From The Lost Pages : Chitrak and the Buddhist Bhikshu

Chitrak, the warrior chief walking came at the side of the river.

The night is becoming faint..soft petals of dawn kissing the white light of the moon..some birds started to flowing..far across the dark houses of the village everything is so silent..as if except this moving river nothing is alive now..as if this is a moment..a land..which is outside the present world..far from the violent..far from the greeds..far from the daily hazards..Chitrak like a dream got hypnotized seeing the slept village in front and started thinking that he has somehow arrived in a new world..
But footsteps make him arose and back to senses.
Footsteps are coming near.
He saw that within the white light of the night a group of persons walking through the road softly , their body covered with a long red cloth, their heads bold, their feet naked.
Chitrak forgot to change his wet clothes.
He started walking towards the group of Buddhist Bhikshus.
Chitrak came before the group and bowed to the head Bhikshu.
The Bhikshu smiled , his face in this moonlight glittering a peace which Chitrak has never seen in life.
‘Pranam Bhikshu’ Chitrak added.
Bhikshu kept his hands over his head.
And then said in a soft compose voice ‘Why you are so restless Arya?’
Chitrak kept quite. Then said , ‘I am confused Arya, which way to take, I have to take any one of them within one hour Arya.’
The Bhikshu again smiled.
‘There is only one way in life son. People themselves create many ways. But the road to life is only one son.’
‘But which one Arya..which one?’
‘The way to truth..the way to heart.’
‘But Arya..’
‘There would be no question son, if you follow that one way. If you follow you can understand.’
‘But what if that way leads to destruction?’
‘You would never be destroyed if you follow that one way..may be for some time..some fragments of moments you would loose your way..as you are now already lost son.. ‘
‘Arya, so I would follow that one way..the way of life?’
‘Yes son..just follow..and you would re invent yourself.’
The Bhikshu again prepared to walk.
Chitrak walked along with him..and asked ‘Where you are going Arya?’
The Bhikshu again smiled.
Then said, ‘ I have now only one place to go. Kushinagar’
‘Kushinagar!’ Chitrak uttered.
‘Yes son, Kushinagar, the palace where Tathagata, the Lord earned Nirvana’.
‘When you would be back Arya?’
'I would never be back again here son, I have travelled enough I would now rest my body there for ever for the remaining days.’
‘Can I know your name Arya?’
The bhikshu smiled again. His face expressing almost an heavenly light.
He kept his hands on Chitrak’s head and uttered ‘ May the Lord Tathagata helps you to find out the right way.’
‘Arya, your name?’
‘Udattya’ said the Bhikshu and started walking.
Uddatya! Exclaimed Chitrak in amazement. He has just met one of the immediate disciple of Lord Buddha.
Chitrak got stranded, almost a shiver ran through out his body.
And at that moment he also realized that there is indeed only one way..the way to truth..the way to life.

Haranmajhi

‘Babu bhalo achen?’
I am sitting along with a friend in a roadside stall on Outram Ghat. Afternoon slowly slipped away and changed colour to evening and now after sunset the sky reflecting vibrant colours of wonder. In front of us is the Ganges river, the orange sky with its purple shades reflecting in the moving waves of the water and presenting before us almost a naturalism masterpiece of Abanindranath Tagore. And at that time, the question came.
‘Babu Bhalo achen?’( How are you Babu?’)
Again the question and now I turned and saw that a boy is standing wearing a button less shirt and half pant standing before us.
His face holding a smile, his face appearing dark as he is standing back to light.
I nodded.
‘Babu, nouka chorben?’ (Will you like a boat ride?’)
‘No’, I said. At this moment I am busy talking with my long-lost friend Abhi and no mood in disturbing our trip down memory lane.
‘Babu, aj saradin kno rojgar hyni, babu..’
(He again asked me for the ride and said that today he hardly earned anything as there are no customers.)
Now Abhi speak out.
‘Ai bollo to lagbe na, bhag..’! ( Abhi, almost scolded and asked the boy to go!’)
The boy again looked at me, and then with a more dark face went away.
We chatted for almost an hour and then Abhi got up, he had an appointment.
I looked at the watch.
Twenty past six.
I thought for a walk along the Ganges.
I started walking.
Walking alongside a river is always a pleasure. I remember that in childhood, my father used to bring me often here..the scent of the river..the trees..the gentle drop of a scattered leaf from the trees..the flying birds..their clattering for homes around evening..the different types of people who gather around..the jump of some naked children in the water..the anchored boats rocking gently over the waves..the sounds of a Steamer bisecting the air..
‘Troot……..!’
Again a sound from a moving Steamer or locally called ‘Launch’ surprised me and make me back to reality.
And I noticed that in these twenty years many things changed, but the atmosphere around the Ganges still remained more or less same.
Far across I can see the light of the ice cream parlour ‘Scoop’ shinning bright.
I walked on.
As I came towards the Ferighat where the boats are anchored I noticed the boy.
Over an anchored boat that boy is sitting and dipping his feet inside the water.
I walked towards him.
And as I approached him, I found that at the side of the boat written with an unprofessional artist and bold letters ‘Harankheya’.
The name itself again made me nostalgic and at once I recognized that boat belong to Majhi named Haran, and not only that from childhood, I knew that person..
Haranmajhi!
I went back twenty years and saw that a boy holding his father’s hand came in one early morning..the day was Mahalaya( An auspicious day marking the arrival of Devi Durga on the earth)..my father came to take a dip in the holy Ganges and utter sacred hymns in memory of our ancestors, a custom locally called ‘Tarpan’..father went to the Ganges and I unable to see the incident among the crowd and jumped over the deck of a small boat..as I stood there I suddenly found that the boat is sailing away..I turned back and saw that the boat was moving and a person wearing loincloth holding the baitha in hand sailing the boat smiling and saying, ‘Chalo Khokababu tomay aktu ghuriye ani..’and he really took me for a tour around the Ganges for ten minutes and when we are back my father smiling offered him money but that boatman with dark brown body and hands as if made of steel said, ‘Na Babu, amni Khokababuke ghuriye anlam!’(No need for money Babu, I just took your son for a fun tour!)..before we leave we came to know that his name is Haranmajhi..from then on each month my father brought me here twice a month..not only because my father himself liked him but also because I now come to know that he wanted to sow in his son..fragrance of some other world..where real teachings of life begins..I can remember those days clearly..sun setting around the Ganges, far across the tower of the Fort William can be seen as then there was no Vidyasagar Setu..Haranmajhi went on speaking on his own..about his ancestral land in Barisal..his land..Padma river..how they were thrown out of their own land after independence..his fight with a crocodile once near the Sundarban delta..once how he almost got caught in the hand of the decoits..how much he love to spend nights in open river..sometimes he sings..one of his common Bhatiali song was..
‘O Paran amr kon kul theke kon kule niye jas re more..’
sometimes while sailing how he mixes Khaini in his two hands and place it delicately within his Biri rotten lips..often he use to say me, ‘Khokababu jabe amar sange..anek dure tomay niye jabo..jabe..chalo beriye pori..;no doubt I was absolutely ready to move but as usual it is an invitation to a new world and it never occurred really..then I grew up..got busy in study and I still can remember about dreams where I saw Haranmajhi saying..’Khokababu..jabe amar sange?’ Then days passed..time passed..Haranmajhi gradually got lost within my daily busy schedule..
Haranmajhi to me is not only a boatman or ‘Majhi’ but he was once my childhood hero..who sailed away miles after miles in waters..in new lands..in new places..meeting different interesting people of whom one can dream of..Haranmajhi may be was a very simple man and maybe he have never sailed away anywhere else except the limited corners of the Ganges around the Outram Ghat..but he was according to me..just like some Voyager like Vasco Da Gama or Columbus..
Haranmajhi was my childhood.
And I never wanted to lose it.
As the evening sky slowly gathered all colours of heaven I started walking.
My Childhood is not lost.
Only it is now within covers.
As I am carrying my childhood within me ..similarly my dreams of Haranmajhi would also go on sailing..sailing far..far..

into a land of eternal Romance!..

The Touch

Today is a day of luxury for Satya.
And thus landing in Dhakuria more he hold a wide smile in his lips.
For some days a break from all the worries.
A bit of relief.
A bit of signining in to life again.
And thus he brought a brand new packet of Gold Flake from the shop and then started walking.
Satya passed the Djhakuria Durgabari and took the station road.
It would take ten minutes to reach his home. Home is a wrong word, actually it is a mess. He originally comes from a remote village of Murshidabad..a mapless place. Though he did his schooling from a village school, his higher secondary done from Burdwan College butwhen it came the turn to do graduation Satya opt for Kolkata..like every village boy he love to be in Kolkata and remove his tag of a ‘village boy’ and be a 21st C citizen.
Satya stopped. Had he really able to become that?
He don’t know. But still he smiled. The only thing he knew today that he is holding in his hand his first salary of Rs 3000, of a small job of DTP Operator.
It means a lot to him.
No more buying things in lending..no more half ciggarretes..no more changing doors in running bus, tram for skipping ticket..no more hearing slangs from people who will get money from him.
Satya lighted a brand new cigarettes. Money gives happiness. Thus Gold Flake never tasted so good earlier.
Satya thought how to spend the salary..he has to give 500 to the Mess owner..he has 1000Rs in due..then he have to give another 500 to Kanaida..the road-side hotel where he is having lunch each day each night..then for his convenience cost may be Rs 600.. he have to send 500 to home..and then..but Satya stopped..because as he is calculating the amount of money is gradually becoming less and less. There is a lot of time to think about the money he thought..today he would only relish that he has now Three Thousand rupees in his hand. He took out a fifty rupee note from his shirt pocket and smelt it.
What a beautiful smell of earning his own money!
Satya has reached the level-crossing.
His mess can be reached if he goes straight.
But he always took the short-cut.
And that road went parallel to the rail lines.
He started walking through the muddy road beside the tracks.

Evening is slowly gripping in..sun has set..only in the west a splash of purple is still visible..pieces of clouds floating..birds clattering as they fly their way back to their nests..within the slums smoke is rising..the numerous nucleated families are ready to prepare their cooking..naked childrens running in playing recklessly over the tracks..slangs which locally known as ‘Khisti’s is coming to Satya’s ears at regular intervals..women wearing torn clothes spreading their wet underwears over a string hanging from a tree..a dark girl wearing red lipstick and cheap but glossy sarree went out from a slum and went towards the market..one loafer kind of boy shouted.. ‘ Ore Kelo..dak sala maltake..’..two cycles went clinging..Satya knew them..they are fish-hawkers going to market with a fish bucket..the cheap stalls are opening up gradually all bearing all the necessary goods..the soil beneath the feet of Satya trembled..train is coming..far away he saw the yellow light of the signal turned green..the clicking sound of the level-crossing gates shutting down..noises of rickshaw,cars,buses sounding in full volume..scenes of a busy evening of Dhakuria..
A gentle wind blows.
Satya closed his eyes.
Something has fallen in his eyes.
Again the wind blowed.
With a maddening sweep.
The signal of the train sounded.
Evening has lost its natural colour.
The light of the local train bisecting the dark evening.
The Evening is broken now in shades of colours..one of light and behind that everything in dark.
The train has left the station.
It can be seen now.
There it is.
Satya stopped to pass the train otherwise he would be adored more in dust.
And as soon he turned front a cold thunder went through his veins.
An old woman looks like a beggar is standing on the rail tracks, the same track in which the train is coming.
And the train is in quite a proximity now.
Satya closed his eyes for a moment.
But he opened it soon in screams coming from all around..the slums..the level crossing..the rickshaw walas..the drivers all sides..
But all in vain.
As the old woman on the track hardly moved but pecuiliarly forwarded her hands as if to hold any support.
In this twilight also the thing became clear to Satya.
The old woman is blind.
She can’t see.
What would Satya do now?
An answer would take a minute.
He don’t have that.

Satya start running among all the screams panics and within a second reached the tracks caught hold of the old woman and pushed him aside and himself jumped also and the train whitewashed them with that light.
Satya’s pulse is running fast in excitement.
The old woman has fallen on the pebbles beside the tracks.
She was still searching for a hand and shouting ‘Ke re? Ke?’
Satya after a while caught her hand and took her at the corner of the road.
Now the old woman touched her face and said ‘ Ke re? Runu naki?’
Satya kept silent.
Again the woman asked , searching all over his face ‘ Tui Runu naki? Ki re?’
Before Satya could say anything a crowd crossed the tracks and came to them, and two boys came and hug Satya, ‘Dada, apni satyi darun kaj korechen?’(You have a done a bravo work!)
One of them said to the blind woman, ‘Masi, katodin bolechi sandhaybela bhikhe koro na..’(I asked you not to beg in the evening!)
Many people are coming towards Satya..Satya is a very introvert person..thus he quietly slipped away saying he is in hurry..
When he reached near the mess, Satya found that he is hungry and today he felt like having a Roll.
He went to the stall and ordered one, and then put his hand in his pocket for bringing out his money bag.
Satya got stranded.
There is no money bag!
His pocket is empty.
Satya strated running.
It surely had fallen on the tracks.
Within two minutes Satya is on the spot, he managed a torch from the road-side stall and searched throughout the rail tracks but there was no money bag there.
One boy came and said, ‘Are dada , Apnii sei Hero na!’(Hey, you are the Hero!)
Satya nodded and tried to smile.
‘Ki hoyeche dada?’
Satya told him about the moneybag.
The boy searched and said that it has gone definitely and there is hardly any hope of founding it.
Satya himself is also realizing the truth.
‘Dada, apni ato baro akta kaj korlen ar dekun apnary..ai janya sala ajkal ar bhalo lok janmay na!(It is a pity that such a thinh happened to you!)
Satya helplessly left the spot and started walking home.
His hunger has increased double but he knew no more roll.
The world has broken into pieces before him.
He has only a fifty rupee note in his pocket and that he has all for this month.
Again a burden of loans.
Again lending money from colleagues.
Satya’s world has not changed at all.
He came back to mess, for rest but can’t.
He came out and went for the dinner at Kanaida’s Hotel.
Kanaida saw hm and said, ‘Ki aj taka debe to?’
Satya said ‘Aj noy akno maine paini..’
‘Maser das tarikheo maine paoni..ami ki a janme takata pabo?’(Will I ever get my money back?)
Satya said quietly, ‘Paben’.
‘Tahle ar ki jao boso..oi Kanchan 2no tabile akta machbhat de..’(He ordered for a meal.)

Satya feeling empty took the food without a word.
Then came out.

Night has fallen on the streets of Dhakuria.
Satya went walking.
He doesn’t feel like to return to mess so early.
He went on roaming.
Droplets of rain is slowly falling..almost a drizzle..wind blowing with a maddening hush..roads wet..trains passing..the light of the signal changing colours now and then.
Satya can’t understand himself.
He is feeling down but not dejected.
There is something which is making him happy.
Is it the heroic work? Is it the hopes of spending 20 days more for the next salary? Is it the rain? Is it the wind which has a solitary tune in it?
What can be the reason?
Satya went on roaming.
For the answer.

And while roaming through this night Satya once again felt that he is very alone, very lonely.
He is still a boy of village trying to create his own identity in this metropolis.

Satya thus always roam alone..in holidays in Babughat..where he gossips with the Majhi..sitting on the shore of the Hooghly river..often traveling in local train and dropping in unknown villages..watching farmers sowing and reaping crops..
Sinking himself in the rain..buying cheap books from the footpath of College Street..watching movies sometimes..reading poems..writing diaries when he feels..
Satya is alone..really alone..

Satya came at a spot and stopped.
It is just behind the station.
On the Verandah of a broken thatched roof house that old woman is sleeping.
She is trembling sometimes as the winds touched her.
Satya sat below her feet.
And slowly he realized that why he is still happy.
Satya smiled.
Winds came and swept him.
Crushed him.
Grains of rain making him wet.

Satya stood up.
Saw once again the face of the woman.
And then started walking.

Among the ripening night, dark streets of Dhakuria Station, a bit alone, a bit lonely Satya within this vast city has found a motherly touch in the hands of an old woman
…. who is nothing but a beggar.



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The Tanga Ride

Well, with the flavour of the first monsoon and the IPL near it's end and Elections over what one can do best in a pure 'adda' with drinks and chips when the rain suddenly decided to make Gurgaon wet, wet enough to look seductive like the sexy girls of Delhi?

Just to listen to a pure love -story and that too true..
This is a story of Praveen, my friend which he told me in our shared room in Gurgaon in a rainy night.
And it one again proves that some moments become immortal.
Praveen, in one October night stepped in the Deoghar station.

In Bengali they call this place as ‘Baidyanath Dham’, a religious place of the hindus. He earlier came also two or three times as his sister’s house is here,her husband is a Doctor here. As he walked out of the station he saw no autos or rickshaws are parked outside and the place looked stunningly empty. Soon he found out the reason. Due to a political turmoil a ‘bandh’ was raised in the town and thus everything were closed. At that moment Praveen thought how would he move to the sister’s house? He haven’t informed them also otherwise Rakesh,her sister’s husband would surely make an arrangement. But now as there is no other option he has to walk.Though the house is not very far it can take a maximum of 30 mins!
He took the luggage and about to walk when he saw a ‘Tanga’. Tanga is nothing but a horse ridden car. He always love to ride that. He rushed towards it but before he could ask the Tangawala, a voice came from behind,
‘Can you drop me near the Temple road?’ It was though said in Hindi.
Praveen turned around.

A street lamp was lighted where he was standing. A gentle night breeze was flowing. And in that light Praveen for once forgot where he was.
A beautiful lady with deep large eyes is standing before him. Her hairs in hands of the winds,her lips calm but eyes in search of an answer.
He found an answer at last.
‘Sure’ he said. Though the temple road is on the opposite direction from where he would go.
The next 15 minutes Praveen sat completely lost. An womanly essence and touch absorbed him at each moment, the undulating roads making them seat much closer to each other, the calm and the strange silence of the night, empty roads, scent of an unknown flower, the Tanga moved on.
Praveen thought about some questiones but he found that his voice is not in a mood of expression. His senses thoroughly lost in that woman.
He hardly recognized when the temple road came.
When the girl is stepping down in front of a large house with garden, she said, ‘Thanks a lot! The train was two hours late and I don’t know that there is a bandh today!’
Moments are running.
Praveen grasped words.
‘It’s fine, can I know your name?’
The girl smiled and Praveen found that the world around him changing colour.
‘Sakshi’ the girl said.
The girl was about to move and so the Tanga when Praveen did the most darest task of his life,he later termed it as his “lifetime achievement”! He said floating a smile in his lips,

‘Sakshi, I will remember this night always and you!’
Sakshi looked at his eyes.
Her lips opened.
But soon closed.
And then she smiled.
A smile which was enough to translate sensations into a most beautiful word ever created..love.
And it is as innocent as it bloomed..
That night..
Within the two persons..
Of the Tanga Ride.

Across the Ganges

The woman was sitting at the same place over a rock in the banks of the Ganga river.
It was the third day consecutively that I found her on the same spot. Her
anchal of the blue saree gently blowing in the wind, her sleepers lay in the sand, her naked feet playing with the grains of sand , marked with all signs of unconciousness.
Her eyes looking at a distant though it seems, that she is hardly looking to anything particularly.
She looks very impatient, restless.
I am staying in Hardwar for the last five years. I never found any woman sitting in such an posture with negligible movement of limbs.
The woman captured my attention. I stopped walking and came and seat over a bench near the river.
It is quarter to five now in the morning. The first rays of sunlight slowly getting visible in the vast sky which just shaded off the colour of the night. The breeze that is coming from the Ganges is wet, fresh and lively. The surrounding blue hills slowly assuming the golden light of the sun. Numerous birds flying with their colourful wings. The sweet swinging sound of the river water gradually getting mixed up with other colloquial sounds as the city is getting awake.
Ganga is beautiful here. She looks like just a virgin glorious young lady who goes on with a distinct pride of beauty and innocence.
She is much stable here . She is much reserved.
It is really wonderful to see the Ganga river flowing in three differnt portraits.
In contrast to Hardwar, the river had much speed in Hrishikesh and in Lachmanjhula
she is too fast, bubbly and hilly with great speed as she is just coming down from the glacier of Gomukh.
Hardwar is getting busy. If you are a visitor it is the best time to enter Hardwar.
I first came to Hardwar in my college days through Doon Express and I entered the city
during this time.
It was winter….the morning fog covering a large part of the road though the sky slowly getting clear….the tangas moving with the horses ….from all the roads people walking towards the Ghat …. Numerous pilgrims..local people.. from eight to eighty walking towards the river carring towels in their back and a mug( locally called ghati) in their hand, needed for taking a dip in the water and for the Suryastaba( Prayer to the Sun) as the first light appears in the sky….there was a tremendous hubbing sound near the ghat .sound of so many people talking, chanting , whispering….pandas calling from the roadside in numbers ‘Baba Daksheswarer darshan hobe?’, mainly in Bengali(Calling for a visit and worship of the Lord Daksheswar) ….hawkers also selling their goods among which you can get everything….people of all caste, religion can be seen there.. it was wonderful and stunning ..as before me lay.. a mini edition of India.
‘Babu chai?’
Ramu. I came back to conciousness with his voice .
I looked around . The spectacle of the morning Hardwar has hardly changed in these years.
I took a cup of tea from Ramu. He smiled and said like everyday,
‘Shakkar thik hai babu?’(Do you need more sugar?)
As usual I nodded.
It is perfect.
Pointing towards the woman I asked Ramu about her.
Ramu said ‘Patah nehi babuji! Do din se subah me yahan pe dekh raha hun.’
(He diidn’t know her but he found her here for the last two mornings.)
Ramu went.
I again looked towards the woman.
She had hardly moved. She looks like a lady giving a sitting to an artist.
I once thought will I go ask her or not. Then found the idea to be too stupid.
Why on earth the lady would say me her reason of silence?
At this moment I saw Tonmoy , one of my colleague of office.
I am an architect working in a reputed MNC and came to Hardwar , for a project. Though the project has ended I managed to enroll myself in the new project as I wanted to stay in this place a bit longer.
I love Hardwar. Located in the foothills it has an unique feeling of the Himalayas.
‘Hi, finished jogging’? Tonmoy came and stooped beside me rubbing his face with a small hand towel.
‘Almost!’ I stood and smiled.
‘So whats about our weekend plan to Lachmanjhula? Is it clicking?’
‘Surely, it can , but have you found any new place there? We have been there earlier also.’
‘Yes, this time , we would stay at an old Bunglow within the Lachmanjhula forest.’
‘Whats about reservation?’
‘Don’t worry, I will manage that’.
‘Prem going?’
‘He said he will, Soumya confirmed me today.’
‘That’s great, anyway see you in the office’.
Tonmoy went.

Day has began. The number of people taking bath has also increased. The wind is still cool, sky clear, shining, warmth of sun giving a pleasant feeling in this September morning.
I felt for drinking another cup of tea.
I started walking. Suddenly I turned my head towards the river.
The woman is no more there.
Over the rock two local children are playing with pebbles.
I lamented . I should have seen which way she went.
Nothing. Just a bit of inquisition.


I came back to my rented house in the upper Ghat Road around seven. Shanti is already there, in the kitchen, cooking. Her son, Kishan , playing in the garden. She has been walking in this house from the beginning. She is reliable, and also cooks well, and sometimes even managed to bring egg, fish and meat from an unmentionable market as ‘non-veg’ is strictly ‘censored’ throughout Hardwar.
Today also my mood got really dancing as I saw pair of eggs in my Lunch.
I thanked her and gave Kishan , a chocolate.
In the way to my office from the car I looked once again towards the riverside.
But I didn’t found the woman.
Within my work also I can’t forget her.
And within evening I decided that I have to find her.

In the evening after office instead of house I came back to the Ghat.
Hardwar is one of such place which have different themes in different times.

In evening , Hardwar assumes a look which is pious, attractive as well as romantic.
The colour of the blue river slowly turns now bluish-red inviting the colour of dusk….
The wind stats blowing fast, coming down from the mountains….the local people who comes everyday and it is amazing that they never get bored….the colourful tourists with the frequent flashes of camera …. the soothing sound of the home-coming birds, many of whom live in the corners of temple….the gradual turning on of the lights of the temple, shops, roadside-stalls….chanting of hymns from the temple…. the begining of the evening-prayer (locally called Sandhya-arati)….the sounding of bells of the temple from all sides….the lighting of the lamp in plenty and then keeping them in the flowing water….with the diya (lamp) burning….Ganges looking like a river of moving lights….
It is mesmerizing….it never gets old….and to be at Hardwar during this time , I can bet you would think yourself as fortunate.
And as I am slowly feeling myself in some other world, I saw that woman.
She is bended to float a diya in the river water , her one hand holding diya, and the other over her chest managing the saree in a wind which is blowing quite fast,
I am looking towards her….
Suddenly I started running towards her….I am running fast,
The woman is unconscious that her edge of her anchaal of the saree has fallen in one of the flowing diya and it would catch fire within seconds.
I came near the woman , pulled her from the riverside and shouted ‘What are you doing?’
The woman looked towards the anchaal , looked alarmed and at that moment a splash of water is thrown in her anchaal. Some local people has done that, thankfully.
There is a gathering here now, many people saying many things, I looked towards the anchaal of the saree , the edge is burnt , if I come a bit later it would be a disaster.
The woman looked towards me.
She had an inner beauty in her face but there is no glow. She looked very calm and quite ex-pressionless. After such an incident she is strong and said in a low voice, in clear bengali accent , ‘Kothao boste pari?’(Can I sit somewhere?)
The light of a lamppost of the ghat felt on her.
I found red grains in her forehead.
She is married.

I took her and make her seat in a bench. Then brought her some drinking water.
She took it and said ‘Thanks.’
I can’t help saying her ‘How can you be so unconscious?’
The woman looked towards the river and said in somewhat cold voice , ‘I was unmindful’.
A wave of wind came and touched us. It has a shivering in it.
The woman is going back to herself, in that melancholy mood.
But I want to know from her the real reason.
I know it is illogical, awkward but I can’t resist myself.
I said her ‘I am seeing you from the last three days….I am living Hardwar for last five years….but never saw a figure like you….I saw you today also sitting over that rock and looking towards the river in an unexplainable look. Can I know the reason for that….maybe I can help you….’
The woman slowly turned towards me. But she kept silent.
The sounds of the coming night filled up the silence in between us. I saw one or two known faces looking towards me in great interest, and the woman beside me. I ignored them.
After sometime the woman answered..her voice..slow..breaking..as if her voice is coming from a distance…. ‘You can’t help me.. nobody can..’
‘But I want to know what lies behind your looks of despair….did anything happened here anyday?’
The woman kept her eyes on me. Then she said ‘ Yes, a horrible incident happened here.’
Again a break. Again she looked towards the flowing Ganges and murmered….
‘Three years ago in this day I lost my son here.’
I got shocked. I thought about the possibility of many incidents but not this.
I don’t know what to say.
The woman added…. ‘ It was an evening like this.. my son went out with my husband ….
We came in with many relatives then , I came a bit later along with my relatives ….and saw my husband standing helplessly leaning over the Ganges….a crowd gathered there….when I went there ….I found my little Sonai has fallen into river ….he cannot be seen anywhere….we searched madly….the police too….for two days….but he was no where…. Even his body was not found ..my little Sonai.. a three year old baby was lost forever….
The woman broke down. I don’t know any way to stop her. I feel really ashamed that I made her tell that tragic story again.
But at the same time I had a feeling that the cry can make the woman , a little better.
A little back to life.
I looked towards her , ‘I am really sorry.’
The woman hardly listened to my voice and went on saying…. ‘ I sometimes thought …
.maybe it was not an accident….maybe it was planned….my husband never want a baby in first year of marriage….he was strangely indifferent to Sonai….he himself may have pushed Sonai….’.
She stopped abruptly.
Because she realized that she is telling many things….personal things….to an totally unknown stranger.
I myself also feeling uncomfortable. I changed the topic.
‘You came alone here?’.
‘No with one of my cousin. She may be roaming somewhere.’
‘Your husband?’
‘He never came. Being a corporate person he hardly have time’.

There is again a brief pause. After a while
I extended my hand. ‘I am Sameek Ray, working as an architect here.’
The woman also joined my hand.
‘I am Aparna. Aparna Bannerjee.’
The woman stood up.
‘I have to go. Tithi is calling’.
I saw near the Ghat gate a, young lady around twenty calling her.
The woman started walking.
But stopped.
She turned and put her hand in her bag and came towards me,
‘I know it is impossible ….but still if you ever see him anywhere please let me know….
here is the photo of Sonai….and here my address..’
I took both.
And looked towards the photo.
Suddenly I got stranded in between the ghat. I have seen this face somewhere..
.. it is a known face….
‘Mr.Ray , can I get your address?’
‘Sure.’ I took out one of my card and gave her.
‘Thanks….and I have another request ….what I shared with you this evening …
can it remain only between us….’.
I promised. It goes without saying.
The woman went. I saw the figure of Aparna Bannerjee gradually faded away in the crowds of Hardwar.
I looked at the photo again.
I have seen this boy .
But where..I start wondering..
I took the road to my house. Sometimes I take tanga , but now I don’t feel like.
I am walking slowly.
People passed me , many are tourists among them, and the bulk are Bengalees. . Hardwar looks like a second home of the bengalees. For ages Bengali people came here, thus the local people are well acquainted with the language and even can speak Bengali fluently.

Night falling gradually in Hardwar.
The sound of the river again getting prominence.
But where I have seen that boy?
The wind passed through me.
And suddenly a shiver ran through me.
I remembered a story . I heard the story here only.
A boy was found alive near the bend of the Ganga river about two miles from here. Though he was senseless.
But he is alive still. And turned into a sweet boy.
The story teller is no one else but Shanti who cooks in my home.
And the boy….yes the boy may be ….Kishan!
I almost ran towards my home.
Shanti has gone.
It is obvious.
It is nine-thirty now.
I know where Shanti lives.
I went running through a bit steep road.
I came to Shanti’s house and knocked the door.
Shanti got really surprised to see me. She lives in a small room which is clean and organized.
She came from a good family, her father was a post-master of Hardwar , she was married once but got divorced as she was childless.
And as she can never become mother.
‘Keya hua sab….’ Shanti asked me . Maybe she is thinking that she has done something wrong.
I asked her that where is Kishan..
‘Woh to so gaya hai,’ Shanti pointed towards the bed, I saw that Kishan is sleeping.
I looked towards his face closely.
There is resemblance.
But there is not also.
Shanti came and said , ‘Kya hua Sab, Kishan ne kuch kiya?’
I looked towards her face. She is almost panicking, she had a fear written all over her face.
I smiled and said that Shanti, Nothing happened. I just came to give a chocolate to Kishan.
I searched my pocket. Luckily I found one.
I gave it to Shanti and told her to give it to Kishan when he is awake.’
Shanti in almost disbelief said again had she did anything wrong.
I convinced her again.
I came out.
Shanti standing near the door said , ‘Bahaut dar gayi thi , Sab, Kishan mera sab kuch hai..
Uske liyei to main zinda hoon….’.
I assured her that nothing would happen and told her to just go and sleep.’
‘Khuda ne achanak Kishan ko mere pas bheja…agar kisi din aise hi fir achanak le leti hai….’ Shanti didn’t completed the sentence.
But what she is going to tell is obvious.
A woman who has lost everything in life….her family..her husband..a normal married life.. her motherhood..has suddenly got this boy as a gift of God.
Thus she is always in scare of loosing him too.
I came back to my house.
The whole night I cannot sleep.
Sometimes I thought that Kishan is surely that boy….sometime again not….


Shanti can find some other boy also….Some time I thought I am doing a terribly wrong thing….again sometime I found myself absolutely right….sometime I lament on the decision of finding the woman and asking her reason of despair….
As morning dawns I slowly walked out of my house.
I came towards Shanti’s house.
Shanti is playing in the small garden with Kishan.
Kishan saw me and smiled.
A beautiful smile.
Then he again started playing.
I came to the riverside.
But to my relief I didn’t saw that woman today.
Maybe Kishan can be her lost child.
Maybe Kishan would get a much better family.. but will he really get it?
From Aparna’s words it is obvious that her relation with her husband is not normal…. How would the lost child would be accepted again in the family who is already declared dead?
The relation between Aparna and her husband can become even more troublesome, which can also spoil the child’s life….
And if Kishan goes what would Shanti live with?
She would have nothing to live.
How can I do that?
How can I snatch her Kishan ….depending on one evening….some incidents….some words?
I can’t do that.
I slowly walked towards the river and splashed water over my face and then looked upwards towards the blue hiils of the Himalayas.
I again splashed water.
The water of the morning Ganges is really pure.
Much like the smile of Kishan.
The son of childless Shanti.

__________________________

The Maize Seller

A bunch of burnt bricks.
A background of green trees.
A vast blue cloudless sky.
And a dozen of maize.

Tuli surveyed the place before she sat on her marked place over the dusty ground. Yes, the place is same. There the white spot on the branches of the tree. There the numerous pebbles, there a wrecked useless radio-set, and there far across the trees the pond.
Tuli sat down after a silent prayer. She don’t know whom she is worshipping but anyway she everyday prays.
For sale of these dozen maizes.
Sometimes, specially in winters a no. of dozens. It is very hard for her, a fourteen year girl to reap the maizes from the claws of Geetamasi, Khantamasi and others who are daily dealers of the maizes.
It is raining for some days.
Summer is about to take a twist and the monsoon is arriving. The clouds are flocked with grayish floating clouds, winds blowing a bit irregularly. Tuli sat and waited.

Cars are passing in high speed. Two ambassadors lowered their speed towards her but passed in a hush.
Tuli knew it is expected.
Now it is just twelve. Now a hardly car stops.
It is generally in the afternoon after two that maizes are sold.
Tuli felt happy that the weather is rainy now, her sale would increase today, hardly people like to have maize in a scorching heat. But once it rains it is a different story.
Though Tuli has managed only twelve today.
How can she?
Her brother Taataa is ill today, she hardly had scope to reach the dealing place of the market early morning,when she reached only this dozen was remaining.
Taataa didn’t went to school today.
The fourteen year girl thought a bit.
She needs twenty rupees tomorrow for giving Taataa, the school fees are in defaulter for last three months, if tomorrow she didn’t pay Taataa would be thrown out from school.

A sharp wind swept throughout the Ruby bypass.
From the western front a big towering cloud is galloping.
Rain is about to begin.
Tuli’s frock started waving in the air.

Looking far Tuli found that the world around her has turned grey.
The sky, the houses, the green fields, the ponds, the walking people everything is grayish.

And within the next sweeping wind Tuli went away from present.
She shivered a bit.
She is afraid of clouds.
She is afraid of this dark colour.
The nightmare popped in front of her eyes. The day when her father, a hawker died in police lathi-charge, protesting against ‘Operation-Sunshine’ was dark like this.

One year later when her mother eloped with Kashida that was also same dark, grayish day. Tuli came running home from school and found her mother has gone.
Then the whole world changed for Tuli.
Her house went, they became homeless and ultimately she took shelter in a broken
unused house. Now also she is using that same house.
Where else she can go?

Another splash of wind and the rain began.
It was accompanied with a furious storm.
The whole bypass got hazy within seconds the potholes of the road soon filled up and overflowed, the pungent smell of the Dhapa swinged in the air, the clouds in the sky coming swimming in.
After half an hour Tuli left all hopes of selling the maizes.
Until the rain stops not a single car would stop.
And the rain signals no indication of stopping soon.
Tuli took all the maizes and returned home.

And she got alarmed to see that Taataa is shivering in the splashes of rain and wind.
Tuli tried to cover all the broken windows with newspapers but water is soon droving away everything.
Tuli touched Taataa.
Taataa has very high fever and he is groaning in pain.
Tuli got puzzled.
What would she do now?
The rain is still falling and not a single piece of maize is sold.
Tuli started giving strips off water over Taata’s forehead.
She changed it again and again.

It is around evening that the rain stopped.
And Tuli sensing that Taata’s fever has slightly decreased ran outside again with the maizes.
She needs medicine.
And that twenty ruppeees.
She have to sale this dozen maizes.
Anyway.
She came running towards her spot.
Gathered the burnt bricks.
And then kept the maizes with their layers open.


But she had no luck today.
For the next one hour not a single car stopped.
It was almost eight Tuli felt seeing the colour of the sky.
White clouds are sailing in the violet sky as an uncherished dream.
Tuli prayed again.
For selling the maizes.
She is becoming restless at the same time.
How is Taataa?
Will she ran for a moment and look on him?
But what about the medicine?
Without medicine how will Taataa spend the night?

Paradoxed Tuli wondered what to do as evening slowly slipped into night.
The weather is looking gloomy again.
Wind very silent.
Sky sliced with clouds.

And at that very moment an ambassador stopped and from it two persons jumped down.
One person took two maize in hand and asked ‘Kto?’(How much?)
‘Char taka babu’.(Four rupees)
The person looked towards another person anthey talked something within eyes.
Then the first person said ‘Sabgulo nile ktoi dibi?’(What is the cost of this dozen?)
‘Sabgulo nbe babu?’(You will take all?) Tuli asked almost in a voice of disbelief.‘Ha’, the person smiled.
‘Bol ktoi dibi?’
‘50 taka babu’?(Fifty Ruppees)

And to Tuli’s wonder the person took out a fifty rupees noteand gave it in her hand.
The note trembled in her hand.
The person said, ‘Tbe toke pouche dite hbe.’(But you have to send it in a place)
‘Kothay?’ Tuli asked.
‘Ai samnei, tui garite uthe ae!’(Quite near, you come into the car)
Tuli shivered.
She know these languages, these looks,
Geetamasi always talk about these, about how she earns 100Rs a day sometimes!

‘Ki re chal’ The person came a bit forward.
A splash of wet wind struck.
Tuli thought for a moment of Taataa, his medicine, his school fees.
She needs money for everything.
The night is again filled with stitchy rainy winds.
The dark bypass has hardly any light.
Cars and trucks running in a hush.
The person hold Tuli’s hand, ‘Kire chal?’(Lets go)
Tuli once looked at the fifty rupee note.
Then she walked.
The person opened the door of the car.
Tuli stepped in.

After one hour when Tuli came back home her body is filled up numerous pains.
But still she ran towards Taataa.
Yes, Hec has again got high fever.
Taataa is unconscious.
Tuli soon gave her the medicine.


Outside it is again raining.
Tuli slowly lied over the floor and closed her eyes.
But she can’t.
She jumped up.
And sitting again looked towards the face of Taataa.
The colour is returning on the face.
Tuli went towards him and spreaded her hands over his hairs.
Beside Taataa lay his maths copy.
Tuli took it in her hand and opened it.
In all the pages there are right marks and comments written ‘Good’.
All the sums are right.
And in all the class test Taataa scored ten out of ten.

Tuli is going through the pages unconsciously, she is thinking of her own school days, she is also very dood in maths, she also scored full marks.

Suddenly Tuli felt a hand over her shoulder.
And she heard ‘ Ki dekchis re Didi?’(What you are seeing Sister?)
Taataa.
Tuli seeing Taataa coming in senses hugged him tightly
and said, ‘Kicu na re, kicu na!’(Nothing)
And then all her pains, came out as cry.
Tuli is crying, in one hand she is holding Taataa and in another hand his copy where Taataa has scored ten out of ten.


Outside rain is falling torrentially.
And through the innumerable cracks of this broken house waters are pouring heavily, from everywhere.
A drop of water failed on the sheet of paper.
She rubbed it.
Again another drop failed.
She closed her eyes and also the copy.
She did not want any spot in any sheet of this copy.
And also in the life of his little brother.
Taataa.



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MY FIRST BLOG AWARD!!

What should I say? Ecstacy? Joy? Or the first taste of recognition. May be whatever it is the fact is to cheer for me myself also..as this is my first BLOG AWARD! Thanks Amritarupa for liking my blog..my posts..and my sensation and the passion with which my every words ..my each letters are written..thanks for the recognition and Hey I would surely say that this award would inspire more to write well so that I can go on writing more and more..may be for myself and like such beautiful wonderful readers like you..