created “Maya” only for Earthians”, thought God Shiva while he was waiting at the entrance to the carriageway.
“Come back, Honey, why are you taking a long time to leave Earth? The Earthians have already given you a para-Earthly, almost like our Heavenly standards ‘Biswarjan’ and you are still there! Come back soon! Could you vanquish the Demons there on Earth?” asked God Shiva over his cell phone.
“Oh, dear, why do you call me ‘Honey’? like Earthians? You know, ‘Madhu Bata Ritaote, Madhu Ksharanti Shindhava, Madhirno Parthivo Rajo’ and so on and so forth were meant to make the lives of 'Parthivans' or Earthians full of honey like sweetness.” answered Devi Durga.
“What the hell are you still doing there?”
“Now, why are you saying ‘hell’ when we belong to Heaven,” exclaimed the Devi.
“Hell is applicable for us too. If you come late, I’ll send you to hell,” yelled God Shiva.
“Who are you to send me to hell? You, a male chauvinist ………….!”
“Hey, you, don’t utter such nonsense like the Earthians! You know I am the Creator and the Destroyer as well.”
“How dare you say so! You could have done nothing without me. Say that once again and I won’t return. Stay with your Nandi and Bhringi. Men could have done nothing without the help of women, that is applicable for you too!”
“No, Darling, you know you are my whole being. As it is you were away for so long. How can I stay without you? Every year, when you go to your parental home, you forget that I miss you,” Lord Shiva’s voice choked!
“Find another wife then. And why are you waiting for me? Normally you meditate at this hour.”
“You know how much I am missing you. Couldn’t concentrate on meditation. When you are around, I can afford to meditate as you take care of everything. But when you are away……..” Lord Shiva started sobbing.
“I am Mother Nature, I am omnipotent, I am everywhere. I am there also.
Earthians pray to me ‘Ya Devi Sharbabhuteshu, Shaktirupeno Shnagosthita, Namosteshoi, Namosteshoi, Namo, Namohaw’.”
“Yes, Devi, I too need this ‘Shakti’.”
“What’s become of you, you are also calling me Devi.”
“Yes, you are my Devi, too and if I don’t admit it, you will stay there longer.
This power or ‘Shakti’ is what we all need. That’s why you go to earth to make them realize the difference between this real divine ‘Shakti’ and the power ‘Shakti’ that the foolish Earthians fight for,” Lord Shiva was reasonable this time.
“You know, I have a lot to tell you once I reach there. People here are really in the 21st Century.”
“What’s 21st Century? Tell me in our eternal time frame of ‘Mahakal’.”
--“Wait till I reach Kailash.”
“But why are you there for so long!”
“With due respect to your eternal Mahakal, just 5 days!, Actually this year, as per the Earthians’ Almanacs, eighth and ninth lunar days fell on the same solar day and Dashomi was on Saturday. But many didn’t want to immerse me on Saturday and so they deferred till Sunday. So, I am returning late. If I had returned on Saturday, I would have returned by horse. But if it is a Sunday, you know I return by elephant!”, Devi explained.
….And then, finally the Devi arrived at Kailash.
She was down to earth narrating all that had happened there on earth.
“Don’t leave me for so long, darling!”
“How can I dear, you know very well that every time I am down to earth, I return on the 5th day” mumbled Devi Durga as God Shiva embraced her.
--------and They Lived Happily Ever After
(Or till the next Pujas?)
And for Universes to come and Universes to go………………………
------------------------------------------
This story I wrote many years ago. The photo I took at an immersion ceremony of Durga Puja held at my cousin’s house.
Copyright Sreechandra Banerjee. All rights reserved. No part of this article can be reproduced by the express approval of the author.
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.
A TRIBUTE TO JIM: A LOYAL PET FOR 16 YEARS
Gouranga Charan Roul
After taking over charge of KhurdhaCentral Excise and Customs Range on the first week of January in 1996, my first job was to pay a courtesy visit to Sri G.C.Bahubalendrawho - a brilliant officer who excelled in his career to bag the prestigious Presidential Gold Medal for Excellence and Distinguish service for the year 2018. He was the senior inspector of the range, who had met with an accident a fortnight ago and convalescing in his home. I was welcomed by the barking of his cute pet he had adopted a year ago. At the first encounter with the pet, I got enamored and liked its behavior. Bahubalendra babu told me all about the road accident he had been in two weeks ago. He had been advised rest for another week and would resume his duty after the plaster was removed. Meanwhile his pet had crept into the room and was perching on the floor as if listening to our discussion. As its behavior fancied me, Bahubalendra babu suggested me adopting a recent born sibling of Silu-a mixed breed of spitz and pomerian bloodline. I liked the idea and concurred. Since the pup was only seven days young and the size of my palm , he suggested moving him to his new home after a month.
On a fine Sunday, after about a month, thepup arrived majestically escorted by its retinue at my residence in Gajapati Nagar much to the delight of my family members. At the first sight, my daughter Sonali and son Gaurav were very excited as expected. They could not stop cuddling the little creaturethat looked like a bundle of white fur.My wife was delighted as well. It was a grand welcome for the yet to be christened pup. In the evening, we took the pup to a dog care centre at Unit-4 run by Dr. S.K.Rayfor doing the registration and administering anti-rabbis and distempering shots.When the vet enquired about the name and age of the pup for completing the registration, my daughter instantly christened the pup‘Jim’.
Thus, Jim became a family member and began to enjoy the entire house as his playground. He would chase a ball in the portico yapping excitedly, his tail whipping up a storm. He would pull down all the cushions from the sofa and playfully hide behind the heap of cushions.In the beginning, he was fed bread and milk,but in due course, he was weaned away from a puppy’s diet with supply of broths that consisted of chopped vegetables and chicken stock alternatively,with bowls of minced liver.We took care not to include scraps in his food. Occasional home style muttonbiryani proved to be hisdelight. On Sundays or days when we hosted parties, Jim would be in a state of ecstasy,as the aroma wafted throughout the house,he would forsake even his afternoon siesta to hang around the kitchen,hoping to get something, maybe a piece of chicken or lamb from the indulgent and benevolent madam.
As dog parents, our duty was to impart proper training and manners to Jim to behave properly with the visitors. For imparting training, our driver Abhay,volunteered in his spare time. My children would enjoy playing fetch and tug-of-war with Jim on their leisure time.Gradually, with time, Jim began to distinguish the sound of my car from that of others, because his whole body would be wagging a welcome when I drove through the gate into the portico. Soon it became regularity with Jim to come to the verandah leading to the portico, and would wait for a pat from me, and in return would lavish a lick.He was already used to waiting for me to return in the evening, and I believed he could recognize the sound of the car’s engine at some distance. By the time, I drove in, he would be in waiting in the verandah, tailwagging to be picked up for a well-come home kissand lick.Jim started to accompany me in my morning walks to the nearby Sainik school ground when he was six months old and curious as hell to explore. For his protection from the stray street dogs, I used to carry a walking stick which formed a habit with me and continuestill now. Though still a pup,Jim began to be inquisitive,alert,his ears cocked to any new adventure or mischief he could conceive and get up to.He was also discovering a world in which other strange creatures like squirrels,lizards,birds livedand was keen to make their acquaintance. Given his size, the animals first caught his attention were the parks many squirrels. They could run down trees, skip across the grass, and scamper back up the branches in a manner that fascinated Jim. He would bark and chase after them,his rump trembling with excitement, full of accomplishment of victory as he dashed after one,then another,and then another.There was no way he could ever catch one, and it provided him with good exercise, so I used to let him give chase till he was exhausted.Now that he began to gain confidence, his next target was any bird that darted to alight on the ground ahead of him.He would scamper after them,and then bark indignantly when they should fly away. Jim became chaffed with his own importance. After chasing the birds when they would lift off noisily, Jim would turn around to look at me exultantly, as if grinning to say, ’Boss,did you see that? ‘Good boy’, I would say, beckoning him back. As much as Jim liked morning walk in the park,he enjoyed rides in the car even more.After, Abhay my driver-cum trainer left for his home town to get married, I used to driving my car to office and back. When Jim would be taken for a joy ride in the evening or morning or to be taken to the vet for routine distempering shots, he would be happy to enjoy the ride and would look out of the car window excitedly sniffing the outside breeze dashing on his outstretched face, poking his head outside the car window. Least he would leap out of the moving car, when taking Jim out, either my son or daughter would accompany Jim sittingbeside in the back to keep an eye and an outstretched hand for Jim. This might have won us admiring glances from the passersby to see a dog taken on a ride in a car.
For all his bravado, Jim was not the bravest little dog. Sharp sound would startle him.He was not used to arguments at home or on the street, which might have scared him. But nothing frightened him as much as Diwali firecrackers or thunderstorms during monsoon. Generally, fireworks annoy dogs because their hearing is very acute. They cower for shelter not so much out of fear, but because they feel assaulted. Over the period before the Diwali festivities, when children down the street began setting off the stray firecrackers from their hoard,Jim would look for the familiar shelter under the sofa or bed and these would become a temporary home till a few days even after Diwali,when all the pyrotechnics were exhausted.
As I was a morning walk enthusiast, Jim would like to accompany me during my early walk to the Sainik School ground.But during summer, the temperature rising from the morning up to 42 degreesCelsius, we would set out early to avoid scorching sun rays. Still, I would feel the sweat running down in streams which even the cotton T-shirt could not absorb,and Jim his tongue hanging out, looked like he could collapse. But valiantly, he would keep up, matching step for step. For a little dog, he not only had a lot of stamina but also a very strong streak of loyalty.Even though these outings exhausted him, never once did he flinch, and indeed, I would have had a more difficult time keeping him back than taking him along. Back home, I would rehydrate myself with lime water.Jim used to lap up the water from his bowel, but greedily enjoy it most noisily if I would put some ice cubes in the water bowel, and then collapse on the floor next to it.
In this way almost 14 years passed smoothly. On the beginning of 2011, Jim developed a wart like lump on his back which was increasing in size day by day.It gradually turned into a sore and started bleeding at times when Jim would rub his back against the door. One Sunday when I was giving a bubble bath, to my utter shock I discovered some maggots in itsoozing wound. Being worried for Jim’s health,took him to the vet Dr.Ray,in the evening.After a thorough check up, the vet diagnosed the wart as a benign tumor and advised immediate surgery to root out the unhealthy growth. Jim was administered anesthesia and the wart was removed by incisive surgery. Jim bore his lot stoically and did not whimper during the entire operation.After the operation was over, when Jim came to sense, I sat talking to him affectionately and he would only look up pathetically, as if to ask, “What is wrong with me? Will I be all right? I will get okay, won’t I?”My entire family prayed that Jim would, indeed, get okay. To our great relief, Jim after convalescing for a week was fit to resume morning walk with a lethargic space.
In January2012, Jim almost completed 16 years and looked worn-out and couldn’t move out of the house compound, let alone walking in the street with me. He couldn’t enjoy normal food. Seeing his famished condition, in consultation with the vet, I supplemented his food with multivitamins. But Jim would like to savour the mutton broth which was specially prepared for him. We nourished him with care hoping Jim could regain his health and run with me further till my retirement on 31st July. But fate willed otherwise. On 30thJune before starting for office, I arranged his bed in the verandah adjacent to the portico and draped my Kashmir shawl on the bedridden Jim for his comfort and beg leave for my office and drove out my car for office.Jim tried to raise his head with difficulty to have a look at my moving car. I had barely driven for 5 minutes when I received a call from my wife informing that Jim is extremely restless and seemed to be searching for me. She knew Jim had very little time leftand asked me to return immediately. I took less than 5 minutes to reach my home. Sony was insistent that Jim had sensed my presence. He certainly seemed to have had more than a dog’s sixth sense when it came to recognizing the sound of my car. Just as I reached the point from where his ears usually picked up the car’s sound, Sony my wife said, Jim had barked violently, then jerked, and was no more.
In the fleeting moments immediately after his passing away, and seeing him lifeless before me, I could sense the jigsaw puzzles of his life fitting together before my eyes-his playfulness as a puppy,his growing affection for me, his attachment, faithfulness, and his wisdom. His life span had played out before me as a conscious adult, and the guardian of the property for long 16 years. Shutting his eyes with my hands, I called upon Suna, the caretaker during our absence, and Mahendra, a software professional who resides in my roof top room,and endeared Jim,to collect all Jim’s favorite toys and his feeding bowels,and his bed and to remove the collar belt and to wrap up Jim with the Kashmir shawl.After my family members had a final look and bid tearful farewell, I drove Jim on his final journey,accompanied by Suna, andMahendra carrying shovels. I hadalready selected the mango orchard behind the University campus, for his resting place under the shaded mango trees forming just like a green canopy, very close to my house that, for long sixteen years had been his home.Suna selected a secluded place under a big mango tree and dug a hole where, surrounded by his favorite toys, and packed in salt for early decomposition of his mortal remains, we laid Jim solemnly to rest. I planted a hibiscus sapling, which Mahendra had collected, in Jim’s memory.The sky was laden when his inert form was lowered into the grave by Suna and Mahendra.Suna took the burial responsibilities as he loved Jim very much and scattered soil over the wrapped form till there was nothing visible of Jim. As I put final handful of soil into the grave, few drops of tears were dropped on the grave, the final resting place of Jim, our love for last sixteen years who had blessed me with 16 years of his life.
Barely a fortnight after Jim’s departure from our life, a street dog, who had been watchingusenviously during our morning walk regimen near the hotel Anganin the Sainik School square, was drawn to me and lay prostrate on my path showing his belly. I felt sympathetic towards the dog and began to feed him with biscuits and occasionally with leftover rotis from my kitchen and gave him the name- Jim to enliven the fond memory of my departed pet. Interestingly for me, the second adopted pet, proved to be a faithful, well behaved, peace loving canine and equally endeared by the passersby and the hotel guards. Perhaps the age-old human-canine bonhomiestill continues between man and dog, since beginning of the world.
Gouranga Charan Roul (gcroul.roul@gmail.com)
The author, after completing post graduate studies in political science from Utkal University, Odisha in 1975, worked as a senior intelligence sleuth in the department of Customs, Central Excise & Service Tax and retired as senior superintendent. As a staunch association activist, he used to hold chief executive posts either as General Secretary or President of All India Central Excise Gazetted Executive Officer's Association, Odisha for 20 years. Presently in the capacity of President of Retired Central Excise Gazetted Executive Officer's Association, Odisha, coordinating the social welfare schemes of the Association. Being a voracious reader, taking keen interest in the history of India, Africa, Europe and America. In his globe tottering spree, widely travelled America and Africa. At times contributing articles to various magazines.
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
Gandara was notorious for his villainous activities and obnoxious features. He maintained a powerful gang to reach his cherished goal of becoming the richest man in the region. He as the gang leader decided to rob the innocent people of their treasures in a village. It was a wealthy village called Aishwaryapur on which he had an eye. He always dreamed of owning all the treasures of the village.
Aishwaryapur was famous for its variety of invaluable treasures. It was overflowing with money as it had affluent natural resources. The lands of the village were very fertile and were ever lush-green with various crops. The crops were grown to yield highly in the fertile fields. The dwellers of the village erected high mansions to live in according to their wishes and enjoyed all amenities and comforts. As their companions, the birds settled in cozy nests on the trees of the village. Their chirping of melodies woke them up well before dawn, reminding them of their duties in the fields. The landscape around the village was so fascinating that the villagers were very much delighted with the verdant charms.
It rained three times a month in the village, Aishwaryapur. The tanks and artisan wells were to the brim as it rained sufficiently. They never knew the drought in that area, especially in Aishwaryapur. The villagers had all treasures in full measure each to their credit. All lived independently and happily as they were self-sufficient in many respects. They hardly had a need to depend on one another. They had the treasures of all except that of unity among themselves. Gandara was a spy upon the villagers to multiply his treasures.
One day Gandara went to Aishwaryapur along with his gang of thieves in the bright daylight to wage a raid on the richest man’s house for the seizure of gold and treasures. The owner, Ramaiah was sincere and hardworking in the performance of his duties, but he did not know how to get help from others in times of unexpected situation. He cried hoarsely as they were beating him black and blue to loot his riches. He was very much scared of their weapons. Without any protest, he gave them whatever they demanded. The other villagers watched all this without any protest. They were indifferent to his suffering. They conjectured that they would be free from such raids in the future as Gandara did not appear in the village.They were otherwise happy for nothing had happened to them.
Subsequently Ramaiah lived a miserable life as he promised to fulfill Gandara’s heartless conditions by giving him fifty percent of his income every year. Someday Gandara again appeared with his gang in Aishwaryapur to rob the treasures of another rich man, Somaiah of his valuable treasures, and grains from his stores. All the gang men manhandled him brutally, expressing their demands:
“Bring all and present us whatever you have saved so far as your treasures.”
Somaiah shook with fear and surrendered whatever he had saved all the years. Gandara grinned with utmost delight at the sight of all valuables in his hands. He happily left Aishwaryapur with the treasures of Somaiah. All the others witnessed this from distance as silent spectators. They thought that there would not be any theft in their houses.
As Gandara did not appear for some days, the rest of the rich villagers became sure of not losing their treasures. One fine morning, Gandara was again seen with his muscularly strong gang before another rich man’s house and called the owner with his voice at a high pitch,
“My dear Prakasham, I hope you know why we have come to you. Don’t waste my time. People say that you have sold all your grains and brought ornaments for your wife. Bring the ornaments soon.”
Prakasham shook with fear but told them a lie that his wife had gone to a neighbouring village to attend a marriage, wearing all the ornaments. Immediately Gandara, the gang leader hit him with his stick on his shoulder and the other gang men followed him to do so. When Prakasham was not able to bear their unbearable blows any longer, he went inside and brought all the valuables and ornaments. He surredered them to Gandara and kept mum with folded hands. Then Gandara said,
“Now you’ve understood what I am…who I am. To go against me is to go against the mightiest monarch. Don’t forget this at any moment.”
The gang took all the valuables with them, quitting the village soon in a jolly mood. Hiding behind the doors, the rest of rich people and others saw them while going with jewelry and money They were indifferent and so there was no protest against Gandara from their side.
Such incidents became very common in the village. It was Gandara alone who robbed almost all the rich of their valuables. He enjoyed the well-trained company of his gang. He was matchless for his seizure in the broad daylight and in the presence of all the indifferent villagers. They had no unity among themselves and no knowledge of how to live a safe life.
One after the other, all the villagers were becoming victims to Gandara as mild deer become victims to the lion in the forest. He was successful in all his resorts of transporting all the treasures of almost all the people of Aishwaryapur to the palace built for his royal pleasures.
Gandara had a master plan in his mind. He wanted to rise to the heights of the most elevated position with all wealth. For that, he planned to own the whole of Aishwaryapur and make all the villagers his slaves to work for his prosperity. He attacked them one after the other to reach his goal. He continued to do so as they had indifference and insensitivity to others’ suffering. He was sure of owning the whole treasures of the people at Aishwaryapur.
The villagers were mindful of their duties but were deprived of all the pleasures as Gandara robbed them of their sweat. They were leading their lives with their faces faded and hearts broken. They realized that they had been cheated by him but never felt that they lacked the most essential unity among themselves in the solution of their problem.
Time in its endless passage brought about a great awakening in the people of aishwaryapur one fine evening on the eve of Vijaya Dashami, Dussehra. They enjoyed all the tasty and delicious food items and wore new dresses on that occasion. They came out in the evening and worshipped the “jammi” tree. They hugged one another exchanging their golden gifts of “jammi” leaves. Whenever they thought of the ritual of the killing of Ravana, a raxasa with ten heads on the occasion, they were reminded of Gandara with one head of nasty looks. As per customs and traditions, they had to have the darshan of the bird, ‘garuda’, the bearer of Vishnu, ‘pala’, Indian roller-blue jay, the bird of good omen and the small blackbird. They were keen on looking at the trees to have the darshan of the three birds. The fields all around the village were lush-green and appealing to their hearts. They expected bumber crops. They heard the birds around singing in ecstasy.
While all the villagers were curiously watching the birds to glimpse the birds and offer their prayers to them on the Dussehra festive occasion, they witnessed a hunter, carrying a cage with young birds. All the parent-birds in large numbers attacked the hunter all together as their collective effort to set the young ones in the cage free. They attacked his face with their claws and pierced his eyes with their beaks while crying aloud to let other birds know their attempt in saving the young ones. Many birds, in response to their cry joined them in their attack on the hunter. All the birds inflicted numerous wounds on his face. He could not prevent them from doing further. As he had no way left except to set the young birds in the cage free. The attack of birds was so piercing and horrifying that he could not face the united attack of all the birds any longer.
All the villagers with their eyes wide open in surprprise witnessed the sight of the attack of the birds on the hunter. The birds were successful in freeing their young ones. The villagers appreciated the birds for their unity and collective effort in thwarting the hunter. On that occasion, birds’ success in freeing the young birdies from the hunter’s cage was an object lesson for the people. They were happy for their enlightening them to have unity on their part like the birds. They understood that they would achieve if they had unity among themselves. The wise idea, dawned in their minds at the sight of the birds, laid a foundation for their success on the auspicious occasion of Vijaya Dashami, Dussehra. They made up their minds to attack Gandara in the future like the birds. They later had the darshan of the three holy birds and offered prayers to them. Finally, they witnessed the burning of Ravana’s effigy in the festive twilight and went home in pleasant moods. They had the idea of protesting Gandara, dawned at the sight of the birds in success.
One day all the women of all ages thronged the well of drinking water in the usual way. While they were filling their pitchers with drinking water, they spoke to each other about Gandara’s thefts. First, the wife of Ramaiah said,
“I’m without ornaments now. My heart is crying for the loss of ornaments. The raxasa Gandara looted all my treasures, leaving me pitiable. He made me look like a servant-maid.”
The wife of Somaiah responded forthwith with full of tears in her eyes and expressed her profound feelings, hugging Ramiah’s wife:
“I was ravishingly beautiful like an angel when I wore my resplendent ornaments. Now I’m like a beggar-maid. As you know, my presence was scintillating in those times on festive occasions earlier. All turned their faces to gaze at my rich ornaments with their eyes with rapt attention. Now I must be satisfied with the recollection of my past glory,”
Mrs. Prakasham joined them in their chitchat with her heart-felt responses by saying.
“Gandara is the dirtiest fellow on earth. He snatched away all our ornaments to please his greediest wife. The rogue was born to have turned us poor. My ceremonial appearance disappeared with the appearance of the bastard Gandara in my house for his seizure.”
Like that many women expressed their feelings from their hearts’ cores. They cursed Gandara in various ways. They all recalled his roguery when they glanced at Janaki whose marriage was scheduled the next month. She scintillated like the lighyning amidst dark clouds as her rich adornments of all kinds of ornaments drew the attention of all the women at the well of drinking water. They said referring to Janaki,
“Janaki’s father is the most fortunate man in the village because Gandara did not come to his house for robbing him of the treasures his daughter wore.”
Almost all the women burst into tears while recalling not only the notorious Gandara’s thefts but also his ugly features and raven-like appearance. They compared his atrocities with those of Ravana. They wished that his atrocities should come to an end in the event of his death soon.
While the women were filling their pitchers with drinking water at the well, Gandara suddenly appeared with his gang as if he were invited there for his gracious presence. His sudden appearance scared all the women away. They were running panic-stricken. He said to his followers, pointing to a marriageable girl with all ornaments amidst the crowds:
“Look at that the beautiful girl with a silver pitcher in her hand and various ornaments to her ears, neck, and nose. See how she is shining! She is glowing like an angel. Go and fetch her without any loss of time.”
The gang of thieves ran after her to catch hold of her. The men of Aishwaryapur who had had fears all these years witnessed this scene while recalling the attack of the birds on the hunter to save the young ones on Vijaya Dashami, Dussehra. They leant that Gandara had come and ran home. They all together brought hatchets, axes and knives in their hands forthwith. They were after Gandara and his gang in the most ferocious mood, as they could not bear any more atrocities thereafter. The gangsters of Gandara, who had been after Janaki, ran panic stricken with bruises and wounds on their bodies.
The next day all the villagers met and resolved unanimously to wage a raid with all hatchets, axes and knives on Gandara’s palace. In the mood of exasperation, they assaulted Gandara all together. He took to his heels with his wife and children. They beat him and his followers black and blue. They seized all the valuables from his house and shared them among themselves after going back to Aishwaryapur.
They regained almost all that they had lost. The women appreciated their husbands for their victory, particularly for their chivalry, saying,
“You are indeed our husbands with all courage… We all love you from the bottom of our hearts”.
Thereafter the villagers were happy by living together with wise understanding of the true meaning of human life that lies in their unity. They had decisions unopposed to face all kinds of atrocities like those of Gandara audaciously. “Divided we fall; united we stand” became the principle in their lives for their well-being and prosperity.
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
Dr. Viyatprajna Acharya
Remembering the bicycle days, when a scooter crossed by my side splashing water on me and I craved for a Scooty, a scooteret, very famous among girls and women because unlike motor bikes and scooters, it had a more feminine look and the danger of dupatta or saree getting entangled in the wheels was not there. During internship got a scooty and felt highly privileged.
Family expanded and it happened so that my Scooty wreaked with the load of my elder daughter as a toddler, my maid, 2 heavy bags on the footboard ....now a new thought usurped in mind-- it is time to get a car. God fulfilled that desire too. Not just one but as and when requirement arose, kept on changing cars from geared ones to automated one too. In US, experienced the pleasure of riding higher end luxury cars too.
Traffic increased and it took at times almost one hour to cross a meagre 3 km distance; Now back to scooty and sped through bustling roads to reach the destination faster. At times swerved my little angel through narrow gullies of Shikharchandi basti and reached in time for work.
Back home found 2 tiers of lipidaemic deposits on my abdomen. Came back to my fitness pal...my bicycle.
THUS THE CIRCLE COMPLETES ...In Odia, the quote goes as “khada badi thoda, thoda badi khada...” as and when we have to change ourselves and find ourselves where we started once and we come about a complete circle.
The entire movement, the life, is our own creation. Our life movements are like that of a fan, going round and round indefinitely. Farther from the centre, more is the movement. Thus, though the angular distance covered by all the points are same, the actual movement is more at the periphery, on the blades and least at the centre. The only way out is to get out as a trajectory or get into the centre. Farther from the centre, more is the restlessness. More towards the centre, the restlessness comes down and finally zeroes at the core of it, at the atom point. Now it is up to us to choose restlessness at the periphery of the cycle or peace and calm at the centre.
Dr. Viyatprajna Acharya is a Professor of Biochemistry at KIMS Medical College, who writes trilingually in Odia, English and Hindi. She is an art lover and her write-ups are basically bent towards social reforms.
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: ABOUT A BOOK THAT SHATTERED SILENCE
Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik
For any big revolutionary changes in the society, such changes are generally linked to wars, riots, political campaigns and struggles, violent or peaceful, but books also play in certain crucial junctures a pivotal role in making the great changes in mind for the betterment of the society. It makes society to wake up, see new reality and act accordingly. Here we are talking about a book that revolutionised thinking and opened the eyes to a grim reality, that was evident in the early 1960s. “Silent Spring”— is the book that stirred the winds of change and awakened the world to environmental perils!
Rachel Carson the author of “Silent Spring” was a biologist who was already celebrated for her lyrical trilogy on the ocean, but “Silent Spring” was different. Instead of celebrating nature, she sounded an urgent alarm. Her focus? The indiscriminate use of chemical pesticides, particularly the infamous insecticide DDT. This stuff had been hailed as a hero during World War II for killing disease- spreading insects. But Carson wasn’t buying it. She called these chemicals “elixirs of death” and warned that we were living too closely with them—eating, drinking, and absorbing them into our very bones.
Carson wrote for the masses, not just the scientific elite. Housewives, farmers, and curious minds alike were shocked by what they learned. She believed people had a right to know the risks they faced. Carson drew a brilliant parallel: pesticide contamination and nuclear fallout. Both invisible threats, both silently seeping into our lives. She framed them as siblings, helping the public grasp that even if you couldn’t see the danger, it was there. Imagine her saying, “Hey, folks, pesticides are like sneaky radiation—both can harm you without a warning label.” The book carefully explained how DDT got into the food chain, built up in the fat of animals (including humans), and led to cancer and genetic problems.
Carson had done great research, collecting data scientifically. Her hard work paid off. Knowing the chemical industry would push back, she prepared Silent Spring like a lawyer, including 55 pages of notes and expert reviews. Many top scientists supported her, and President John F. Kennedy asked his Science Advisory Committee to investigate the issues in the book. Their report fully backed both Carson and her work. This led to stricter government control of DDT, which was later banned. The public debate quickly shifted from questioning if pesticides were harmful to figuring out which ones were, placing the responsibility on manufacturers to prove their safety.
The biggest impact of Silent Spring was that it made people realize nature could be harmed by human actions. Carson suggested something bold: sometimes, technological progress goes against nature so much that it needs to be stopped. Before this, most people didn’t care much about protecting the wilderness. But the dangers she described—like polluted food, cancer, genetic damage, and species dying out ,and the valley going silent even during spring time as birds and grasshoppers had died due to the impact of poisonous pesticides —were too serious to ignore. For the first time, people widely accepted the idea that industries need to be regulated to protect the environment, leading to the birth of environmentalism. Her warning was serious : If you poison Nature , Nature will poison you .
“Silent Spring” wasn’t just a book; it was a manifesto. It whispered to our collective conscience: “Wake up, Earthlings!” When “Silent Spring” hit the shelves, it was like a literary comet. The New Yorker ran excerpts, and readers were hooked. By fall 1962, it was an instant bestseller. Over 100,000 hardcover copies flew off the shelves in the first three months. Within two years, more than a million copies had found homes.
So, next time we hear a bird’s song or smell the earth after rain, tip our hats to Rachel Carson. She gave us more than a book; she gave us a symphony of awareness.
Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik hails from Cuttack,Odisha and is a young IT professional working as a Team Lead with Accenture at Bangalore.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
“May I come in Sir?”
I looked up from the report I was reading. It was my first day in the office – as the Director of Textiles. I kept staring, wide-eyed, mouth open, speechless. The young lady standing at the door was the most beautiful woman I had seen in my life. With a light yellow saree, a matching blouse, a small bindi on the forehead, and a faint smile on the face - she looked every inch the stunner that she was.
In a minute or so, I collected myself and stood up, assuming she must be another officer like me. She entered the room.
“Sir, please don’t get up. I am Jharna, your Personal Assistant”.
I sat down, a mild sense of joy slowly spreading in my being, like a soft glow of light.
“Come Jharna, the Head Clerk had told me that he will assign you to me. ‘The boss should have the best sir’, that’s what he had told me. But I find he was making an understatement. You are even better than the best.”
“Sir, you haven’t seen my work, how do you pass such a judgment?”
Jharna looked at me, a naughty smile playing on her dainty lips. She had the self-assurance of a person who was conscious of the power of her beauty and wit.
I was a bit embarrassed, caught unawares. She tried to put me at ease.
“Sir, don’t worry, you will have no reason to complain about my work. I have earlier worked as P.A. to the Directors for more than eight years. Only your predecessor kept a male P.A. because he wanted to work late in the office.”
“Don’t tell me you have been in this office for more than ten years!”
“Yes sir.”
“I can’t believe it! You look like a just-out-of-the-college young girl!”
Jharna giggled like a just-out-of-the-college young girl. I felt a new radiance spread over her, making her look even more ravishing.
“Sir, before you joined, everyone said you are a very smart officer. Now I know why.”
Jharna went out of the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off her retreating figure. I felt as if the room had been flooded with a dazzling light a few minutes earlier, and suddenly became desolate and forlorn after she left. For the next five days, time flew by and I was not aware of anything other than Jharna’s overpowering presence in my life. In my college days I had read a story about a magnificent obsession. What I felt for her was way beyond that.
In the evenings at home I wanted time to take new wings and fly by, so that morning would come quickly and I would rush to office to be with Jharna. Looking at my eagerness to get ready and leave for office, my wife Madhavi was impressed. She complimented me for getting a good, interesting assignment after a long time.
At the office I wanted to spend every single minute in the company of Jharna. On some pretext or the other I called her to my room many times a day. I kept dictating memos, most of which were quite unnecessary. During dictation, I took long pauses between sentences, just to make her stay longer in the room so that I could gaze at her radiant beauty. Half an hour before five, my mind would drown in a suppressed sadness, with the unbearable prospect of parting company with her for seventeen long hours, till ten o’ clock next morning.
My eyes never left her face for the entire duration when she was in my room. I pretended to concentrate on the words for dictation, but the mind kept floating in a mild concoction of intoxicating desire. In other words, I – Abinash Ray, a seasoned man of the world, a responsible husband of ten years and a doting father of a loving son, a senior officer with a brilliant track record - simply lost myself in a haze of unruly obsession. Deep feelings of unfulfilled passion swept over me and like the slipping sand under retreating waves, my feet kept sinking into a swamp of boundless insanity.
Jharna was truly one-in-a-million kind of girl. When she entered the room, with her slim body draped in a chiffon saree, hair neatly in place with a few tufts blowing in the wind, a small dot on the forehead, a faint hint of kajal in the eyes, and a light dash of powder on the cheeks, one had the illusion of a silent lightning leaving a lasting glow in the air. And interestingly, she knew the kind of effect she had on people, and her ability to break a heart into million pieces and join them together with her deft touch.
And deft she was, in everything she did. Quick in dictation, flawless in typing, polite in conversation, she was efficiency personified. In no time Jharna learnt about my friends and talked to them so nicely that out of curiosity they dropped in from time to time, like tourists going to visit a monument, and on some pretext or other started chatting with her. After a few visits my classmate Radhakant told me,
“You are lucky Abinash; throughout the day you get to drink the sweet water from Jharna, the lovely fountain; but when we come to meet you we have to be satisfied with only a cup of tea!”
Although I pretended to be irritated by such innuendo, secretly I felt happy, as if I was the sole owner of a rare artifact, which everyone else envied.
Within a month of my joining the new post, my life went haywire. I kept thinking of Jharna all the time - at home, in the office - while taking a walk, while humming during the bath and even while doing the morning prayers! A sweet intoxication gripped me all the time, while talking to her, teasing her, or admiring her work. I started asking the driver to drive fast on the way to office, lest I get delayed and lose ten minutes of my seven hours with Jharna.
For all meetings outside the office I kept deputing the Joint Directors. In the office I delegated work to others. Everyone said, ‘look at the new Director, what a great administrator, he wants to build so much confidence in the subordinates!' I told everyone, ‘boss is the ultimate authority. Only if a problem goes beyond the competence of the JDs, I will interfere. Otherwise let them handle responsibilities’. Another act of greatness! Nobody suspected that I was only looking for an excuse to palm off work to others so that I can spend more time with Jharna on the pretext of giving dictation!
In my previous posting I used to go home for lunch. Now I started getting lunch to the office. Madhavi asked,
“O my God! You have to work so hard in the new job?”
I nodded and added,
“Yes, but frankly speaking, I want to avoid coming home. You are already into the seventh month of pregnancy. You should take rest. I don’t want you to get disturbed.”
“You really care so much for me!”
“Of course I care! You are my one and only wife. Who else should I care for?”
“Then give me a tight hug and show me how much you care!”
Madhavi came very close. I tried to escape.
“Oh, please let me go, I am getting late for the office!”
I ran away to office, hiding the truth from Madhavi – it was not my devotion to duty, but my crazy obsession for Jharna that dragged me to office! Madhavi had gained a lot of weight during pregnancy – her bloated body repelled me these days. I had started sleeping in our son Mridul’s bedroom now a days. When Madhavi questioned me, I told her, I must avoid sleeping with her so that no harm came to the baby by my accidentally putting a leg or two on her stomach!
And strangely, I had no guilt, losing myself in sweet dreams about Jharna, despite Madhavi sleeping in the next room.
More than two months had passed since I joined the new office. Jharna had become quite free with me while talking. She told me about Gagan, her husband, who worked as a clerk in HDFC Bank. And about her cute little daughter, the five year old Aparna, who loved to talk, who saw a lot of things in her dream every night and spent half an hour in the morning, giving every detail to Jharna, sometimes making her late for the office.
I took every opportunity to shower praise on her and she simply loved it. A smile of content spread over her dimpled cheeks and I felt she was imploring me through her soft eyes, ‘Sir, please keep talking to me, say those nice things again and again, I am dying to hear them from you!’.
In turn she would admire my manners, my kind heart and most of all my impeccable English. “Sir, you must have been the topper in English literature in your university. Your English is so perfect!”
I would feel hugely elated, hearing those words. I felt like telling her, Jharna, so many people have praised me for my good English in the past. But coming from you, it assumed a new beauty and gave me a rare thrill.
My wife Madhavi was in a very advanced stage of pregnancy now – the expected date was only three weeks away. She hardly moved out, and the time had come to book a room in the nursing home for her.
Suddenly on Wednesday evening, I was about to leave the office for home, when a letter came from the government, nominating me to attend the TexExpo at Paris starting next Thursday. First I thought I would refuse, but then, I had never been to Paris and the trip was only for four days including journey time. I decided to opt for it.
I remembered, my last foreign tour was to Australia, two years back. Since I was travelling in club class where the companion ticket was free, Madhavi had come with me, leaving four years old Mridul with my in-laws. We had enjoyed a lot. At the Sydney beach we were taking a stroll romantically, hand in hand, when an old couple had beamed at us and asked, “Newly married couple?” Out of mischief we had nodded our head!
This time Madhavi was not in a position to travel. The free companion ticket would go waste. Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, an idea came to my mind. Why not ask Jharna? May be she will agree to come, since there is no expense involved. Ah! If Jharna came with me to Paris, all the joys of the world would fade in comparison! It would be pure bliss!
The thought of Jharna and me in Paris gripped my mind like a vise. The more I thought about it, the more attractive the idea appeared to me. But when I reached home and looked at Madhavi, the expectant mother, my heart sank with guilt. For the next few hours my mind moved back and forth between Jharna and Madhavi. Like a pendulum it swung between excitement and guilt, joy and despair
Three times during the night I got up from my bed and went to Madhavi’s room, stood near her and kept looking at her peaceful face, adrift in her own twinkling dreams of a stable life, a mature, steady husband, a loving son, and a new baby on its way. The third time I stood near her bed, she suddenly opened her eyes and saw me,
“What! What happened? Why are you standing here?”
For a moment I was startled, but composed myself.
“Nothing. I am just worried for you. You are in such an advanced stage now. I want to make sure every thing is ok.”
Madhavi pulled me to her side.
”For so long you have not slept near me. Please lie down here for sometime. I always find your presence so reassuring.”
She wrapped her hand around me, put her head on my shoulder and went off to sleep, a soft, calm confidence on her face. I felt a deep sense of love and kindness for her and decided to drop the idea of inviting Jharna for the Paris trip.
But when I reached office in the morning, I was again a changed man. By some strange coincidence, Jharna had put on the yellow saree with small green flowers, the one with which she had stunned me on my first day in office. When she entered the room in her usual dazzling way, and said “good morning sir”, my heart leapt up and got stuck in my throat. With a choking voice I asked her to sit.
“Jharna, government has nominated me to attend the TexExpo at Paris starting next Thursday. You have to arrange visa, ticket and foreign exchange.”
Jharna squealed in excitement.
“Paris, sir! You are really lucky. Going to Paris, the loveliest city on earth!”
Before I could control myself I blurted out,
“Jharna, why don’t you come with me to Paris? The lovely city will feel like a paradise with your presence.”
“Me? How can I come sir?”
“Look Jharna, I will travel by club class where the companion ticket is free. So there is no cost on travel. Out of my allowance I will book a room for you. It is a matter of only three days there. We will enjoy a lot. I can assure you, we will make it truly memorable for us.”
“Sir, let me ask Gagan. I doubt if he will agree. I will also have to persuade our daughter Aparna to spend four days with my mother. Is it ok if I tell you tomorrow?”
“O yes, tomorrow is fine, but let’s not delay beyond that. There is lot of planning involved. We have to find an airline which will offer a free companion ticket in club class, get the visa and complete lots of formalities.”
“Yes sir, I understand. I will tell you tomorrow for sure. What are the things worth seeing in Paris sir?”
“O, there are lots of places to see, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc d’ Triomph and many more. We will walk down the lovely avenues, see the monuments and watch the river Seine flowing into eternity. I am told there are artists near the Louvre museum who will make you sit before them and produce a sketch of yours in ten minutes. But I am sure even the best artists in the world can’t capture your beauty. You are simply superb, as beautiful as Paris!”
Jharna’s eyes shone with a new excitement, both at the comparison and the likely prospect of visiting Paris. She left the room in a dreamlike state, weaving fantasies of Paris. With a light head I also found myself dreaming of Paris, a city I had never seen and never dreamt to see in the company of a stunning girl like Jharna. My heart gradually came out and started floating, moving from the potted plant to the lovely painting and then to the framed photograph of Konark – as if it was an innocent butterfly which had lost its sense after drinking a few sips of red wine.
But when I reached home that evening a new uncertainty gripped me, with hope and despair playing hide and seek in my mind. Will Gagan agree to let Jharna go? Will Aparna agree to stay with her grand mother? I didn’t feel like eating my dinner. I was restless.
After Madhavi and Mridul went off to sleep, I came to the living room and started pacing the floor listlessly. Will Jharna come? Will she, won’t she? I found myself greatly agitated. Suddenly I had an idea. I took out a coin and thought of going for a toss – head, she would comes; tail, she wouldn’t. Taking care not to wake up Madhavi, I tossed the coin on the carpet, and lo and behold, it was head! O my God, she would be coming! Jharna would be coming with me! Yes, yes, yes! I pumped my hand in the air three times and went off to sleep, happy that I was probably the luckiest man in the world!
Next morning I was in the office by nine thirty, waiting eagerly for Jharna. When she didn’t reach by ten, her usual time, I took it to be a bad omen. Probably she had a fight with Gagan over the issue and would disappoint me. At ten past ten, she entered the room. Even before she could say her customary ‘Good morning Sir’, I shot the question at her.
“So, what’s your decision?”
She smiled.
“Initially Gagan was reluctant. But when I told him you are going to book a separate room for me out of your allowance, he agreed: ‘Lucky you! Go and see the most beautiful city on earth! Don’t worry, enjoy. We will manage here. Such opportunities don’t come often.’ And Aparna agreed to stay with my mom, on the condition that I bring ten pieces of chocolate and four toys for her!”
I started seeing stars and moons in the room. I felt like jumping up and down and doing a jig. But somehow I restrained myself.
“Sir, give me your passport. I will arrange for your visa. Last year I had got a passport for myself just before the elections because I didn’t have the Voter’s ID Card. I will apply for my visa also. I have already checked from the internet. Swissair offers free companion ticket in Club class. I have already blocked a ticket for you and put my name as companion”.
Jharna looked at me archly, a playful smile on her lovely face.
“I hope you approve sir?”
“Yes, of course, why are you asking that?”
“Sir, your room is booked in Hotel Cascade. Let me also book a room for myself in the same hotel by using your credit card, if you permit.”
I hesitated for a few seconds.
“Jharna, I have never been to Paris, but my friend Ajit had gone there last year. I had checked with him last evening. He says it will be better to book a room on the spot. Since the hotel management will not like the room to go unoccupied, they will offer heavy discount. We will get it at half the cost.”
For a fleeting moment Jharna’s face clouded with a shade of doubt. Next moment it passed.
“Ok sir, you are right. After all, you are going to spend out of your allowance. So let’s save as much as possible. That will leave us more money to roam around in Paris.”
Jharna left the room. There was a new spring in her walk. For the next two days we kept making plans for the trip, the places to visit, the things to eat and the evenings to spend on the bank of river Seine. From the internet Jharna downloaded information on all the important monuments of Paris and was truly excited about all of them, like a child about to visit a circus for the first time.
“Sir, it seems there are vineyards on the outskirts of Paris and visitors are offered sips of wine to taste. Will you take me there sir? I want to taste wine for the first time in my life and that too straight from a vineyard! Wow, that’s really exciting!”
?I promised to Jharna all the joy and pleasure a trip of three days could offer in the loveliest city on earth. We were lost in our own personal world of fantasies.
We were to leave for Delhi at two in the afternoon of Wednesday and take the Swissair flight at midnight from there.
I booked a room for Madhavi in a nursing home in case she needed to go there in my absence. Her two brothers promised to take care of her till I returned. On Tuesday night Madhavi told me,
“You are going away for five days. I will miss you badly. Please be with me for the night. Put Mridul to sleep and come. We will talk late into the night.”
Long past midnight when I came to Madhavi’s bed, she had gone off to sleep. I lay down next to her. I had a restless night, sleeping in fits and starts. Towards early morning I drifted to a deep slumber and had a dream. In my dream I went to the Himalayas, and then to my village where I had spent my childhood. Finally I found myself in a deep forest, driving a jeep, a rifle in my hand, on a hunting trip.
I spotted a beautiful female deer in the distance. Ah, what a beauty, God has made her for me and me only! I lifted the rifle, took aim and was about to fire, when she ran away. I felt sad, have I lost her? I kept driving and spotted her again, at peace with herself, grazing quietly, her beautiful head bowed to the ground.
I fired a shot at her. Suddenly from nowhere a cub came near her and the next moment, fell on the ground, hit by my bullet. The deer lifted her head, and went still. She looked in my direction. I could clearly see a drop of tear in her enticing eyes, the kind of eyes only a stunningly cute deer could have! She was telling me; kill me, if you must. Spare my cubs, please!
I felt mad. How could the cub come between me and my lovely deer? She was mine and only mine. I would take her. Nobody could stop me!
I lifted my rifle again and fired. Again another cub jumped forward and fell to the ground.
I heard a loud cry, like the cry of a deer cub and woke up with a start! Oh God! Was that sound real?
It was. I found Mridul standing by the bed, and calling me,
“Papa, why did you come away? I am scared. Can I sleep here with you?”
I gathered him in my arms and put him by my side. I tried to go back to sleep.
I felt listless. My heart was heavy. The two deer cubs came to my mind again and again. Sleep had vanished from my eyes. I got up. A new day was starting, but I found no joy in it. The dream had shattered my heart, breaking it into myriad pieces of jagged glasses.
I had to be at the office for an hour in the morning to clear some urgent papers before leaving for the airport. I went there at ten, with my mind tormented by an undefined sadness. I never knew a dream could affect me so much. But it remained vivid in my mind and refused to go away.
Jharna walked slowly into the room. Her face looked sad and her eyes were swollen, as if she had cried in the morning. Looking at her, a sense of melancholy swept over me.
“Jharna, you know, madam is in a very advanced stage of pregnancy. She may have to be taken to the nursing home any day. I don’t feel like deserting her at this stage. Will you mind too much if we cancel the Paris trip? I am sorry.”
A look of awesome relief swept over her face.
“Not at all sir. I myself wanted to request you to spare me from the trip.”
I looked at her, with questioning eyes. She spoke slowly, and her words were laced with a tinge of sadness.
“Sir, do you remember my telling you our daughter Aparna gets so many dreams in the night? This morning when she got up, she told me, ‘Mummy, you know, I had a dream last night about you, me and Papa going on a picnic to a hill. There I saw many colourful birds, singing for us. You asked me if I wanted a bird. When I said yes, you looked up and tried to catch a bird. Mummy, you lost your balance and fell down the hill and vanished. Mummy, please don’t go anywhere. I don’t want any bird. I want only my mummy, always near me, within the reach of my small hands.’ Sir, good that you have cancelled the trip. I was wondering how to get out of it without offending you. Let me go and cancel the tickets.”
Quietly, I left the room. Tears had welled up in my eyes. Walking away with heavy steps, I silently muttered to myself, “Jharna, I also had a dream last night. In that dream I mercilessly shot dead two cute deer cubs. How sad! But you know Jharna, in the tragic death of those two innocent cubs, you, I, and both our families got the gift of a new life!”
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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