Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Omnipresnt
In the scent of the mud
Shoaked with first drop of rain,
In the smile of the mother
Just after the labour pain,
In the shining Sun
And in the gloaring moon,
I saw your presence,
I smelt your essence,
Oh God Almighty you are there,
Here, near and everywhere
In the voice of bird
In the song of the field
In the smile of a child
And also in the earth looking like a bride.
Shoaked with first drop of rain,
In the smile of the mother
Just after the labour pain,
In the shining Sun
And in the gloaring moon,
I saw your presence,
I smelt your essence,
Oh God Almighty you are there,
Here, near and everywhere
In the voice of bird
In the song of the field
In the smile of a child
And also in the earth looking like a bride.
Some feelings for God
I love you God,
Not because you are good,
But because you have created the world,
With a mixture of sorrow and pleasure,
Which inspired me to face all the problems
And to stand on my own,
Without having a supporter.
I hate you God,
Only because you created
one Bill Gates and one Laxmi Mittal
And At the same time
You created a lot people,
Without having bread for stomach,
And cloth for body
And who are under BPL.
I pity you God
Because of your lonliness and friendlessness
The rich has no time to spare for you
The poor has no time to share with you
I am neither rich nor a poor
But I don't want to come to you
Still I admire you Oh God!
For your pleasant creation,
The bird, the flowering plant,
The sun, the moon,
Above all the human being
With love and passion.
Not because you are good,
But because you have created the world,
With a mixture of sorrow and pleasure,
Which inspired me to face all the problems
And to stand on my own,
Without having a supporter.
I hate you God,
Only because you created
one Bill Gates and one Laxmi Mittal
And At the same time
You created a lot people,
Without having bread for stomach,
And cloth for body
And who are under BPL.
I pity you God
Because of your lonliness and friendlessness
The rich has no time to spare for you
The poor has no time to share with you
I am neither rich nor a poor
But I don't want to come to you
Still I admire you Oh God!
For your pleasant creation,
The bird, the flowering plant,
The sun, the moon,
Above all the human being
With love and passion.
Mystry behind the door
God!
Where are you?
......... Open the door.
Oh! He might be there--
--Behind the door.
Quickly I opened the door
And peeped out.
None,
But a small little doggie,
Staring with great hunger!
Shaken by pity
Offered some food to eat.
The doggie left happily with a wagging tail.
I kept my search on ....
It was a cold winter,
An old man was there
Behind the door,
Shievering with cold .
Again the pity struck ,
To provide some food and wine,
Covered him with a coat of mine,
And saw him left smiling .
Not finding Him
Left me with a broken heart.
To my utter surprise
Heard someone saying
E.....e.....e..... Why are you disappointed?
The voice was from other side of the door,
"You have just seen me
As a doggie,
And also in the form of the old man."
Where are you?
......... Open the door.
Oh! He might be there--
--Behind the door.
Quickly I opened the door
And peeped out.
None,
But a small little doggie,
Staring with great hunger!
Shaken by pity
Offered some food to eat.
The doggie left happily with a wagging tail.
I kept my search on ....
It was a cold winter,
An old man was there
Behind the door,
Shievering with cold .
Again the pity struck ,
To provide some food and wine,
Covered him with a coat of mine,
And saw him left smiling .
Not finding Him
Left me with a broken heart.
To my utter surprise
Heard someone saying
E.....e.....e..... Why are you disappointed?
The voice was from other side of the door,
"You have just seen me
As a doggie,
And also in the form of the old man."
Saturday, November 7, 2009
HEAVEN’S CHILDREN
The two children Shyam and Preety were not siblings. They had no idea about their parents. When I asked where they came from, they pointed towards the sky. I could not understand. They clarified and told they were from heaven ( the God’s house).
They were in between the age of eight to ten. I had seen them several times in various places. I am a doctor by profession. And I have my own clinic, near the Unit – I market, Bhubaneswar. It was dry summer, when I saw them first. They were busy in collecting polly bags. I was astonished. What would they do with the rejected polly bags? When being asked they told that they would deposit the bags in the factory, where it is recycled and in return the factory owner would give them rupees ten to twenty and with the money they could arrange their dinner. My heart was filled with joy. Yes they the future of my country. They are working to get their bread, in stead of begging (what is common in our country).
At 12 O’ clock when the sun was over our head, I closed the clinic and started my car to home for launch. On the way I remembered that my sister had told me to post her letter. I had forgotten to bring gum. All the shops were closed at that time. I was worried. Suddenly my eyes fell upon a small child near the post office gate. It was sitting back to me. He had some official stationeries like covers, gum, stapler etc. with him. And he was no other than Shyam. Aeeee…eeee what are you doing here and where is Preety? He looked back and smiled. “It is one of our part job Sir” , he said. “Preety is selling handmade butter milk to the people in the market and here I am earning some money by helping others. We have our accounts in this post office, and have already deposited Rs. 5000/- in the account. We will read and will become doctors like you.” My eyes were watered. If all people will have the mentality like the two children, there is no doubt that our country will prosper. He also said “we are in standard fifth and a headmaster of a school is helping us”. After getting my envelop pasted, I gave him one rupee coin (his due). But he denied.
Sir! You are a doctor and you are saving lives. I will not take money from you. But I request you Sir, please do come to our slum, where I am staying, at least once in a week, so that the poor people will be benefited. The boy requested me politely. I could not believe myself. Is it really possible in the earth? Since that day I have been visited the slum at least twice in a week. Actually the two children were heaven’s children. And the slum was a heaven due to these two children. The road was clean and so also the pond near the slum.
Some days passed away. It was the new year day of Oriyas. The two children were on new dresses. They have hats on their heads. It was the time of evening. And the two children were busy in catching fishes from the pond, when I noticed them. There were lot of fishes gathered near the pond and all were caught by them. They would sell some of it and rest of them would have been divided among the habitats of the slum. At 9 O’ clock in the evening when I was back to my house, I saw the two children with a big fish in their hand. It was for me at free of cost, because according to them I was their God. I could not believe myself. My inner conscience cursed me. I have not followed the motto of my profession. I am working for the shake of money. I could not understand, how I was motivated by the two children and came forward to serve the slum dwellers at free of cost. One more surprise was awaiting for me inside my house. My old father told me that the little girl was helped him in getting a railway ticket, standing in a big queue was no other than Preety.
I remembered that some days ago my father was to go to Delhi to visit my younger brother, for which he asked me to bring a ticket for him. But I had no time for such nonsense(?) works. I would have asked the travel agent. But I did not do because of my greediness. And the little girl had not only brought a ticket for my old father, but also did not receive money for this, though it was one of her way to earn money. But……What I am doing? Is it right? I was so deep in my thoughts that I could not sleep.
In the morning my eyes were just closed, when I listened the yelling of the two children. I came out. An old man shaded with blood was with them. They requested me to save the old man. And in return they would give all the savings of them and rest the amount they would give in installments. Now it was the time for me to rectify my mistakes.
I hugged the two children and moved towards the Operation Theatre. At the end when I told that the operation was successful and the hospital would bear all the cost for treatment, I was the God is smiling through the Heaven’s Children.
***
They were in between the age of eight to ten. I had seen them several times in various places. I am a doctor by profession. And I have my own clinic, near the Unit – I market, Bhubaneswar. It was dry summer, when I saw them first. They were busy in collecting polly bags. I was astonished. What would they do with the rejected polly bags? When being asked they told that they would deposit the bags in the factory, where it is recycled and in return the factory owner would give them rupees ten to twenty and with the money they could arrange their dinner. My heart was filled with joy. Yes they the future of my country. They are working to get their bread, in stead of begging (what is common in our country).
At 12 O’ clock when the sun was over our head, I closed the clinic and started my car to home for launch. On the way I remembered that my sister had told me to post her letter. I had forgotten to bring gum. All the shops were closed at that time. I was worried. Suddenly my eyes fell upon a small child near the post office gate. It was sitting back to me. He had some official stationeries like covers, gum, stapler etc. with him. And he was no other than Shyam. Aeeee…eeee what are you doing here and where is Preety? He looked back and smiled. “It is one of our part job Sir” , he said. “Preety is selling handmade butter milk to the people in the market and here I am earning some money by helping others. We have our accounts in this post office, and have already deposited Rs. 5000/- in the account. We will read and will become doctors like you.” My eyes were watered. If all people will have the mentality like the two children, there is no doubt that our country will prosper. He also said “we are in standard fifth and a headmaster of a school is helping us”. After getting my envelop pasted, I gave him one rupee coin (his due). But he denied.
Sir! You are a doctor and you are saving lives. I will not take money from you. But I request you Sir, please do come to our slum, where I am staying, at least once in a week, so that the poor people will be benefited. The boy requested me politely. I could not believe myself. Is it really possible in the earth? Since that day I have been visited the slum at least twice in a week. Actually the two children were heaven’s children. And the slum was a heaven due to these two children. The road was clean and so also the pond near the slum.
Some days passed away. It was the new year day of Oriyas. The two children were on new dresses. They have hats on their heads. It was the time of evening. And the two children were busy in catching fishes from the pond, when I noticed them. There were lot of fishes gathered near the pond and all were caught by them. They would sell some of it and rest of them would have been divided among the habitats of the slum. At 9 O’ clock in the evening when I was back to my house, I saw the two children with a big fish in their hand. It was for me at free of cost, because according to them I was their God. I could not believe myself. My inner conscience cursed me. I have not followed the motto of my profession. I am working for the shake of money. I could not understand, how I was motivated by the two children and came forward to serve the slum dwellers at free of cost. One more surprise was awaiting for me inside my house. My old father told me that the little girl was helped him in getting a railway ticket, standing in a big queue was no other than Preety.
I remembered that some days ago my father was to go to Delhi to visit my younger brother, for which he asked me to bring a ticket for him. But I had no time for such nonsense(?) works. I would have asked the travel agent. But I did not do because of my greediness. And the little girl had not only brought a ticket for my old father, but also did not receive money for this, though it was one of her way to earn money. But……What I am doing? Is it right? I was so deep in my thoughts that I could not sleep.
In the morning my eyes were just closed, when I listened the yelling of the two children. I came out. An old man shaded with blood was with them. They requested me to save the old man. And in return they would give all the savings of them and rest the amount they would give in installments. Now it was the time for me to rectify my mistakes.
I hugged the two children and moved towards the Operation Theatre. At the end when I told that the operation was successful and the hospital would bear all the cost for treatment, I was the God is smiling through the Heaven’s Children.
***
Why I want to write?
It is a difficult question to answer that why I want to write? I don’t think that one is writing, because he/ she want to write. Rather it is a medium of expression of ones feelings, it is a medium to convey your messages of heart and above all it is an in born art. And one, who is having that art, can write. Somebody has told that “Pen is mightier than sword” and that is true. A good writing can change a society, can awake a society and also can format a society. And we have examples of past revolutions in front of our eyes. By strong writings one can raise his/her voice against the undoes of a society. I am writing because I have that in born quality and that spirit, that enthusiasm, what a writer ought to have.
Surendra literature on the back drop of history
Past of the present has its foundation on the present of past and what is not present becomes past in the coming days, a page in history. If ancient history, medieval history and pre and post independence history of India are taken as base, many stories pass through the screen of memory and many characters in the stories come to front. That history contains from truth and on the base of the truth, rests some legend. The so called legends are developed into full fledged literature embracing major and minor characters. That is the special trait of Mr. Surendra Mohanty.
Literature has different divisions consisting of Autobiography, Biography, Short stories, Essays and Novels. To look at these divisions of Oriya literature, would reveal the literary maturity and artful handling of them by this versatile writer.
Rather it can be told that there is no easier and developed medium to recollect history on path of readers other than the writings of Sri Mohanty. Surendra literature has an identity of its own on its mythological and historical background.
Rather it can be told that there is no easier and developed medium to recollect history on path of readers other than the writings of Sri Mohanty. Surendra literature has an identity of its own on its mythological and historical background.
SHORT STORY SECTION
The short stories days back to the emancipation of the Jews under the leadership of Mojes, from the shackles of Egyptian empire, to the rise of Orissan Empire, its history laden with rise and fall, fortune and bad days with rich historical knowledge. The short story collection ‘Kabi O Nartaki’ is based on mythological and historical characters.
BIOGRAPHY
Starting of British occupation of Orissa in 1803, and decline of Orissa nationalism till 1903, the declaration of regeneration and rebirth of it from the platforms of Utkal Sammilani the history of Orissa over a century is epitome in the Biography of Utkal Gourav Madhu Babu ‘Shatabdira Surya’ is unique.
Surendra Mohanty’s autobiography ‘Patha o Pruthibi’ discloses the declining trend of values and morals of the post political landscape of India as well as Orissa.
NOVELS
His milestone creations ‘Neela Saila’, ‘Neeladri Bijaya’, ‘Krishnabenire Sandhya’ on the background of 16th century history of Orissa Gajapati kingdom give inklings of Orissa history, its achievement and subsequent disintegration which revolves round the great lord Jagannath. On the other hand, his novels ‘Andha Diganta’, ‘Neti Neti’ on the back drop of British rule, pre and post independent Orissa highlights the ups and downs in political and social life.
Be it a case of flood or famine, where individuals are treated like pawns on the political chess board, his writings represents the soul of oppressed, mute individuals, their silent protest on established moorings of society and indifferent bureaucracy. His literature had the echoes of unfulfilled dreams, aspirations, frustrations of the common man as its background and foundation.
This will offer an interesting subject to be looked into and to be researched.
Surendra Mohanty’s autobiography ‘Patha o Pruthibi’ discloses the declining trend of values and morals of the post political landscape of India as well as Orissa.
NOVELS
His milestone creations ‘Neela Saila’, ‘Neeladri Bijaya’, ‘Krishnabenire Sandhya’ on the background of 16th century history of Orissa Gajapati kingdom give inklings of Orissa history, its achievement and subsequent disintegration which revolves round the great lord Jagannath. On the other hand, his novels ‘Andha Diganta’, ‘Neti Neti’ on the back drop of British rule, pre and post independent Orissa highlights the ups and downs in political and social life.
Be it a case of flood or famine, where individuals are treated like pawns on the political chess board, his writings represents the soul of oppressed, mute individuals, their silent protest on established moorings of society and indifferent bureaucracy. His literature had the echoes of unfulfilled dreams, aspirations, frustrations of the common man as its background and foundation.
This will offer an interesting subject to be looked into and to be researched.
The fate of the writers
Recently I have gone through an Oriya Magazine (monthly). In the rules and regulation column, it is written that priority of publishing articles should be given those writers, who are the subscribers of the magazine. That means quality of the article has no value. On the other hand, the writers, whose articles are published, should get a free copy as complement. But the rules imply that the writers have to pay for the free copy. The editor has also forgotten about the payment to the writer. So, how can one make writing his/her profession?
Provision of toilets in D.M.Us (local trains)
Some days before, a person who is known to me was died in an accident. He was going to Bhubaneswar from Berhampur. It is a three and half an hour journey. He was getting down for urinal, as there is no urinal in such trains. One the other hand such trains used to stop only 2 to 3 minutes at the stations. While trying to get into the just running train, he slipped down and died. Most of these local trains are long route trains like Visakhapatna to Paradeep, Berhampur to Bhadrak, Khallikote to Bhadrak, without having any urinal. That is why these types of accidents occur everyday. So, there should be provision of toilets in local trains to avoid this type of accidents.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
BY WHOM I AM INSPIRED
I am inspired by every step of my life, every moments of nature and every natural object. Moreover, I am inspired by my failure. I think getting inspired at every moment is in the subconscious mind of everybody. When a child starts walking, he falls many times before its success. At the dawn I think ah! There is again another new hope after a dark night. The bright light of Sun ray and the calm beams of moon inspire me to be impartial to everybody. When I see the flying birds, the animals gazing in the field, I think they are having nothing with them. Still they do not deviate from their nature. So, why should I, where I have a roof on my head, a monthly salary to meet my basic needs? The same thing I think in my office (which is a small cabin, where there is no electricity). In the midsummer, when day to day life is disturbed due to excess heat, I do manage by a small hand fan to avoid sweating. But at the same time when I see the trolley pullers with load of vegetables or groceries or some other things, I get inspired. My situation looks negligible before them. When I do listen the song of calmness and sound of quietness in the darkness of night my heart fills with pleasure. I feel the beauty of night. The fragrance of scented flowers fills my heart with pleasure. If there is no darkness, how could these beauties of nature would have come? A red ant gathers food for the rainy season; small white ants could make an anthill. So, why can not I struggle?
My parents inspired me in every step of my life. They always tell me to march forward, not to look behind. My siblings give the assurance of their presence at every step of my life. And the sentence, “I am with you” being told by my dear one gives me the feeling that I am not alone. There are so many inspiring hands with me.
The flowing river tells me that I have a great aim ahead to meet. If there is power in the small wing of the birds to touch the sky, why not my strong legs could march forward? If the tiny droplets can make a large ocean, if the little sands help to make a big desert, why can not I helpful for the society?
Last but not the least I am inspired by my failure. Because failure is the pillar stone of my success. My mother always tells that Bheemas (a character of Mahabharata, one among the Pandavas) are defeated in the first war. In my course of life, when I meet with failure at any time, the voice of my parents inspired me to march forward, in the hope of betterment in future.
My parents inspired me in every step of my life. They always tell me to march forward, not to look behind. My siblings give the assurance of their presence at every step of my life. And the sentence, “I am with you” being told by my dear one gives me the feeling that I am not alone. There are so many inspiring hands with me.
The flowing river tells me that I have a great aim ahead to meet. If there is power in the small wing of the birds to touch the sky, why not my strong legs could march forward? If the tiny droplets can make a large ocean, if the little sands help to make a big desert, why can not I helpful for the society?
Last but not the least I am inspired by my failure. Because failure is the pillar stone of my success. My mother always tells that Bheemas (a character of Mahabharata, one among the Pandavas) are defeated in the first war. In my course of life, when I meet with failure at any time, the voice of my parents inspired me to march forward, in the hope of betterment in future.
WHEN BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE
Good and bad are two relative terms. When a thing or a situation is good for one person, it may be bad for another. So, it can be judged from one’s point of view. It is difficult to judge the goodness of a person. He may be good for one, at the same time he may be bad for another.
Just take an example of our earth. When it is dart in the eastern region, it is bright in the western part and vice versa. Can we say that the Sun is vanished in there regular intervals? No…… Because the Sun is still at its place. It is the earth while moving around its axis causes day and night. Similarly, we can not judge a person from a single instance.
Now coming to the topic, we will analyse, what happens when bad things happen to good people?
Mf…
Nobody is completely good or completely bad in this world. It is the situation, time and surrounds that make a person good or bad. Sometimes emotion is also the big factor which is responsible to make a person good or bad.
Take an example of a knife. A cook uses it for cutting vegetable into pieces. A student of Zoology uses it for de-section purpose. For a doctor it is a surgical instrument. Somebody can use it and keep it with him for self defense. But when it is used to kill others, obviously it is a bad thing. Here the knife is same. But, we human beings make good or bad by using in different ways for different purposes.
A person has to play different roles in society. At home he is a father, husband or a son. In outer world, he is a social person. At workplace he is an employee. He has to render several works at workplace. So, he has to give proper justice to his roles played at different places. He may be strict to his child for his career development. But, in other times he is a loving father to his child. At workplace, he is a disciplined employee. That does not mean that he is adamant of arrogant.
There are people who are very emotional, very touchy, very sensitive and very affectionate by heart. But, sometimes they are covered with a mask of graveness. We can not simply say that he is a heartless person. Because it is the circumstances which compels him or her to act so.
Just like the example of knife cited above, it is the surrounding, it is the attitude and it is the behaviour of others which controls the activities of a person. But, everyone should take care that nothing bad should be happened to a good people.
Our law says that let hundreds of criminals be freed, but one innocent should not be punished. But things happen otherwise. In our society the innocent suffers a lot. Take an example of a Government employee. Mf…
Somewhere I have read a satire that “My country is great, where ninety nine our of hundred are corrupt. There is no place for an honest person in a corrupted environment. He has to face many problems. He may suffer like anything. He may be transferred to a remote area, where there is no facility for education, health etc. Sometimes, the remote area is so polluted that it may not suit an outsider. He may fell ill. There may be no cooperation for him. Even he may not get cooperation from his family also. Sometimes it happens that he may get severe punishment for a small mistake. Web of conspiracies tied him like anything and he may not get a chance to overcome the troubles. It he raises his vice against corruption or takes any step to stop corruption, then his life will also be in risk sometimes. Sometimes, conspiracies made to delay his promotion, to hold up his monthly salary, to stop his annual increment etc. So, the ultimate thing will happen is that, he may get mad; he may commit suicide or will be bound to become corrupt. But, a few among them are there, who have the power to face the storm and have patience to get justice.
Sometimes, the same thing happens to a student, a competitor also. Last year, one student of Buxi Jagabandhu College of Bhubaneswar named Richa Mishra committed suicide due to this type of corruption. She was a good student. But, when she saw that students lower standard get better marks than her, she was disappointed. Out of depression she committed suicide, with a suicidal note against the lecturers responsible. After revaluation of hr paper, it is found that the new score is much more than the score given in her progress report. Action was taken against the culprits. But, did her parents get back their child? Did this punishment stop this type of corruption in future? What steps were taken to stop this type of humiliation in future?
Mf…
From a survey, it is found that most the terrorists in the borders of our country are educated unemployed. They are compelled to become so for money. Can we say that all of them are bad by nature? No……. Some of them are revolutionaries. They are so tortured by the society and so fed up by the circumstances that they have no faith on law, order and justice. With the dream of getting more money and keeping their family away from poverty, they are purchased by the intruders and ultimately they become the enemy of our county.
Long years ago, the daughter of a political leader of Jammu and Kashmir (I could not recall his name) was kidnapped by the terrorists. Their demand was to release another terrorist who was in the police custody at that time. Our Government was compelled to free the terrorist t bring back the girl. I do not blame the Government for this act. Because, by this act, an innocent life was saved. But, I am sorry to say that some days after this incident, a school teacher was kidnapped, with the same condition and no steps like the former was taken by the Government and the teacher was slain. After this incident I had read somewhere in the newspaper, the version of his son that “My father was not the relative of apolitical leader, that is why no steps was taken for his rescue and he was killed.” And no wonder when we listen that his son has become a terrorist or rebellion later.
On the other side, it is the mentality of a person to utilize the situation in a bad way or drive it towards a good path. In these circumstances I would like to cite a story. There are two son of a person, who was a drunkard. Years after it is seen that one of them become a drunkard like his father and another become a respectable person of the society. Being asked both of them told that, it is because of their father, they become so. In other words both of them are influenced by their father. Mf…
The son who became a drunkard said that being influenced by his father in a wrong way, he became a drunkard.
But, the answer of another son was different. He politely told that from the very childhood when he saw his father being hated by the family members, by the society due to his bad nature, he decided that he will not be like his father and the ultimate result is that he is now among the respectable persons of the society.
So, why should not we be like the second son? There water in the ponds, in the ocean and also in the drains. But, the Sun is indifferent to all. It soaks water from everywhere. We should be like the son.
It is natural that in the present society, we have to struggle for getting justice. But, if we will keep our mind strong, we will get justice in someday or other. Yes, it is true that most of the good people are facing troubles. But that does not mean that they will be disappointed, disheartened. They have to struggle hard to prove their identity, to prove their innocence. And it is sure that someday or other things will be solved and they will be recongnised by the society. But for this we have to keep patience.
Just take an example of our earth. When it is dart in the eastern region, it is bright in the western part and vice versa. Can we say that the Sun is vanished in there regular intervals? No…… Because the Sun is still at its place. It is the earth while moving around its axis causes day and night. Similarly, we can not judge a person from a single instance.
Now coming to the topic, we will analyse, what happens when bad things happen to good people?
Mf…
Nobody is completely good or completely bad in this world. It is the situation, time and surrounds that make a person good or bad. Sometimes emotion is also the big factor which is responsible to make a person good or bad.
Take an example of a knife. A cook uses it for cutting vegetable into pieces. A student of Zoology uses it for de-section purpose. For a doctor it is a surgical instrument. Somebody can use it and keep it with him for self defense. But when it is used to kill others, obviously it is a bad thing. Here the knife is same. But, we human beings make good or bad by using in different ways for different purposes.
A person has to play different roles in society. At home he is a father, husband or a son. In outer world, he is a social person. At workplace he is an employee. He has to render several works at workplace. So, he has to give proper justice to his roles played at different places. He may be strict to his child for his career development. But, in other times he is a loving father to his child. At workplace, he is a disciplined employee. That does not mean that he is adamant of arrogant.
There are people who are very emotional, very touchy, very sensitive and very affectionate by heart. But, sometimes they are covered with a mask of graveness. We can not simply say that he is a heartless person. Because it is the circumstances which compels him or her to act so.
Just like the example of knife cited above, it is the surrounding, it is the attitude and it is the behaviour of others which controls the activities of a person. But, everyone should take care that nothing bad should be happened to a good people.
Our law says that let hundreds of criminals be freed, but one innocent should not be punished. But things happen otherwise. In our society the innocent suffers a lot. Take an example of a Government employee. Mf…
Somewhere I have read a satire that “My country is great, where ninety nine our of hundred are corrupt. There is no place for an honest person in a corrupted environment. He has to face many problems. He may suffer like anything. He may be transferred to a remote area, where there is no facility for education, health etc. Sometimes, the remote area is so polluted that it may not suit an outsider. He may fell ill. There may be no cooperation for him. Even he may not get cooperation from his family also. Sometimes it happens that he may get severe punishment for a small mistake. Web of conspiracies tied him like anything and he may not get a chance to overcome the troubles. It he raises his vice against corruption or takes any step to stop corruption, then his life will also be in risk sometimes. Sometimes, conspiracies made to delay his promotion, to hold up his monthly salary, to stop his annual increment etc. So, the ultimate thing will happen is that, he may get mad; he may commit suicide or will be bound to become corrupt. But, a few among them are there, who have the power to face the storm and have patience to get justice.
Sometimes, the same thing happens to a student, a competitor also. Last year, one student of Buxi Jagabandhu College of Bhubaneswar named Richa Mishra committed suicide due to this type of corruption. She was a good student. But, when she saw that students lower standard get better marks than her, she was disappointed. Out of depression she committed suicide, with a suicidal note against the lecturers responsible. After revaluation of hr paper, it is found that the new score is much more than the score given in her progress report. Action was taken against the culprits. But, did her parents get back their child? Did this punishment stop this type of corruption in future? What steps were taken to stop this type of humiliation in future?
Mf…
From a survey, it is found that most the terrorists in the borders of our country are educated unemployed. They are compelled to become so for money. Can we say that all of them are bad by nature? No……. Some of them are revolutionaries. They are so tortured by the society and so fed up by the circumstances that they have no faith on law, order and justice. With the dream of getting more money and keeping their family away from poverty, they are purchased by the intruders and ultimately they become the enemy of our county.
Long years ago, the daughter of a political leader of Jammu and Kashmir (I could not recall his name) was kidnapped by the terrorists. Their demand was to release another terrorist who was in the police custody at that time. Our Government was compelled to free the terrorist t bring back the girl. I do not blame the Government for this act. Because, by this act, an innocent life was saved. But, I am sorry to say that some days after this incident, a school teacher was kidnapped, with the same condition and no steps like the former was taken by the Government and the teacher was slain. After this incident I had read somewhere in the newspaper, the version of his son that “My father was not the relative of apolitical leader, that is why no steps was taken for his rescue and he was killed.” And no wonder when we listen that his son has become a terrorist or rebellion later.
On the other side, it is the mentality of a person to utilize the situation in a bad way or drive it towards a good path. In these circumstances I would like to cite a story. There are two son of a person, who was a drunkard. Years after it is seen that one of them become a drunkard like his father and another become a respectable person of the society. Being asked both of them told that, it is because of their father, they become so. In other words both of them are influenced by their father. Mf…
The son who became a drunkard said that being influenced by his father in a wrong way, he became a drunkard.
But, the answer of another son was different. He politely told that from the very childhood when he saw his father being hated by the family members, by the society due to his bad nature, he decided that he will not be like his father and the ultimate result is that he is now among the respectable persons of the society.
So, why should not we be like the second son? There water in the ponds, in the ocean and also in the drains. But, the Sun is indifferent to all. It soaks water from everywhere. We should be like the son.
It is natural that in the present society, we have to struggle for getting justice. But, if we will keep our mind strong, we will get justice in someday or other. Yes, it is true that most of the good people are facing troubles. But that does not mean that they will be disappointed, disheartened. They have to struggle hard to prove their identity, to prove their innocence. And it is sure that someday or other things will be solved and they will be recongnised by the society. But for this we have to keep patience.
OM
Strange is the girl. She has got space for everyone. The more I tried to understand her, she still remains a riddle. She contents with less. I feel pity for her. She has no complains against anyone. I developed a liking towards her. I am a well heeled person, in affluence having a family with a sweet child and a loving wife. We as a couple has deep understanding. She is bestowed with all virtues of a woman. Still then I feel lonely and yearn for Om.
Om Ratha. I got stuck at her serial in the list of new recruits. It seemed as if it was name of a male candidate. But actually it was a lady. I thought whether she could survive in the present service scenario. Aftermath I realised she is not a girl, but a fireball. Her manners were that of a boy. God has mistakenly made her a girl. I told her this much later, when we have come closer. With much hesitation, she becomes a friend of mine. She rolled in laughter when I told her this and become saddened. She had the feeling why she became a female in stead of a male. She has strange ideas. I am taken aback sometimes on her conduct.
She will arrive at unusual hours for assigned work. She will protest if payment is delayed.
She was inside an invisible circle of her own. Nobody dares to reach her. But there were murmurs behind her. I was a guarding stone wall for her. I did not entertain any discussion of her.
I sent her message to her cell on New Year’s Day. I was horrified on her expected reaction. She was as usual normal. No reaction on her face. Her indifference attracted me more towards her. I try to know more and more about her. But she appeared more a riddle. Her world was between her home and office. But I had marked she has no hesitation to accompany other on official work.
One day I found her talking to someone on her mobile. Nothing unusual. But she was still talking over half an hour continuously. Her voice was heavy and eyes tear laden. What Madam Hitler in tears, I thought.
I called her to my chamber to discuss a topic. A strange transformation in a while. She was quite normal. But, eyes were still swollen.
: Is there any problem?
: No. She had a forced smile on her face. She had dimples on her cheek. Actually speaking I developed weakness for the dimple on her cheek. After we got closer I had tried to touch the dimples. But she evaded it.
Afterwards I came to know she talks with somebody at a particular point of time. She does not tolerate any interruption. I smelt perhaps she is in love. I sly into rage.
I ventured one more SMS showing my inclination to her. The reply came that Om is meant for someone else. I did not get the scope his identification. But I named him Swastik.
The next day I confronted her and came to know that she is shrouded in a hard cell and a soft heart in it. I came close to it. She was quite normal with me, but had some unknown fear for me. I was sure she had no weakness for me . She talks to me, chats with me whenever she likes. But Swati (my wife) developed suspicion on me. I disclosed everything about Om to Swati, but not my weakness. Could not tell it. I sure that no husband on earth could divulge it. I did not want any disturbance for Om. Om had no knowledge of my marital status. I let her know about it. She was beaming with joy. I could not know the reason.
: You know Geet! My Buddha will be relaxed now. (She called her love Buddha).
I did not understand the relation of my marital status with Swastik. Om did not conceal anything from Swastik. Swastik was sure that I had developed weakness for Om.
: But Om! I really love you.
: I know. But I regard you as a friend. No one can replace my love. Her face glow a new light.
But she remains silent on Swastik. I wanted know what quality Swastik had to her heart. Sometimes she over spoke about Swastik and next moment fell silent. I could read tangs in her look. I feel she is disturbed in the absence of Swastik. It was of course natural in those circumstances. She calls me side hero. Of course I told it.
: Where is the problem in getting married to Swastik? I asked one day.
: He is already married. Slipped from her tongue.
: But............
: But what? Asked Om.
I could not believe it or digest such a proposition. I left the scene quietly.
I was buried the whole night of Om. I have overheard them. But never felt she is talking to a married person. But.......... How it could be possible? I feel both are dedicated to each other.
: Your imagination is correct Geet.
: But..........
: But don’t go further.
Swati was in agony over Om. I could not tell in details to Swati. I was alone at home. Swati had gone to her parents for Sabitri Puja. Suddenly Om called me.
: You have another existence besides me. You have a family with Swati and Sonu (my son). But there is no other person to standby my Buddha. I am the only reality in his life. Please don’t trespass. I want peace. She was weeping.
I could not read the situation. Again she rang me. I got annoyed. Switched off the phone. Even I did not come for chatting. I knew she would not have a wink of sleep of that night. Still then I controlled myself. I only know how the night ends.
I got up with the sound of the calling bell. I saw Om at the door. I could not belief myself. How could she get my address? Nothing is impossible for a girl like Om. Her eyes were heavy with drowsiness. She clasped my hand and wept. I got irritated when I came to know she has come on the directions of Swastik. I know Swastik feel insecure regarding me. It is astonishing he could not expense social recognisation to Om, how could become so intimate?
: You can’t understand it. Om said silently.
: I also don’t want to understand. I am pulling on well with my wife and she has not done anything which would force me to develop relation with another woman. I hurt Om knowingly. She had the incredible strength to absorb humiliation and slowly intoned “my Buddha also can never betray anyone”. After a while she left.
Though we were at a same office, we work in different projects. We go separately as team head. Each project takes months together for completion. I had not met Om for a long period. I could have talk to her over phone. But both of us refrained to talk. Once I met her in course of official work. Look pale and thin. I wanted to talk her, but she avoided. She called me from back.
: You not only the dedicated husband in the world. Swastik would have become one, if I had wanted. Whatever he has done it is only for me. He has not neglected his family, or would not do so for me.
I asked why she looked so weak.
: I am at an advance stage of cancer. That is why I compelled Swastik to get married elsewhere. Tell me frankly, are u so much dedicated? Did not you have soft corner for me?
I remain silent. She was descending steps.
************
Om Ratha. I got stuck at her serial in the list of new recruits. It seemed as if it was name of a male candidate. But actually it was a lady. I thought whether she could survive in the present service scenario. Aftermath I realised she is not a girl, but a fireball. Her manners were that of a boy. God has mistakenly made her a girl. I told her this much later, when we have come closer. With much hesitation, she becomes a friend of mine. She rolled in laughter when I told her this and become saddened. She had the feeling why she became a female in stead of a male. She has strange ideas. I am taken aback sometimes on her conduct.
She will arrive at unusual hours for assigned work. She will protest if payment is delayed.
She was inside an invisible circle of her own. Nobody dares to reach her. But there were murmurs behind her. I was a guarding stone wall for her. I did not entertain any discussion of her.
I sent her message to her cell on New Year’s Day. I was horrified on her expected reaction. She was as usual normal. No reaction on her face. Her indifference attracted me more towards her. I try to know more and more about her. But she appeared more a riddle. Her world was between her home and office. But I had marked she has no hesitation to accompany other on official work.
One day I found her talking to someone on her mobile. Nothing unusual. But she was still talking over half an hour continuously. Her voice was heavy and eyes tear laden. What Madam Hitler in tears, I thought.
I called her to my chamber to discuss a topic. A strange transformation in a while. She was quite normal. But, eyes were still swollen.
: Is there any problem?
: No. She had a forced smile on her face. She had dimples on her cheek. Actually speaking I developed weakness for the dimple on her cheek. After we got closer I had tried to touch the dimples. But she evaded it.
Afterwards I came to know she talks with somebody at a particular point of time. She does not tolerate any interruption. I smelt perhaps she is in love. I sly into rage.
I ventured one more SMS showing my inclination to her. The reply came that Om is meant for someone else. I did not get the scope his identification. But I named him Swastik.
The next day I confronted her and came to know that she is shrouded in a hard cell and a soft heart in it. I came close to it. She was quite normal with me, but had some unknown fear for me. I was sure she had no weakness for me . She talks to me, chats with me whenever she likes. But Swati (my wife) developed suspicion on me. I disclosed everything about Om to Swati, but not my weakness. Could not tell it. I sure that no husband on earth could divulge it. I did not want any disturbance for Om. Om had no knowledge of my marital status. I let her know about it. She was beaming with joy. I could not know the reason.
: You know Geet! My Buddha will be relaxed now. (She called her love Buddha).
I did not understand the relation of my marital status with Swastik. Om did not conceal anything from Swastik. Swastik was sure that I had developed weakness for Om.
: But Om! I really love you.
: I know. But I regard you as a friend. No one can replace my love. Her face glow a new light.
But she remains silent on Swastik. I wanted know what quality Swastik had to her heart. Sometimes she over spoke about Swastik and next moment fell silent. I could read tangs in her look. I feel she is disturbed in the absence of Swastik. It was of course natural in those circumstances. She calls me side hero. Of course I told it.
: Where is the problem in getting married to Swastik? I asked one day.
: He is already married. Slipped from her tongue.
: But............
: But what? Asked Om.
I could not believe it or digest such a proposition. I left the scene quietly.
I was buried the whole night of Om. I have overheard them. But never felt she is talking to a married person. But.......... How it could be possible? I feel both are dedicated to each other.
: Your imagination is correct Geet.
: But..........
: But don’t go further.
Swati was in agony over Om. I could not tell in details to Swati. I was alone at home. Swati had gone to her parents for Sabitri Puja. Suddenly Om called me.
: You have another existence besides me. You have a family with Swati and Sonu (my son). But there is no other person to standby my Buddha. I am the only reality in his life. Please don’t trespass. I want peace. She was weeping.
I could not read the situation. Again she rang me. I got annoyed. Switched off the phone. Even I did not come for chatting. I knew she would not have a wink of sleep of that night. Still then I controlled myself. I only know how the night ends.
I got up with the sound of the calling bell. I saw Om at the door. I could not belief myself. How could she get my address? Nothing is impossible for a girl like Om. Her eyes were heavy with drowsiness. She clasped my hand and wept. I got irritated when I came to know she has come on the directions of Swastik. I know Swastik feel insecure regarding me. It is astonishing he could not expense social recognisation to Om, how could become so intimate?
: You can’t understand it. Om said silently.
: I also don’t want to understand. I am pulling on well with my wife and she has not done anything which would force me to develop relation with another woman. I hurt Om knowingly. She had the incredible strength to absorb humiliation and slowly intoned “my Buddha also can never betray anyone”. After a while she left.
Though we were at a same office, we work in different projects. We go separately as team head. Each project takes months together for completion. I had not met Om for a long period. I could have talk to her over phone. But both of us refrained to talk. Once I met her in course of official work. Look pale and thin. I wanted to talk her, but she avoided. She called me from back.
: You not only the dedicated husband in the world. Swastik would have become one, if I had wanted. Whatever he has done it is only for me. He has not neglected his family, or would not do so for me.
I asked why she looked so weak.
: I am at an advance stage of cancer. That is why I compelled Swastik to get married elsewhere. Tell me frankly, are u so much dedicated? Did not you have soft corner for me?
I remain silent. She was descending steps.
************
MADHABI
An afternoon on a pre-spring day. The cuckoo’s sound is heard with interludes. Annual exams were over. There was no attraction of going village in the absence of grandparents. Summer holidays would have been enjoyable, if grandparents were around. They spend their summer in Bangalore. The village is not worth visiting in their absence. I was busy with my siblings and friends on a new mission. In the meanwhile Nana (my father) was back form village. Madhabi passed away last night, Nana told. All my interest seized. Everybody at home wore a deserted look.
Everybody knew her days were numbered. Still then her passing away was unbelievable. She was the only sister among seven brothers. Still then she had no ceremonial welcome at the time of her birth. Because she was a female child. She is a distant cousin of mine. She has a delicate body with doe eyes, thick curly hair, always with a smile. All these added grace to her physique. She was hardly three to four months senior to me. But was looked junior in age. She was getting weakened. Dadei (father’s elder brother) had no care for her. He was not that poor for her medication.
Of course she would not have survived despite treatment. At least she could have died in peace. Dadei did not do this much at least. Dadei forcibly discharged her from hospital, even though my uncle admitted her.
What are the returns on spending a fortune on the girl? If she survives what are the benefits? Rather a lot is to be spent on her wedding. Better she is to die. These were arguments of Dadei.
Madhabi knows everything. But has no reaction. She remains busy in her work. She kept the mud built house neat and clean. On the auspicious Thursday of Margasira month, her jhoti (traditional paintings on earth) is the cynosure of all. Not only this, she lends a hand who needs it. Particularly she was of great help to my grandmother. Grandma was weak due to old age. Madhabi helps her in household chorus. Granny loved her much. She had her eyes on the flowers of our garden. Her pale face radiates when a bouquet of flower is handed to her. She has glaze on her emaciated body. Even an enemy could not cast of eyes when she is clad in a red saree and bedecked in flower.
There was a sour fruit tree in their backyard, a focus for children like us. Madhabi rushes to our house, when we come from town. She invites us to her house. She gives us bucket full of fruits. She accompanies us in the mid day to the mango grooves. She plucks mango for us. We make fun and frolic with her. We did not know that she is afflicted with blood cancer. One day she lost consciousness while playing in the orchard. We took her home. Dadei has no mind for day to day life. He was content with ganja. He was ruined consuming ganja. This was a later development. Madhabi did not survive to witness the ruin. Dethei (Dadei’s wife) was un-lettered. They called a sorcer to get rid of evil spirits, in stead of medical treatment. Because our playground was the hunting place for ghost and witches. We did not have the courage to protest, though we did not believe in ghosts. Madhabi better after while. The next morning we came back to the town.
Our last meeting with Madhabi was on the thread ceremony day of my brother. Dadei did not allow dethei to go anywhere. He was very suspicious by nature. Dadei smelt a rat when our dethei chat with a male, even of his son’s age. So, we did not imagine Dethei would come to our house. But, Madhabi came somehow. She was griming with joy. She took a lot of things from my mother, for her mother. She was dreaming of inviting us to her brothers’ thread ceremony. I could not talk much to her on that day. Still she promised to come again.
Ghana Piusa (the husband of father’s sister) had gone to Madhabi’s house to invite them on the marriage function of his son. There was some festival on that day. Madhabi did obeisance to Ghana Piusa. Piusa waited to taste the dishes prepared by her. He could not imagine that he has to perform her funeral rites. Nobody was around except Dethei. Madhabi was busy in cooking. Suddenly she fell down unconscious. There was no scope to talk to anyone. She had taken to the nearest hospital in a bullock cart. But she was no more. She died on the way.
She was tortured a lot, but had no complain against anyone. She died unsung. I discovered tears once when Dadei mowed down the fruit bearing tree. She did not say nothing, but shed bitter silent tears. Dadei came on the following day of her death. He did not mourn, but was happy on being freed from the burden of a girl. I felt him to be a butcher on the day of felling the tree, but now I think he is a murderer.
Word Count:- 864
Everybody knew her days were numbered. Still then her passing away was unbelievable. She was the only sister among seven brothers. Still then she had no ceremonial welcome at the time of her birth. Because she was a female child. She is a distant cousin of mine. She has a delicate body with doe eyes, thick curly hair, always with a smile. All these added grace to her physique. She was hardly three to four months senior to me. But was looked junior in age. She was getting weakened. Dadei (father’s elder brother) had no care for her. He was not that poor for her medication.
Of course she would not have survived despite treatment. At least she could have died in peace. Dadei did not do this much at least. Dadei forcibly discharged her from hospital, even though my uncle admitted her.
What are the returns on spending a fortune on the girl? If she survives what are the benefits? Rather a lot is to be spent on her wedding. Better she is to die. These were arguments of Dadei.
Madhabi knows everything. But has no reaction. She remains busy in her work. She kept the mud built house neat and clean. On the auspicious Thursday of Margasira month, her jhoti (traditional paintings on earth) is the cynosure of all. Not only this, she lends a hand who needs it. Particularly she was of great help to my grandmother. Grandma was weak due to old age. Madhabi helps her in household chorus. Granny loved her much. She had her eyes on the flowers of our garden. Her pale face radiates when a bouquet of flower is handed to her. She has glaze on her emaciated body. Even an enemy could not cast of eyes when she is clad in a red saree and bedecked in flower.
There was a sour fruit tree in their backyard, a focus for children like us. Madhabi rushes to our house, when we come from town. She invites us to her house. She gives us bucket full of fruits. She accompanies us in the mid day to the mango grooves. She plucks mango for us. We make fun and frolic with her. We did not know that she is afflicted with blood cancer. One day she lost consciousness while playing in the orchard. We took her home. Dadei has no mind for day to day life. He was content with ganja. He was ruined consuming ganja. This was a later development. Madhabi did not survive to witness the ruin. Dethei (Dadei’s wife) was un-lettered. They called a sorcer to get rid of evil spirits, in stead of medical treatment. Because our playground was the hunting place for ghost and witches. We did not have the courage to protest, though we did not believe in ghosts. Madhabi better after while. The next morning we came back to the town.
Our last meeting with Madhabi was on the thread ceremony day of my brother. Dadei did not allow dethei to go anywhere. He was very suspicious by nature. Dadei smelt a rat when our dethei chat with a male, even of his son’s age. So, we did not imagine Dethei would come to our house. But, Madhabi came somehow. She was griming with joy. She took a lot of things from my mother, for her mother. She was dreaming of inviting us to her brothers’ thread ceremony. I could not talk much to her on that day. Still she promised to come again.
Ghana Piusa (the husband of father’s sister) had gone to Madhabi’s house to invite them on the marriage function of his son. There was some festival on that day. Madhabi did obeisance to Ghana Piusa. Piusa waited to taste the dishes prepared by her. He could not imagine that he has to perform her funeral rites. Nobody was around except Dethei. Madhabi was busy in cooking. Suddenly she fell down unconscious. There was no scope to talk to anyone. She had taken to the nearest hospital in a bullock cart. But she was no more. She died on the way.
She was tortured a lot, but had no complain against anyone. She died unsung. I discovered tears once when Dadei mowed down the fruit bearing tree. She did not say nothing, but shed bitter silent tears. Dadei came on the following day of her death. He did not mourn, but was happy on being freed from the burden of a girl. I felt him to be a butcher on the day of felling the tree, but now I think he is a murderer.
Word Count:- 864
THE WHEEL CHAIR
I had weakness developed for this wheel chair from very childhood days. I had the queer idea that person sitting on the chair must be very happy one. They have got nothing to worry. I was envious of my grandfather who was a paralytic. What idea would have been in mind regarding paralysis in those days? I did not have the mental maturity to understand the fatality of paralysis then.
I saw grandpa sitting all along on the cut, walk a little. He had nothing to do. One had to attend on him, take care of him. He occasionally uses his left hand. No one came on his way. I found him sometimes reading a newspaper or books. I thought what a fun? Nothing was to be done. You are left free to read, or do something else at your will. Nobody will chastise you. If you got ill, it was more of a benefit. I developed jealousy.
Grandpa did not lift me on his shoulder, nor did he call me as frequently before. Never talk much also. Almost silent. I felt like weeping. I walked off him silently.
I had developed weakness, but for the wheelchair, that grandpa used. I carried the idea of being diseased like grandpa and to be laid on the chair and someone would be moving the chair. One day I expressed it to grandpa. He became pale with such words. Let this misfortune never be fall on anyone. I was annoyed that day. I thought grandpa had developed selfishness, for sharing the chair. He did not like me as earlier days. I retreated with a heavy heart. I could not understand him then. But now, I have realized the hard truth behind it.
God granted me the boon/curse to be the friend of the wheelchair forever. Why did I get envious of grandpa? He is no more with us today. Everybody heaped a sigh of relief, the day he departed, that he escaped great pain. I was getting angry on them. Today, I feel they were speaking the truth. But, grandpa was fortunate. Whatever it may be, he was active. Our entire family was at his service. But there is none for me. What sins I committed in my life I don’t know. I am disheartened. I am crippled without the help of my parents.
Oh God! How cruel you are. You did not realize how a girl will survive. You are the father of the universe. Without understanding the implication of my imploration, you granted it. You are happy now. You might be contending seeing the tears in the eyes of a once jolly girl. I don’t know where my journey will end. But I am sure; the wheelchair will be my companion till the end comes. Tears filled my eyes. I felt as if, the wheelchair is deriding me.
I saw grandpa sitting all along on the cut, walk a little. He had nothing to do. One had to attend on him, take care of him. He occasionally uses his left hand. No one came on his way. I found him sometimes reading a newspaper or books. I thought what a fun? Nothing was to be done. You are left free to read, or do something else at your will. Nobody will chastise you. If you got ill, it was more of a benefit. I developed jealousy.
Grandpa did not lift me on his shoulder, nor did he call me as frequently before. Never talk much also. Almost silent. I felt like weeping. I walked off him silently.
I had developed weakness, but for the wheelchair, that grandpa used. I carried the idea of being diseased like grandpa and to be laid on the chair and someone would be moving the chair. One day I expressed it to grandpa. He became pale with such words. Let this misfortune never be fall on anyone. I was annoyed that day. I thought grandpa had developed selfishness, for sharing the chair. He did not like me as earlier days. I retreated with a heavy heart. I could not understand him then. But now, I have realized the hard truth behind it.
God granted me the boon/curse to be the friend of the wheelchair forever. Why did I get envious of grandpa? He is no more with us today. Everybody heaped a sigh of relief, the day he departed, that he escaped great pain. I was getting angry on them. Today, I feel they were speaking the truth. But, grandpa was fortunate. Whatever it may be, he was active. Our entire family was at his service. But there is none for me. What sins I committed in my life I don’t know. I am disheartened. I am crippled without the help of my parents.
Oh God! How cruel you are. You did not realize how a girl will survive. You are the father of the universe. Without understanding the implication of my imploration, you granted it. You are happy now. You might be contending seeing the tears in the eyes of a once jolly girl. I don’t know where my journey will end. But I am sure; the wheelchair will be my companion till the end comes. Tears filled my eyes. I felt as if, the wheelchair is deriding me.
REPENTANCE
A picturesque hamlet, cradled two hillocks from eternity. A big tank and a shrine that greet the guests. The village comes after the school at the entrance. Hardly fifty families stay in the village. But the village Kahakapur (my village) is rich with tales.
It thrills me when my village comes to my mind. The recollection of departed relatives haunts me when I meet their contemporaries.
One day Nana (my father) asked me “Do you remember Burunda” our farm assistant? He was our farm hand, many moons back. My grandfather was a land lord. We did not think of purchasing fruits like mango, jack fruit and cashew etc which grew in abundance in old days in our orchard. Tears filled eyes now while tasting the artificially ripened fruits being purchased from the market or from the vendor. I could not understand why Nana suddenly raised Burunda issue. Bou (my mother) and my other siblings were around. Even my brother-in-law and other sisters were not aware of him; since they were least attached to our village, but myself was more close to village than others. Even while passing the bridge at Humma on train the landscape of my village comes to my mind.
I did not count Burunda so important. Why his topics came up? Is he dead? Some mishappening took place? I did not have any information of Burunda?
His face, his figure a dark complexioned, emaciated man comes to mind. He was workaholic and glutton. He eats about half kg. of boiled rice along with a dry mango peace, boiled potato or brinjal with salt with great satisfaction. The farm labourhands ate boiled rice. Unless they ate how could they work in the field? He had carried me to neighbouring village, acquainted me with our mango orchard, farm lands on his broad shoulder. I had not completely forgotten him. But there was nothing special about him to be remembered. Many farm-hands had come and gone, he was one among them. I looked inquiringly to my father. His face was heavy with emotion on the verge of tears. He is always so. He is emotional, under a rough exterior on rare occasions.
My grandma was very affectionate. In her days she completed seventh standard. It was about ninety years back. She had sharp memory and could recite ‘Bhagabat’, ‘Manabaodha Chautisha’ and Mahabharata, which she rote. Her talent could not come to light. She became housewife like other girls of her time in the daily chorus of life. But she had a distinct personality. Her eyes were filled with tears when she was reciting the poem ‘Kalijai’. She was haunted by the fact that one of my paternal aunties was married in a remote village inside Chillika Lake. She was in the habit of weeping silently. These are past and a distant dream now.
There was a ‘granary’ in our house – nobody will understand the term. It was made of wood and bamboo could contain hundred ‘Bharana’ (one bharana is equal to 80 kgs. of paddy). Besides this our last room close to kitchen was a store house of rice. This is not my main purpose of discussion.
My granny though different from other village women folk, had womanly virtues. We had a rich harvest of paddy and rice. It was hard to identify if some of it were stolen due to its abundance.
The women folk moved around in the backyard of household hardly came to the front, similarly the men folk hard came to this portion of the household.
The village was frequented by fisher women, bangle men and tattoo making women of their trades to eke out their living. Most of the times the male members were act on farm work. The wares purchased against paddy or rice on barter. But our family had two earning members with cash in hand. In those days money was a powerful medium of exchange. Grandma had some cash in her hand and gave to her grand children on their visit to our home.
She was forgetful by nature and could not trace things and I had taken advantage of it a lot. I was being summoned to trace the missing walking stick, medicine, tobacco pot, spectacles etc. The booty on this score helped to purchase books, other than text books. The rice stack served as her locker. She was in the habit of keeping household goods even gold rings there. My grandfather did not like this, but things were as usual, there was no change in her habit. Both of them are no more. They had become stars in the sky. They came in dreams, stir the mind, feel eyes with tears even today. They departed one after other in three months interval. It was fifteen years back, but seems as if it took place only yesterday. Their pyres were very close. Two saplings of Banyan and Peepal were planted on the spot of their cremation. Now they are two fully grown up trees with deep foliage. But don’t have luxuriant growth. Some one advised to replace the old soil from their root. But it is not an easy task.
In the mean while Nana has retired. He is the worthy son of his parents. He has devoted his time towards development work in the village. The temple tank was made clear of the weeds, the village got rid of wild vegetation around it, and a pedestal for the deity was renovated. But the prime task was to fill the root around the trees with new soil, but it was not so easy a task.
Of course relatives extended helping hand to Nana. Now I am coming back to Burunda episode. He was contemporary to Nana, hardly junior to him by three to four years in age: so he was calling ‘Bhaina’ (elder brother). He misspells the word ‘Bhaina’ as Baina. He was a ‘Telugu’ so handicapped in chaste Oriya pronunciation. He was an object of amusement of our elders. It was 30 years back. He was farm-hand of ours. My grandparents were dependent on him as Nana and dada (my uncle) were away from home. He had free access, and became a part of our household. In course of time he left the job at our household, it was quite usual then. He had emotional attachment to a point with us. He purchased cultivable land and became self dependent.
Whenever my parents and grand parents made to our village, he would call on them. He lived in a near by village. After exchange of pleasantries he would go back.
One day while my father was at our village he came to him and said that he had a dream of our departed grandparents. My father told that they had a liking of him and had devotion towards them, so it was natural to have dream of them.
But things recurred. Nana asked him whether they were reproaching him.
‘No’ said Burunda.
Then what? Asked Nana.
Burunda! Have you partaken your meal? Go have it. Burunda wiped tears.
Nana thought Burunda had attachment with our family, so he dreamt of them. Time and things went on. Nana was engaged in his usual work of removing old soil from the root of the two trees. Burunda volunteered to assist him.
Nana forbade him. He was ageing. But he insisted on and Nana gave in on conditions of payment of wage like other.
But he sprang surprise denying taking remuneration. Nana could not press him on his insistence of honorarium.
Mead day meals were prepared in open. After it, all including Nana took rest under shady trees to resume the work after a while. Burunda came closer to Nana. He was marking Burunda was in two minds to disclose some secrets.
“Will you tell me something”? Asked Nana
“Yes Baina, I have to say some thing.”
“Then tell me”.
“Not now. In alone, I will say”. Said Burunda.
So both of them walked a little distance from the work site. Sequence of events will be like this if narrated in a book.
Suddenly Burunda caught hold of Nana’s hand asked for pardon, eyes fill with tears. Nana was taken aback.
While he was working as a domestic help at our household, my grand mother entrusted him the task of sweeping. He came upon three hundred rupees in course of sweeping and arranging rice bags. Twenty five years back, it carried a great value. He succumbed to the temptation and took it away stealthily and left the job.
He purchased land, developed it by his sheer labour, got his daughters married off in well-heeled family, gave education to his sons and tested the taste of life.
“But ‘Baina’ I am not a thief. I did it out of avarice. Nana became dumb with such a confession. Is such a character is surviving on earth? He has met many people in his long career.
Burunda fell silent. Nana kept his hand on his back.
“You did not misutilise the money. What harm you had done? Nothing. Rather you have built your life with it. Nothing to be worried of it. You were another child of my parents. Have you ever dreamt of my parents rebuking you”?
“No” said Burunda.
That means they were satisfied with your conduct. So don’t think yourself guilty. Burunda got rid of the burden he carried on these days. The next morning he handed a five hundred rupees note and implored Nana to use it in the temple building work. With the end of narration, I found tears in Nana’s eyes. All sitting around him were silent.
But, I was thinking of my grandma. Probably that money was given to her either by Dada or Nana without grandfather’s knowledge. She might have kept it in the rice gunny in the absence of Almirah or cash box and might had forgotten it. The thing is that, with the help of it he could build his life.
I am dealing with many so called big sorts, their attitude to pay due tax, then I recollect Burunda, who laid foundation of life. Can’t these fellows share Burunda’s attitude towards life?
It thrills me when my village comes to my mind. The recollection of departed relatives haunts me when I meet their contemporaries.
One day Nana (my father) asked me “Do you remember Burunda” our farm assistant? He was our farm hand, many moons back. My grandfather was a land lord. We did not think of purchasing fruits like mango, jack fruit and cashew etc which grew in abundance in old days in our orchard. Tears filled eyes now while tasting the artificially ripened fruits being purchased from the market or from the vendor. I could not understand why Nana suddenly raised Burunda issue. Bou (my mother) and my other siblings were around. Even my brother-in-law and other sisters were not aware of him; since they were least attached to our village, but myself was more close to village than others. Even while passing the bridge at Humma on train the landscape of my village comes to my mind.
I did not count Burunda so important. Why his topics came up? Is he dead? Some mishappening took place? I did not have any information of Burunda?
His face, his figure a dark complexioned, emaciated man comes to mind. He was workaholic and glutton. He eats about half kg. of boiled rice along with a dry mango peace, boiled potato or brinjal with salt with great satisfaction. The farm labourhands ate boiled rice. Unless they ate how could they work in the field? He had carried me to neighbouring village, acquainted me with our mango orchard, farm lands on his broad shoulder. I had not completely forgotten him. But there was nothing special about him to be remembered. Many farm-hands had come and gone, he was one among them. I looked inquiringly to my father. His face was heavy with emotion on the verge of tears. He is always so. He is emotional, under a rough exterior on rare occasions.
My grandma was very affectionate. In her days she completed seventh standard. It was about ninety years back. She had sharp memory and could recite ‘Bhagabat’, ‘Manabaodha Chautisha’ and Mahabharata, which she rote. Her talent could not come to light. She became housewife like other girls of her time in the daily chorus of life. But she had a distinct personality. Her eyes were filled with tears when she was reciting the poem ‘Kalijai’. She was haunted by the fact that one of my paternal aunties was married in a remote village inside Chillika Lake. She was in the habit of weeping silently. These are past and a distant dream now.
There was a ‘granary’ in our house – nobody will understand the term. It was made of wood and bamboo could contain hundred ‘Bharana’ (one bharana is equal to 80 kgs. of paddy). Besides this our last room close to kitchen was a store house of rice. This is not my main purpose of discussion.
My granny though different from other village women folk, had womanly virtues. We had a rich harvest of paddy and rice. It was hard to identify if some of it were stolen due to its abundance.
The women folk moved around in the backyard of household hardly came to the front, similarly the men folk hard came to this portion of the household.
The village was frequented by fisher women, bangle men and tattoo making women of their trades to eke out their living. Most of the times the male members were act on farm work. The wares purchased against paddy or rice on barter. But our family had two earning members with cash in hand. In those days money was a powerful medium of exchange. Grandma had some cash in her hand and gave to her grand children on their visit to our home.
She was forgetful by nature and could not trace things and I had taken advantage of it a lot. I was being summoned to trace the missing walking stick, medicine, tobacco pot, spectacles etc. The booty on this score helped to purchase books, other than text books. The rice stack served as her locker. She was in the habit of keeping household goods even gold rings there. My grandfather did not like this, but things were as usual, there was no change in her habit. Both of them are no more. They had become stars in the sky. They came in dreams, stir the mind, feel eyes with tears even today. They departed one after other in three months interval. It was fifteen years back, but seems as if it took place only yesterday. Their pyres were very close. Two saplings of Banyan and Peepal were planted on the spot of their cremation. Now they are two fully grown up trees with deep foliage. But don’t have luxuriant growth. Some one advised to replace the old soil from their root. But it is not an easy task.
In the mean while Nana has retired. He is the worthy son of his parents. He has devoted his time towards development work in the village. The temple tank was made clear of the weeds, the village got rid of wild vegetation around it, and a pedestal for the deity was renovated. But the prime task was to fill the root around the trees with new soil, but it was not so easy a task.
Of course relatives extended helping hand to Nana. Now I am coming back to Burunda episode. He was contemporary to Nana, hardly junior to him by three to four years in age: so he was calling ‘Bhaina’ (elder brother). He misspells the word ‘Bhaina’ as Baina. He was a ‘Telugu’ so handicapped in chaste Oriya pronunciation. He was an object of amusement of our elders. It was 30 years back. He was farm-hand of ours. My grandparents were dependent on him as Nana and dada (my uncle) were away from home. He had free access, and became a part of our household. In course of time he left the job at our household, it was quite usual then. He had emotional attachment to a point with us. He purchased cultivable land and became self dependent.
Whenever my parents and grand parents made to our village, he would call on them. He lived in a near by village. After exchange of pleasantries he would go back.
One day while my father was at our village he came to him and said that he had a dream of our departed grandparents. My father told that they had a liking of him and had devotion towards them, so it was natural to have dream of them.
But things recurred. Nana asked him whether they were reproaching him.
‘No’ said Burunda.
Then what? Asked Nana.
Burunda! Have you partaken your meal? Go have it. Burunda wiped tears.
Nana thought Burunda had attachment with our family, so he dreamt of them. Time and things went on. Nana was engaged in his usual work of removing old soil from the root of the two trees. Burunda volunteered to assist him.
Nana forbade him. He was ageing. But he insisted on and Nana gave in on conditions of payment of wage like other.
But he sprang surprise denying taking remuneration. Nana could not press him on his insistence of honorarium.
Mead day meals were prepared in open. After it, all including Nana took rest under shady trees to resume the work after a while. Burunda came closer to Nana. He was marking Burunda was in two minds to disclose some secrets.
“Will you tell me something”? Asked Nana
“Yes Baina, I have to say some thing.”
“Then tell me”.
“Not now. In alone, I will say”. Said Burunda.
So both of them walked a little distance from the work site. Sequence of events will be like this if narrated in a book.
Suddenly Burunda caught hold of Nana’s hand asked for pardon, eyes fill with tears. Nana was taken aback.
While he was working as a domestic help at our household, my grand mother entrusted him the task of sweeping. He came upon three hundred rupees in course of sweeping and arranging rice bags. Twenty five years back, it carried a great value. He succumbed to the temptation and took it away stealthily and left the job.
He purchased land, developed it by his sheer labour, got his daughters married off in well-heeled family, gave education to his sons and tested the taste of life.
“But ‘Baina’ I am not a thief. I did it out of avarice. Nana became dumb with such a confession. Is such a character is surviving on earth? He has met many people in his long career.
Burunda fell silent. Nana kept his hand on his back.
“You did not misutilise the money. What harm you had done? Nothing. Rather you have built your life with it. Nothing to be worried of it. You were another child of my parents. Have you ever dreamt of my parents rebuking you”?
“No” said Burunda.
That means they were satisfied with your conduct. So don’t think yourself guilty. Burunda got rid of the burden he carried on these days. The next morning he handed a five hundred rupees note and implored Nana to use it in the temple building work. With the end of narration, I found tears in Nana’s eyes. All sitting around him were silent.
But, I was thinking of my grandma. Probably that money was given to her either by Dada or Nana without grandfather’s knowledge. She might have kept it in the rice gunny in the absence of Almirah or cash box and might had forgotten it. The thing is that, with the help of it he could build his life.
I am dealing with many so called big sorts, their attitude to pay due tax, then I recollect Burunda, who laid foundation of life. Can’t these fellows share Burunda’s attitude towards life?
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