KHOJ

आज पूछा किसी ने खोज के बारे में बोलना है।

ऐसी कोई चीज जो तुम्हारी थी और खो गई हो।

जिसका पता तुम्हें था, पर अब नहीं हो।

ऐसी एक  दो या अनेकों चीजें जो समय के साथ खो गई हो।

बहुत समय से सोच रही थी कि हां मुझे बोलना है,

बताना है कि कुछ नहीं काफी कुछ खो गया है।

समय के साथ उन चीज़ों की यादें भी धुंधली हो चली हैं।

आज कुछ वक्त निकला है, चुप चाप सी दुपहरी में

वो बंद पड़े बक्से की चाबी उठायी है।

अभी तो बस बक्से को देख रही हूं।

हिम्मत जुटा रही हूं, पुराने ताले खोलने के लिए।

पता नहीं क्या कुछ मिलेगा, या शायद कुछ भी ना मिलेगा।

एक डर है मन में, उन चीज़ों को देख कर अपने आज से परेशान तो ना होंगी।

कल परसों की चीजें हैं, पुरानी सी पर अब भी लगती है कुछ अपनी सी।

देखो, क्या मिला

एक डायरी जिसमें कुछ लिखा है

पन्ने पलटे तो लगा वापस उसी मोड़ पर अपने आप को देख रही थी।

दो चुटिया बनाए, कलम को अपने दांतों में दबा

कुछ गहरी सोच और कुछ गहरी लाइनें

अरे देखो, एक ब्रश और छोटी छोटी पन्नों में काले पेंट से दूर पहाड़ बने हुए

ये भी है उस वक्त का जब हाथ में ब्रश या कलम आते ही, किताबों के किनारे पे उभर आती थी एक तस्वीर।

पुराने जर्द पड़े धागों में घुंघरू, कुछ टूटे हुए, कुछ अभी भी बजते हुए

पता नहीं, इस बकसे में कब बंद हो गए?

ये जो मेरी चीज़ थी

हम्म्म्म...खैर जाने दो, कुछ यादें उनकी बस रहने दो।

शायद फिर किसी दिन इनकी ज़रूरत पड़े

आज इन्हें यहीं फिर रहने दो.

TREASURES FROM THE SAMUDRA MANTHAN

 This story comes to us from our ancient mythology. It is a story of planets and eclipses. 

A very long time ago, the devas and the asuras were fighting and it was a long fight with no ending in sight. The devas were exhausted. They went to the three primal gods- the Tridevs, Brahma, Vishnu and Mahadeva. “Lords, we are tired. The asuras just don’t let up and the worst thing is that Shukracharya uses the Sanjeevani Mantra to revive the dead asuras. In the morning, we are faced with the same asuras that we killed the day before. It is physically draining. You have to do something. We can’t continue fighting and leave all our jobs. How will the universe work if all that we keep doing is fight the same asuras over and over again.”

The Tridevs looked at each other. Mahadeva said, “They do have a point.” Brahma said, “Yes. It must be boring doing the same work again and again.” Vishnu said, “Hmmm. I think we need a solution and I know the perfect plan. We need amrit.”

Mahadeva said, “Oh yes! That will do the work but isn’t amrit inside the ksheer sagar. How will we get it out?” 

Vishnu said, “Oh Mahadeva, you have hit the nail on the head. Hmmm. If Indra and all the devas agree, I have a plan but it will require the help of our enemies too. Are you ok with it?”

Indra and the devas looked at each other in complete and utter confusion. “Are you sure, Lord that we need help from the Asuras. You know how cunning they are.”

Vishnu nodded, “I know they are cunning but do you have faith in me? That is the question.”

Indra and the other devas said in unison, “Ah Lord. We do have faith in you. Do whatever you think right. We will ask the asuras for help.”

Vishnu smiled and said, “Tell them the truth. Tell them that we will churn the ocean to get amrit and that amrit will be divided equally.”

Indra was gobsmacked, “Seriously. We need to divide the amrit with them. What are you thinking? They already have Sanjeevani and now you want them to get amrit. I am confused but Ok, whatever you think is right.”

Vishnu then said, “I want you to promise me another thing. You will not act in haste, not even when the asuras snatch something. You will maintain divine decorum at all times. Do you agree?”

The devas agreed though they looked uncomfortable.Then Vishnu said, “Ok. Issue the invitation to the asuras. Call Mount Mahendra to act as the whisk and call for the serpent king Vasuki. He will act as the rope. Go on. Let the churning begin.”

The devas hurried off to do their tasks. The asuras were invited. Shukracharya was sceptical, “The devas want our help. Strange. There must be a hidden motive behind this. I don’t think we should accept.” but the asura king was confident, “Arrey Guruji. What can these weak devas do? They are losing the battle so badly and it will be a chance to get the treasures of the ocean. We should accept.” “Do what you think is right.” said Shukracharya.

The Mahendra mountain was happy to help as was Vasuki. The stage was set. Vasuki wrapped himself around the mountain. The devas picked up the tail and the asuras held the head of Vasuki. Now the churning began but arrey arrey… the mountain sank beneath the ocean. “Now what!!! Lord help us.” the Gods cried out. 

Vishnu smiled and said, “Do not worry so much. I will act as the stand for the churner”. Saying this Vishnu took the form of a giant turtle, the kacchapa avatar. He plunged into the frothy waters and bore Mount Mahendra on his back. All cheered and the churning started with great gusto.

Vasuki was tired of the chuffing and the not so gentle handling. He spewed out a vast amount of the deadly poison, halahal. The skies darkened, the waters seethed and the air sizzled. The poison was terrible. “Oh Lord, now what do we do?”

The only one who could contain the poison was none other than Mahadeva. He rose from his seat, waded into the seething waters, cupped his palms and drank the halahal in one swift movement. Parvati rushed forward and laid her cool fingers on Mahadeva’s throat. The poison stopped there and the throat turned blue. “ Mahadeva, you have saved us. We will call you Neelkanth from now on”.

Soon treasures started revealing themselves from the ksheer sagar. Kaustubha, the gem which is worn by Vishnu. Kamadhenu, the wish giving cow, Parijat, the divine flowering tree found in the garden of heaven, the divine dancing apsaras like Rambha and Menaka. Various other herbs. Goddess Lakshmi, the eternal consort of Vishnu and finally Dhanvantri, the god of medicine with a brimming pot of amrita in his hands.

And that’s when things went down. The asuras dropped vasuki’s head and snatched the pot of amrita from dhanvantari. The devas looked unsure but they had promised Vishnu that they wouldn't fight. 

Just then a golden light sparkled and from that light emerged a gorgeous woman. She was a beauty incarnate. Her long lustrous hair, her doe eyes, her smiling lips. Everything captivated the asuras and devas alike. The asuras begged her to divide the amrit between them. Mohini, the enchantress smiled and said, “Dear Asuras, are you really sure you want me to give you the amrita?” “Yes, Yes “, screamed the asuras. Mohini smiled and said, “As you wish but you will not question me at all. Is that ok with you?”

The asuras agreed. Mohini said, “Go and take a bath , all of you and sit in two rows. Devas to my right and asuras to my left. I will walk down the row and give the amrita”. All the devas and asuras agreed with the beautiful Mohini. Soon they sat down in two rows facing each other and Mohini stepped daintily forward. She poured a bit of the amrit into the cups held by Indra, then Varuna, Agni, Chandra, Surya and the countless devatas. The asuras squirmed in their seats but they had given their word to Mohini so how could they go back on it now.

Then at the far end of the line Svarbahnu, that wily asura disguised himself as a deva. He crept into the line but the sharp eyed Chandra and the ever vigilant Surya called him out. Mohini had already given him two sips of the nectar by then. Vishnu called the Sudarshan Chakra and cut off his neck. Svarbhanu had already had the two sips so he couldn’t die though his body was cut in half. Svarbhanu screamed at Surya and Chandra, “You have made me your eternal enemy. I will gobble you both for sure.” saying this , the demon started to stalk Chandra and Surya. This is how eclipses happen and svarbhanu became known as Rahu and Ketu. 

After the confrontation with Svarbhanu, Mohini disappeared in a flash of lightning leaving the Asuras angry. They rushed at the devas to avenge the insult and a full on war started. The devas, fortified by the amrit, fought back and soon the asura army was defeated and pushed back to the patal lok. The devas reclaimed their rightful place in svarga and order was established.

Mahadeva looked at Vishnu and smirked, “That was a neat trick and I think Mohini was one of your most clever avatar. She asked for nothing, challenged nothing, had no weapons but still changed the course of the events. Marvelous.”

Brahma too leaned down from his lotus throne and said, “The asuras did not know what just hit them. It was quite devious, my lord.”

Vishnu smiled as he lay back on Sesh Nag, “Well, the end justifies the means. I did whatever I did to restore balance. You know I hate chaos and the asuras were just making too much noise. Now I can sleep. Well, see you both next time the world goes crazy.”

 THE GIRL THAT GREW FLOWERS- A fairy tale

A long time ago in the kingdom of Vaishali, lived  a young girl. Malalti was her name and she lived with her old grandmother. Her parents had died when she was young. Her grandmother and she had come to Vaishali after that. The grandmother was a florist. She grew and tended flowers and sold them at the temple gates. At first the flower sellers at the temple were annoyed to see another vendor but something about the grandmother made them hesitate. Soon, they became friendly with the grandmother and Malati became their favourite. The grandmother’s shop had flowers of many different kinds. Some which were quite unusual. When people asked her about the flowers, she replied, “ Oh! My friends send me these flowers and I sell them here.”

As time passed, Malati became a beautiful young woman. She was graceful and her movements were dignified. People thought that she looked like a princess. Her grandmother was growing old. She knew that her time on the earth was less so she called Malati and told her, “Malati, I have to tell you many things before I pass. You are no ordinary girl, in fact you are the daughter of the Flower queen.” “What??? Me. Daughter of the flower queen. How is that possible? Where are my parents then? How did we come to Vaishali?”

“Let me speak, child. We are flower guardians and we lived in the far ridges of the Mainak Mountains up in the north. My daughter, your mother fell in love with the crown prince of Mewat. He came to us and begged your mother’s hand in marriage. Her father and I were troubled because we knew that people would not understand her powers over flowers but what could we do? In spite of all the misgivings, we agreed to the marriage. We just told your father to take care and never to divulge her powers. Then , many years later just when you were born, we received an urgent message from your father urging us to come to Mewat.” 

Malati’s grandmother took a sip of water and then continued with tears in her eyes, “We hurried but we were too late. The palace was in ruins. Its gates were hanging on their hinges and there was bloodshed everywhere we saw. My heart was in my mouth as we reached the inner palace. There , lay your mother, her throat slit and your father sat holding you and her in his lap. His sides were stained with blood and he was labouring for breath. He begged us to take care of you and then with slow breath told us how a so called magician had turned the entire population against their queen, your mother, all because she had refused to worship him with flowers especially created by her.”

Malati furrowed her eyebrows, “Created by her. I don’t understand. How could she create flowers?” Her grandmother said, “So can you. Have you ever noticed how a certain flower changes colour once you caress it? I knew then that your powers are stronger than your mothers. I too can create flowers but my flowers lack smell. Yours look exactly like you envisioned. I was waiting for the day to start teaching you mantras but now I can’t wait anymore. Go, get two pitchers of water and lock the door.”

Malati brought two pitchers of water and sat down next to her grandma. Her grandma waved her hand over one of the pitchers,muttering spells all the time. Then she sprinkled that water on the floor and hey presto, a trailing vine of sweet smelling desert rose, in vivid red sprouted from the vacant floor. Then, she waved her hand over the other pitcher and sprinkled the water over the vine. The flowers disappeared leaving behind the sweet smell of the roses. Malati said tremblingly, “ Grandma, I thought of sunflowers yesterday when I had gone out and suddenly, I saw many of them over in the corner of the garden but I had not sprinkled any water, so how come they appeared there?” “My darling, you are a natural flower empath so they obey your whispered wishes but you have to be careful of your powers. I will teach you how to control your power.” said her grandmother.

Days passed and Malati learnt how to control her powers and her talent at producing flowers grew. Her grandmother, meanwhile, became ill and could hardly get up from her bed. Malati took up the shop at the temple and started selling flowers there. One day, a well-to-do lady came to Malati and said, “ I have heard that you can procure flowers that no one else can. I need 100 blue lotuses tomorrow for a puja. Can you please help me? I have come here after searching for a long time.” Malati looked troubled , “ Ma’am I can try but it will take some time to procure the flowers.” The lady said, “Please help me. This puja is for my son’s health. He has been unwell for a long time. Please help me. I will give you as much money as you want.” Malati agreed. She came back home and told her grandmother who looked troubled. “Malati, blue lotus takes a lot of work. Be careful.” Malati took a deep breath and carefully centered herself. Muttering the spells, she sprinkled water and the room was filled with blue lotus. The next day she took the lotuses to the temple. The lady was ecstatic. After the puja was done, she rushed to Malati. Giving her a hug, she said, “ Malati, thank you. Your flowers helped me complete the puja.” Malati was soon asked by many to help them with exotic flowers. 

One day, a royal procession came to the temple. The king, queen and the prince all stepped out. They had heard of the girl who could bring the flowers one desired. The prince was captivated by that story and told his parents that he would marry only that girl and no one else. They decided to test Malati and asked her for the beautiful Kadamba flowers for a special puja. Malati was taken aback but this was the order of the king, how could she refuse. Her grandmother was also terrified but what could they do? Malati sat down to meditate and conserve her powers. She sprinkled consecrated water over the floor and there in the old hut, grew a tall kadamba tree bowed down with fragrant flowers. Malalti gathered the flowers and then the tree disappeared. However, this scene was seen by the prince who had followed Malati back home.

He entered the hut and ordered Malati to show her powers again. “Show me what all flowers can you grow?” Malati and her grandmother were scared. Malati looked at the prince with tears in her eyes and said, “Prince, it takes immense power to create one flower. How can I show you a whole garden? It will destroy me.” The Prince looked at the girl and then said, “ Fine. I have seen what you can do and I don’t want to hurt you. Will you marry me and I will protect you so that no one can take away your powers.” Malati agreed and so the wedding was held. Malati’s grandmother blessed her and gave her a diamond ring with a flower embedded in the centre. She said, “ My dear, this is the best gift that I can give you. When you feel overwhelmed by the world, use this ring and it will transport you to our flower garden. I am very sorry but I feel my time slipping away. You have to be strong but never compromise on your dignity and self respect.” Soon, Malati’s grandmother died leaving her forlorn.

The prince was true to his words and never let her feel sad. He always protected her and they were happy as they could be. However, as times passed, things began to get a little difficult. Malati could not go out alone anywhere. The nobles were angered that the prince had chosen some common person as his wife so they humiliated her and treated her as someone who was lesser than them. One day, the king decided to throw a banquet for all. All the noblemen and their wives and daughters showed up dressed to the hilt.  Malati adorned herself with flowers and she looked ethereal. The prince was charmed as was the king but the others looked down on her with disdain. They mocked her and taunted her. The prince could not anger the court so he kept quiet. Malati heard everything and then looked at the prince with tears in her eyes. “You had promised me that you would protect me. Isn’t my dignity worth anything? Why should I be humiliated? I had not asked you to marry me. Why should I be punished when it was you who wanted this marriage? You have heard people humiliate me. You have seen me cry yet it hasn’t bothered you at all. Okay, if you can’t protect me then I will protect myself.” Malati then left the banquet hall. The prince was surprised at her outburst but then thought, “ Malati is angry right now but it is fine. I will make it up to her after some time.” So he remained at the banquet.

Malati came to her room and very carefully took off her flower ornaments. Her room was cheerful with flowers overflowing everywhere. She had tended the flowers with care and they had multiplied. However, right now the room churned with many thoughts. Hers and her flowers. She looked into the mirror and saw a sad face peeping out. Malati loosened her hair and stepped out of the silken garments. She wore her soft old comfortable clothes, wiped out all makeup, freshened her kajal and tucked a parijat flower into her unbound hair. Then she took the ring her grandmother had given her and caressed the diamond flower as she whispered to the ring, “Take me away to the garden of my heart.”

The wind roared and the flowering trees shook their laden heads. Thunder snapped and crackled and then everything went dark. The banquet hall was in darkness and in that darkness, things changed. When the lights came on, the people were stunned. All the flowers had disappeared as if nothing had ever grown. The colours all looked drab and listless and so did the people. The prince stood as if carved by stone. An unease gripped him. Something was urging him to run towards his palace. He ran not knowing not caring but it was already late. His palace stood forlorn. The gardens which had been in a riotous bloom just a few hours back were a barren ground. The vines stretched like dead wire across the walls. The trees standing with dead branches seeking merciful rain and of Malati, there was nothing left. Just one withered kadamba bloom left to taunt and mock the prince. 

The prince sent messengers out into the world to find out about Malati but no one knew where she was. Then the Prince himself rode out to seek her and ask her to come back. He rode as far as the sea ended. There at the very end of the world, he saw a beautiful garden in bloom. There was parijat kumud, neel kamal, champa and kadamba. The prince knew that he had come to Malati’s home. He dismounted and asked the thorny babool trees which stood as guards to let him pass. The trees looked as if they wanted to shut themselves against him but then they parted their thorny branches and let him pass. The prince saw Malati standing in the middle of the flower meadow. She looked regal with flowers adorning her. The prince begged her to come back to the palace with him but Malati said, “Oh Prince, you took me for granted as did your people. I grow flowers, I tend them not because I need to sell them but because of who I am.  You forgot me when you let them make fun of me. My dignity was not worth fighting for but you are wrong. I am more than your wife. I am more than their queen and I am more than your people. I am me and I choose to be me. You can go back. I have no fight with you and your people but I will not go back to the palace that never belonged to me.” 

She gave him a pouch of seeds to carry home and sprinkle in the gardens. “I know that people miss the flowers so I will give some of my blooms to you. Take care of them and tend them but I will not go back with you.” Then she waved her hand and the grass mound on which the prince was standing flew up and deposited teh prince on the far coast. The prince realised that he had lost Malati forever. He hugged the precious gift to his chest and rode back to the palace. He sprinkled the seeds everywhere in his kingdom and took care of the plants. The plants grew and spread their fragrance everywhere and each flower reminded him of the girl that he had lost. 

 

The Doll

Let me clarify one thing in the beginning. I don’t believe in ghosts. Period. At least till now. Now I am not sure. Confused? Listen to my story first then tell me what you think.

It was a hot, stuffy day to travel and poor me had to obey the orders of my superiors and travel to check on our factory at Midnapore. I had reserved a compartment on the night train and was looking forward to a good night's sleep.  The train pulled in and I settled into my seat. I had just kicked off my shoes when I noticed someone sitting at the far end. ‘Oh no,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘I thought I’d have the place to myself.

“Na Babu, I am too tired to talk. You rest. I will just sit here. I will be getting down at Balia so I will not disturb you for long.”, the person spoke in a cultured tone. I smiled, a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry,it’s just that I’ve been traveling so much, I was really looking forward to some sleep. But why sit in the dark? Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea? My servant has packed enough for two. We can share.’ I opened the hamper with a sense of relief. Lallan Da truly is a gem; he always knows what I like. There was a neatly packed meal, fresh fruit, a box of soft sondesh, and a big thermos of hot tea. Absolute bliss.

The gentleman had a cloth bag on his shoulders which he gently took off and kept in the corner. He sat down opposite me and gratefully took the tea cup. “Thank you.I will not say no to tea. I am Partho Roy Choudhury from Balia. I am the last of the Zamindars from there. I have been roaming the world but I now realise that I will only be at peace in Balia.”

The man looked exhausted. Not just physically but as if he was carrying a huge weight on his shoulders. He had a deep voice but a strange cough marred his sentences. He was dressed in a white dhoti kurta which had seen better days. The only thing he carried was the patchwork cloth bag and there was something sticking out of it.

“You must have seen a lot of things in your travels. Can you tell me of your travels and why are you going back now?”, I asked. He sighed and said, “I have travelled everywhere to try and ease my burden but I don’t think I am destined for peace. No till I have repented and she has forgiven me. Till then, I must go on.”

I was curious. “What could have happened to make you miserable?”. He looked at the cloth bag and whispered, “I have a burden that I can not put down.”, then he asked “Do you want to know my story? Listen, maybe retelling the story will be my repentance.”

He hitched up his dhoti and sat cross legged. “ I am Partho Roy Choudhry, the last remaining Zamindar of Ballia and with me my family ends. I was studying in Kolkata but my parents lived in Ballia. I am the only son so I was loved and maybe pampered too. My family lived in Rajabadi. It was built by my grandfather, Bijoy Roy Choudhury and was a big rambling place. When I was kid, all my cousins, aunts, uncle, Pishima, Thakuma, and all stayed there. We were a big joint family but today there is no one apart from me.”

He was quiet for some time, then he continued, “I loved Kolkata and had no intention of coming back to Balia but life had other plans. My father fell sick and I had to come back and become the zamindar. My father wanted me to marry the daughter of his old friend from Burdwan. Before I could think, I was married to Kumud.”

He started coughing badly and had to pause. Believe me, when I say that I saw a movement from the bag in the corner. I was not sure and Partho was fine after a while. He continued, “ My wife Kumud was a tiny , shy solemn girl. She had beautiful big eyes and was always quite quiet. I had not seen her before the marriage and only saw her face when she came home. Though I was not happy to be married, it was hardly her fault. I decided to become her friend first and husband later. She was very young and had no idea how to take care of such a big house as the rajbadi with so many different people. I was also slowly learning the ropes of zamindari and could hardly spare time for her. Maybe I should have given her time.” he mused.

“Kumud had a doll with her, given by her Pishima. It was a rag doll but it was her prized possession. Kumud carried it with her everywhere. She would whisper to her in our room. I knew that she told the doll everything. What Pishima said or what the maid had said…everything. I told her to talk to me about her fears but she would look at me with fear and say that I would not believe her. I always felt as if the doll was listening. Her eyes seemed to follow others and I can swear I had heard the doll breathing.” He looked at me to see if I believed it. “No , I am not crazy. Here, let me show you something.” Saying that he took out a ragged doll from the bag. It looked old and worn but I can swear it looked as if it could hear everything that was being said.

I was taken aback, Partho smiled and said, “You see, she watches. Anyways, to continue, Kumud was becoming quieter and quieter day by day. I knew she had no one to speak to in the house. Ma, Pishima, Boudi had left the working of the household to her and she was not adept at it. I was fine if my lunch was not served in time or that my clothes were not ironed on time but the others were not that forgiving. I should have said something. I should have stopped them taunting her but I myself was head over heels in the Zamindari work. I just did not have the time. All excuses, I know,” he said looking at the doll, “but I seriously did not know the effect on kumud. Believe me, I would have done something had I known”.

“Every month, I had to go away for a week to the collectorate at Kolkata to submit reports of the zamindari. Every month , I would buy some ornaments for Kumud. I thought that giving her jewelry would compensate for my absence. Kumud never said anything. She did not complain nor did she acknowledge the jewels. I just thought that she was shy. I should have asked her but…” he paused and sighed.“Maybe if I had asked her the tragedy would not have happened.”

“Tragedy,” I said, “What happened?”

“One day, I met my college friend, Rashbehari Ganguly in Kolkata. He had lost his father recently and his house was mortgaged. He asked me if I could help him. I brought him home and gave him a job in the office. Rashbehari had always been a social person and soon he had become a darling of the house. Everyone, from Pishima to the servants loved talking to him. Ma would make sweets for him too. Kumud was still shy but Rashbehari took it upon himself to get Kumud talking. I was always busy but I was happy that now Kumud had someone to talk to. I should have stopped her. I knew what a scoundrel Rashbehari was. I should not have got him home.” He paused and tilted his head as if listening to something, “Yes, yes. I know. All excuses. I am to blame.” 

“Then one time, rains failed and the crops were ruined. All my investments turned wrong. I lost a lot of money. I had to sell off some lands but nothing helped. I was drowning in debt. The rajbadi was the only thing left now. That and Kumud’s ornaments. I spoke to Rashbehari and to Ma and Pishima. I told them that I had decided to sell off Kumud’s jewelry to pay off the debts. They agreed. I should have asked Kumud. I did not. That was my mistake.”

He sighed and looked out into the night. The train whistled as it crossed the bridge. “That day, I went to Kumud in the afternoon. She was sitting at the window brushing her hair and talking to the doll. I told her that I needed all her jewelry. She looked startled and asked me why. I did not answer. How could I tell her that I had lost everything. I just told her that she did not understand. All I wanted from her were the jewels. I told her that I had already spoken to Ma and Pishima and they said that jewels were an asset to be sold when in trouble.” 

“She said that I had given it to her so they were her property. I was so angry that I just slapped her and shouted that I had given the jewels to her so ideally they were my property and she had no right to them. She was stunned and her doll fell from her hands. She did not cry nor did she shout. She just stood there. I stomped off. I should have explained.” he said.

“Anyway, I had to go out soon enough. I don’t really know what happened. Gobind Kaka said later that Kumud was very restless. She wore all her jewelry and sat on the bed. She refused to come down and when Ma ordered her to come out, she shut the door on her. Gobind kaka said that Ma was very angry. She complained that this trouble, the failing rains, the drought, the bad investments were all Kumud’s doing. She had brought ill luck. Kumud called Gobind Kaka and asked him to get Rashbehari.”

“ I should not have slapped her. It was my fault that she turned to Rashbehari. Kumud told Rashbehari that she had decided to go back to her parents house. She said that I did not need her and she was tired of this big house where everything was her fault. Rashbehari agreed to take her. That evening, Kumud wore all her jewelry and stepped out with Rashbehari on the boat that he had got. When I came back, Gobind Kaka told me that Kumud was gone. I rushed out just as the rains swept in. I called for her in the pouring rain. The river had turned angry and the waves looked terrible. 

The boatmen told me that Rashbehari had taken the boat out himself. I wanted to follow but in that gathering darkness, I had no idea where to go. I sat there on the ghat, cursing myself, weeping and waiting for the storm to subside. Then, just as the dawn broke, I saw something on the waters. This doll came to me bobbing on the waters. Her eyes looked at me, searing me with contempt. I dragged her out and with her came Kumud’s anklet. I rushed about the ghat calling kumud’s name but nothing. No sound, just silence and this doll’s moving eyes.”

“I came back to the Rajbadi dragging my wet, exhausted self. That night, I was in terrible pain. My fever was high and I felt as if something was choking me. Some kind of weight on my chest but I just could not open my eyes. I felt someone treading quietly across the room and I swear I heard Kumud’s quiet voice but nothing. No one knew where Kumud and Rashbehari had gone. After a fortnight, my fever broke but I was still weak. I asked Gobind Kaka to take Ma and Pishima to the village. I just wandered the great house looking for something but what I don’t know. I too started to talk to the doll but she never answered me. Then one day, the police came. They had found a body near the marshes. I went with them just praying that it should not be Kumud. The face was disfigured but I recognised the anklet. I had its pair with me. It was Kumud. The police said that Rashbehari had also been caught and he had confessed to killing Kumud for her jewels.”

I sat there looking at Partho. His anguish and despair was very visible on his face. “Then, what happened?” I said softly.

“Then, things got strange. I kept seeing Kumud everywhere. She looked at me with anger, sometimes with sorrow. Her doll kept me company. Everywhere I turned , it was there. Sitting quietly on judgement. Everyone had left the big house. I was the only undead person there. I, the doll and Kumud’s shadow. I knew I had to get away. So one day, I just picked the bag and left. I thought I was alone but the doll has never left me. It takes me where I want to go. I think it will take me to my grave too.” laughed Partho. 

Just then the train stopped at Balia station. Partho took the doll and his bag, “Thank you for sharing your meal with me. If you come here some other time, look me up. The rajabadi is still there, maybe I will meet you once more.” Partho got down. I was not sure what to think of the story I heard. Maybe the guilt that he felt made him see something which wasn’t there but even I had seen the doll’s eyes move and had heard quiet sighs as Partho told his story. 

Some weeks later, as I was working late in the office, I remembered our clerk Madhu Chand Nabi belonged to Ballia. I called him to ask if he knew about Partho and the people at Rajabadi. Madhu Chand said,”Yes Sir. Partho Roy Choudhury was the zamindar.” “Was,”I stuttered, “what do you mean?” “Two weeks ago, there was a big fire at the Rajabadi. The house burnt down completely. Partho Babu was at home. He died in that fire. Nothing remains in that house, just a doll which was found sitting on the desk in Partho Babu’s study. It was the only thing which was not burnt.” 

I was dumbfounded. Do you think it makes any sense? How did the fire start? How did the doll survive? I have no answers. Do you?

 

 

THE OLD MAN ON THE SEA

Long long time ago , in a small village by the sea, lived an old fisherman. He lived in a small little hut made of driftwood and draped with sea nettles. The windows of his hut were tiny and round and had seashells embedded all around. The tiny little door could never manage to close and flapped open in the sea breeze like the jaws of a shark.

 

Inside the hut, it was always dark and damp. The old fisherman kept a lamp burning on the table but there was hardly any light. The old man was bent with age and could barely stand up straight. Everything in his house smelled of the sea and was crusted with salt.

 

It had been ages since the old man had seen anyone or talked to anyone. He had a small boat in which he would venture out to the sea and cast out his net to gather up small fishes. Age and time had closed off the old man and made him look more like an old turtle than a man.

That day too he got up from his bed and took his boat out to the heaving seas but something was strange today. The skies were grey and leaden. It looked as if the sky would just fall into the sea and that would be the end. The waters were unruly and heaved with great emotion. The waves crashed with ferocity and the surf thundered up the rocky beach as if the dogs of hell were rushing out. The wind was biting cold and snatched at the old man in anger. The sky and the sea all roiled with anger. There was no boat on the rolling waters except the old man’s. 

 

The old man gnashed his teeth and threw out his net. He clamped his old, beaten, ragged pipe and hauled the net with all his might. The net was heavy and chafed at the old man but the old man fought with the waves and brought the net up into his boat. There was something thrashing about in the folds of his net. As the old man pulled away the net, the wind died down and the waters calmed as they waited with baited breath to see what the old man had caught.

 

The old man was gobsmacked to see that he had caught a sea nymph, a mermaid. The mermaid looked exhausted and wary of the old man. She was dressed in a shimmery armour but her shimmery tail was pierced through with an iron harpoon. Her pale skin looked bloodless as she looked up at the old man.

 

 The old man had heard of mermaids and that their tears turned into pearls and the touch of their scaly tail could heal any wound but this one looked completely defeated. Something turned in the old man’s chest, maybe his salty old heart cracked a little but he just could not bear the mermaid’s tears or her pain. He approached the mermaid and very gently bound his old ragged cravat around the tail. Then he turned his boat around and took her to his hut.

 

He gestured and told her to hold on as he prepared to yank out the harpoon. The mermaid understood and grabbed the rim of the old wash tub as the old man pulled it out. The mermaid screeched a painful gut wrenching cry and fainted. The old man was staggered at the sound but he quickly bathed the wound and bound it with medicines. The old man filled the wash tub with sea water and stoked the fire in the hearth. He prepared a thin gruel to feed her and took care of the wounded mermaid.

 

Days passed and the mermaid grew healthy. Everyday, the old man would take his boat out to sea and the sea was kind to him. His net would be full of fishes of various kinds. Seaweed, kelp and driftwood would wash up to his feet as he walked out to the beach.  The old man would cook and feed his guest. He carved charms, necklaces and jewellery from the driftwood and gift it to the mermaid. He would talk to her and sing little sea shanties. His heart was filled with love for his finned guest.

 

One day, the mermaid called him and said, “Father, I am healthy now. I must leave you for my duty waits.” The old man was sad but he said smiling proudly at the mermaid, “I am glad to see you healthy, my child. I will take you out to sea but remember me and come visit me sometime.”

 

Next day, the old man woke up very early. He gathered up all the things that he had carved for his sea dwelling daughter. He made a little package of fish cakes and sea kelp. Then he put the mermaid in his boat with the package and rowed out to the waters beyond the breaking surf. There in the high waters, he looked tearfully at the mermaid and said, “I had forgotten how lonely I was. You gave me so much love, my daughter. Remember, that my house is always open for you. Come and visit this sad old man soon.” The mermaid sighed and kissed the old man’s crusty face. “Father, I will remember and soon I will come for you. Look for me when the sea boils and the sea horses thunder up the beach. I will be there.” Then the mermaid jumped into the sea and vanished into the blue.

 

The old man came back to his silent, dark house and went to bed. His heart was sad and nothing cheered him. Next day, he took his boat and went to sea but he did not cast his net, just drifted about in his little boat thinking deep thoughts. Days passed and the old man became ill. He knew his days were coming to a close so he took his boat out for the last time. He looked down into the blue sea and said, “Oh my daughter, it has been so long since you left and I am getting old and frail now. My eyes are weak and my heart is sad. I wish that I could talk to you for the last time because I feel as if my time has come. Be brave and be happy, my daughter. Your old father is tired now and wishes to sleep.”

 

The old man sat back in his boat and looked out to the horizon as he waited for the sun to set and life to ebb. Just as the old man closed his eyes for the last time, the waters boiled up around the boat and sea horses surged up from the depths. The mermaid swam up and gently whispered to the old man, “ Come father, I have come to take you with me. Rest your weary head in the palace below the waves.” The old man smiled and taking the mermaid’s hand slipped beneath the waves.

 

 

On some nights, when the moon is round and silver and the seahorses thunder up the beach, you can see the old man on his old boat, bobbing gently upon the waves. The fisherfolk say that you will be lucky and your nets will be full if you see the old man on the sea.