RETURN OF THE AXE , in Madhuban days, a short story collection.

    Return of the axe.                      

The pretty woman came to Nirvayapur, was the center of all discussion for several weeks. It was to be so, when the ordinary blind-man Champu at his approaching old age, who, many forgot to exist, brought her during the festival of Laxmipuja. The village was loaded with guests, in every house as per the local custom. This made the discussion more lively. Many would be murmuring; the original Laxmi, the Goddess of grace and prosperity came and stayed in Champu's house. Everyone of the village paid a visit to his small hut at the outskirt abandoned bushy area of the village, considered  to be a wasteland. People commented in many ways. Was the blind man able to see her marvelous beauty that glittered with the bright red vermilion put on her forehead and over the scalp in between the right and left pleated pluck of rich dark hair that added to her look? It did not matter her clothes were simple, country made and were of economy range. Although she was in her thirties some went on describing her as very young, even some youth identified their own age group of around twenties. With the precious new guest to the village, virtually all thought to befriend her. She appeared to be cultured and educated. She refrained to react the people's reaction, except offering descent and pleasing smile that a mother Goddess possessed everywhere on the pujamandapas.

 She was Bidisha as she identified herself.

Within no time she was with her axe, spade and other instruments to remain constantly busy to make a home out of that hut and a garden around. The initial craze of people diminished as she was more graceful than the notorious chauvinistic mindset of males could peep at. In the village set up a trespasser beyond the Laxmanrekha(limitations) was rarely possible.

Nirvaypur was a nice village with no controversy in those days of boiling Madhuban in the line of pro displacement and anti displacement movement to provide land to heavy industries, neither group gave any importance to the inhabitants. Each group thought, villagers were in their side. The industries also did not give much importance to the villagers. They knew the docile people would vacate at any moment within a short notice. Companies became very careful in dealing with the evacuation plans after the police firing that took the precious life of thirteen youths. Everyone in the village resided normally, trying to develop the house, like a man in the deathbed also planned his future projects.

      Certainly, nothing mattered to Bidisha who slowly built up a garden mostly with vegetables. She grew several drumstick (Sajana) trees nearer to the fence, watered them carrying in pots from the nearby perennial water body. A yielding garden came up in only three years of regular labor. Now Champu had the pleasure to play his flute only for pleasure sake and not for begging alms. He attracted the company people who sometimes arranged stage performance for him. A house of pleasure haunts with a beautiful garden that yielded revenue enough to live happily by two people.

               Years passed under the sword of Damocles of evacuation. A decade and a half made champu old and Bidisha middle-aged say fifty. People sympathized on Bidisha that she did not become a mother. Sympathizers subconsciously blamed Champu for the reason, and cursed him destroying a beautiful woman's life.

         Now a days, more and more people discussed about the arrival of the final time to pack and move to the company made colonies. Everyone wanted not to lose a pie from the prescribed maximum benefit in form of cash, good house, services and employment in the plant and so on. There was a mass marriage drive and in a single month all the boys from sixteen to thirty five or more married and joint families were intentionally broken to nuclear mode to get more number of houses. Those who married at illegal age forged their birth certificates, funny things happened, even an younger brother's age became more than the elder brother and sometimes they became twins. Nirvaypur was only following the same happenings in all nearby villages. People suddenly were with huge cash of compensation and started spending lavishly to finish all of it as quick as they could.

        No one thought about the blind man. He approached everyone, he had no land record, and he was nonexistent everywhere except in the voter list. He met the Sarpanch who explained him that voter list had no importance, a Bangladeshi could be in the voter list in this age of politics. He further convinced him not to object the displacement move which was in country's interest. It would yield employment and development.

Champu sensed, the Sarpanch was now not speaking for him; gained over.

 How it could be a development when his flute for last fortnight was playing the voice of weep.

  He rather moved to Ghuruda the other landless youth who was unfit for anything other than catching fish from the particular water body and had no land record or existence in the village as he was not a native in original, only an addendum in last twenty years.

           Champu and Ghuruda were not well equipped to deal with the situation. Very depressed they counted the days. Champu was not worried for himself, as he berated him, an old valueless blind man, who had the option to face the challenge, returning to alms at the lion gate of any temple, but what about Bidisha. He could not eat or sleep.

 These impaired people when depressed, are in too much of it.

 He became seriously ill and was hospitalized up to his final journey.

Only Ghuruda came to Bidisha's help in that hour of grief.

 A new problem arrived as Bidisha did not shed her vermilion and other attire of a woman with a husband. Villagers tried to comppel her to live as per the norm with the codes prescribed for widows.

 Bidisha was not in trouble, she straightforward unfolded her story that she was not Champu's wife but a deserted woman as her man settled with another woman and drove her out keeping her only child with him. She went to the temple for her last offering before her plan to do a suicide, she was weeping at the slowest of her voice that nobody noticed except the special sense of the blind man who had a chat with her. The illiterate blind man Champu had enough wisdom to save her life and convert it to revenue yielding garden of sajana and other edibles.

Bidisha's  'Sajana' in full bloom.

       How can she stop wearing the symbols of her marriage when the husband who deserted her, was still alive?

The panchayat wanted to interfere in the matter and approach her husband.

 She denied, which husband in this world would believe his wife stayed pious with a man in a single room for fifteen or more years, moreover her husband was not a Ramachandra to whom a Sita to do a fire pier test of her chastity. She although had strong hatred, could not shed the symbol of his existence after all her daughter was there.

 But where?

She did not know his where about for last five years as Champu told her the family moved somewhere.

     Now she became the most loved one of the village and people became proud of having such a strong and cultured woman in the vicinity. All respected her. She now remained fully busy in her garden and sajana trees. She did not know where to move when the villagers finally vacated their houses. She did not stop gardening she stayed as usual.

     Everyone started shifting to the new colony of planned houses, with no plan for Bidisha.

 Ghuruda left the village to some other unknown place.

 Where she would go? She looked at her garden, everyone got compensation for trees and animals they lost, she did not, and she rather was an encroacher of government land, as if the people with land records had an ancestor who was born with a God given land record!

 Those who were aware made the land recorded several generations back those who did not meant they encroached government land.

 Bidisha was knowledgeable enough to think so. She was the last person to pack as little as required. How could she pack her garden, the sajana trees those were her lifeline, her reason of existence, and her valuable time spent.

      She put her luggage on her head and moved to the colony. The whole village loved her in the hut but in the new place, no one could plan for her. How could they keep her in their planned quarters? She explored all approachable people's help in vain. She now was an old woman and a permanent burden to anyone who tried to keep her inside their family. The new colony had no Kothaghar (community house), no temple, no extra room other than the headcount provision of earmarked confinement for each one but Bidisha.

     She was tired and kept her baggage under the only big banyan tree she found in the area. It was so cool and pleasing. Some of the confused street dogs of Nirbhayapur with no owner to be attached had followed the partially pet fellow community. The later group cornered themselves in their owners premises. Pure wanderers gathered under that tree moved away respecting the human arrival. Bidisha sipped some water from the big cooking bowel with a smile of a mother and did not bother to keep it open for these animals. She fell asleep soon.

She had a dream, her sajana trees, hanging drumsticks the wealth of her, and she now worked in people's house as domestic help. She got up and failed to sleep again. She could not accept the projected reality.

 She went back to the place with the luggage, threw it in the hut, brought out the axe and suddenly was out of control. She went on destroying the entire garden. The aged Bidisha tired and hungry for the whole day forgot her own self and went on in rampage. She turned completely mad to kill things she grew as her own children, until she was exhausted and dropped down at the root of the last existing sajana tree.

No one came forward to claim Bidisha’s dead body, for her last rites.

Local vernaculars printed her story, only in a small column. The crowded high rise of chimneys, the propelling smoke machines of the steel plants (already existed), the sign of development taunted the last existing sajana plant that absolutely had no reaction!

(Dedicated for the story `Axe` in Malgudy days. This story was written in my mother tongue Odia when my father in law was being operated for long five hours by Dr Madhabananda Kar a leading cancer surgeon and my friend for years as I waited out side the OT.)             

Fall of Sunajhari , in Madhbana days .. a short story collection

Fall of Sunajhari   ..

He prospered in the land of Saudi Arabia for his talent, sincerity and subdues mannerism all of the qualities he inherited from his nativity in a non-discrete illiterate village at the foot hill of Madhuban range the beautiful Sunajhari named after the stream of Sunajhari which again was derived from the name of the hill Sunajhari. Sunajhari literally meant the fountain of gold which nobody did a search. His name Mirza Ayub Baig was uttered with full of love and respect by all the Indians in the kingdom of Saudi. His journey was fabulous with many twists the latest being his plan to leave Saudi for ever after staying twenty five years and earning a lot. Knowing the man`s nature and passion for home land no one disbelieved it. It was not difficult to pack and move for a bachelor of half a century old.

 Sunajhari hill and ASHA hospital.

       Everything was coming back to his memory. No one of his village of tribal dominancy with a few other backward class families and numbered Muslim dwellings was literate. They did cultivation by diverting the water of Sunajhari in their own crude methods in the off-season to add to the regular crops of monsoon. The hill provided enough other forest products, fodder for animals and hunting opportunities in those uninhibited days. The nearest primary school was at a distance of ten kilometers aiding their illiteracy in a plenty of happiness. The greenery attracted many people to come for a picnic, locals provided them fuel and forgotten ration sometimes chicken, all these made the village to live smoothly if not in surplus.

       Once a Baba reached the place and entered a little above on the side of the stream to find a place, a horizontal platform to construct a small hermitage. He resided there forever. The villagers loved the learned Baba and helped him in all possible way. Baba reciprocated by providing non-formal education of the available children. Soon education became a felt need and Baba happily catered it, a school like thing started running. The Muslims initially hesitated to learn from a Hindu religious man till Mirza one day reached with a child`s query. He stayed aloof; baba called him, fed him fruits and started telling a story to the gathered children with Mirza in the group. Baba always made his session interactive. He on that day narrated the story of Guru Ramdas and his disciple Chhatrapati Sivaji, he helped children actively participate in the session and was impressed with the searching mind of Mirza who was the cream of the class.

      At the end of the story, Mirza asked what is your name Babaji? No one knew his name till that day, Baba told he is Ramdas. Who then is your Sivaji, joked the talent in Mirza? Babaji instantly pointed his finger to Mirza himself and that ended the Muslim people`s inhibition to enter his Ashram.

       From that day onwards Mirza moved forward and forward. He achieved all possible academic success available in those days. People of the area called him, ‘Sivaji’. His association with Ramdas continued, he was not an ordinary Baba, was highly educated and in high position when suddenly he wanted salvation leaving material world to come to Sunajhari. He guided Sivaji who went on the ladder to be an MBA from the most prestigious IIM when Baba instructed him to earn huge money from Saudi before he returns India. Whenever MIrza revealed his desire to come back Baba told to wait until the right time. This time Ramdas has called back Sivaji so he packed.

     On the opposite side of the hill there was one village called Rangitangar that meant colorful stone. They cut and sold some colored stones to make their livelihood. It was not possible for children of Rangitangar to cross the hill to reach Babaji`s class as such they remained illiterate. So two opposite things happened in two opposite sides of Sunajhari progress courtesy Baba Ramdas and stagnation of Rangitangar as it was where it was.

      The stone Mafias remained active on that side.

      Mirza was not sure what happened to Baba Ramdas that he called him back; on his return journey this puzzled him. He had enough money he can do a lot of good to his own area and the state of Odisha. Too many plans were bubbling inside his brain. He tried to control all his thought; all are meaningless for him as he is mere a Sivaji awaiting what Ramdas has planned for him. Mirza had no one in the village. Long before, he took his parents to Saudi where they died, one by one in last two years by natural causes.  Mirza felt very lonely in the foreign land. No one forced him to marry or to remain bachelor, and he remained single by his own wish and reason only known to him.

     He reached and became happy to see the better roads to his village. A lot of development visible in the Madhubana area amazed him. It turned to be the Industrial capital of the state. It was late night by the time he reached Baba`s Ashram. Ramdas had arranged all possible welcome for Sivaji , told him to take rest for the night  and sleep as much time as his brain demands before they do some meaningful discussion.

     In the next morning, Sivaji left his bed much early, to see his area the most beautiful area at dawn. He got the shock of his life, where went the greenery, where is the real Sunajhari, only the ghost is seen! He wanted to reach the stream at its maximum beauty of play, no stream was seen, with difficulties recognized, the outline of long dried stream, and wanted to visit all nooks and corners where once he caught hares by snares. He moved up and down, forgot his age and bodily limits and moved like a mad elephant devoid of vegetation till became exhausted both physically and mentally, did not know how to react to such huge devastation, for unknown reason feared to face Ramdas, as if he an icon of global development destroyed all. There was the leftover of the hill; everywhere he found stones, boulders, and raised crusher units. He cried at the top of his voice as if a child lost somewhere.

    Suddenly someone tapped on his shoulder, he turned back to fall at the feet of Ramdas. Sivaji! Cried Ramdas, control you, this ought to happen, look at the east to the proud industries of Madhuban, the constructions around, the progress redefined. How this was possible without killing Sunajhari and other resources, without erecting the smoky chimneys.

     Progress redefined.

 “If you raised your voice, you were regressive. I made a mistake to see only this side Sunajhari. I did not work on the other side of the hill. The village of Rangitangar remained as such.” baba sighed.

Taking the advantage of their poverty and illiteracy, the stone mafias went on eroding from that side which the villagers helped to earn daily wages. There was no gold, no iron, no chromites or no other ore in the hill still it could not withstand the human eyes, the flora and fauna no one valued, no costing of the stream was done, people this side raised weak voice. Authorities suspected Ramdas , he who left his lavish opportunities in search of salvation was entangled in controversies, was termed foreign agent against progress, he could have left the place and moved to Himalayas but could not. Soul of Sunajhari did not permit him to leave. The soul inside the wounded body of Sunjhari came very often and told Ramdas not to move before seeing the complete fall of the hill.

“Yes a big devastation waits, to avoid that; Siva! Your presence was required so I called you”.

      Sivaji got the message and he in a few days could survey the entire hill, how weak it has become from the side of Rangitangar. He did not fight with anyone only made everyone including the mafias aware that the base of the hill has become too weak and it is about to fall. He predicted the fall would take the toll of the two villages on both side so they have to move to safe places. He appealed to the authorities in vain; they did not pay any attention, as this type of things did not happen any time before. In their record Sunajhari existed in full vigor as there was no permission for any mining, extracting, or blasting. As if mafias wait someone`s permission. He wanted to meet the district magistrate and other people of eminence but he feared the days are counted , Ramdas was whipping him to move fast, his power of keeping intact the skeleton of Sunajhari is almost exhausted the soul of the hill itself have already desired to leave. Move Siva move fast.

     So Mirza bribed the poor people a day`s wage and the mafias the greed of his huge investment to cooperate to the followers of Baba. Everybody understood the grave situation and got prepared to leave their home for safer distance permanently. No government functionary came to see, when he or she moved. Mirza the Sivaji reported to Ramdas and begged his own evacuation in vein. Ramdas laughed and laughed, told Siva my boy let me laugh and play a few hours with my friend and mother Sunajhari`s soul in our last hours, in any case the days for both of us is finished. Siva prayed the whole of Sunajhari village prayed but Baba did not move. He ordered everyone to leave the area before the dusk. Who can disoblige the enlightened Ramdas.           All moved but Sivaji. Baba had made store of his most valuable possessions of divine value that he handed over to Sivaji. He drew his future road map how he should use his huge money for the benefit of the society and many other powerful discourses for a few hours and blessed him. Siva could not pursue him to come with; neither had he got his permission to stay with him. Ramdas finally uttered, “Siva your time with me is over, you cannot and should not stay here anymore.” 

       Baba put his hand over his head. He ceased to be Ramdas and he ceased to be the Muslim of international importance Mirza Ayub Baig, it was the Krishna and the Arjun, he raised the treasury without any further question in a very calm mind, moved his first step towards the road map drawn by Ramdas like Arjun raised his bow of divine duty. He came down with the treasury on his head like an ordinary boy of Sunajhari who once had asked for the first time “What is your name babaji?’’

     All anxiety of Siva vanished and he could sleep well in his designated tent like the whole of Sunajhari and Rangitangar only to wake up in the morning to see Sunajhri has fallen with the Baba. They searched for the body of Baba with the now awakened government functionaries but in vein. The oldest man of Sunajhari a long time help in the Ashram was murmuring Mother Sunajhari and Baba were merrymaking in the midnight just before a huge sound of fall he heard and saw a high luminous element moving up and up that looked like an enlightened mother holding an enlightened  baby.

       Everybody young or old, Sunajharians or Rangitangarians all looked at Sivaji and without any inhibition addressed him Baba Siva.

 (Dedicated in memory of the eleven young men of Rangitangar village of Sukinda in Jajpur district who were buried to death by the fall of the laterite quarry by a careless man made error, the story originally was thought before that incident seeing  a badly destroyed hill on the side of express highway in between Kabatabandha and Balisahi, also in remembrance of an amazing Indian Mirza Ayub Baig of Alakunda in Jajpur and my friend the patriot Mir Iftikar Alam in Saudi)  

Banarayutha Mukhyam, in Annyatha Mulyaheena, MEMOIR .

Dt –20– 06– 2014 ANNYATHA MULYAHEENA CONTD.. in English it means Otherwise Worthless

   Banarayutha Mukhyam. (Monkeyherd Captain)........................................................ (part 1)

In late 1970s a boy of eight or nine saw a herd of monkeys jumping from tree to tree, plucking different fruits and just grown twigs at their merry, eating and destroying at their will, grimacing to the barking street dogs and mocking the running after children who threw pebbles towards their teeth in vein. Bou (mother)! The boy called aloud, could the big and old one be lord Hanuman of Ramayan who like the Aswasthama of Mahavarat had no death in the epics, the boy quoted his maximum possible from the stories he heard from elders. Bou replied, no not possible where ever the first disciple of Lord Ramachandra moved the area echoed Ram Ram and My Lord Ram, so the monkey in question was not Banara yutha Mukhyam. Where was there home, they were not seen before?

 Bou started her narration, this village Tulati is a dry area unlike her father`s place plains on the bank of river Brahmani bearing plenty many trees and vegetations because no river is nearby. With poor soil also because of God`s grace people grew so many vegetable crops, and there were a lot of greens, and woods nearby. Tulati was inhabited by a very big herd of monkeys, not the smaller red faced type (patis) but by the bigger black faced (hanus) monkeys.They had long tails. They were taking their share of crops making our villagers angry. The monkeys tried to humanize themselves and they started with the mirrors. Whenever a monkey got a chance it snatched a mirror mostly from the hand of the newer brides who were not acquainted with the situation. If somebody resisted was awarded with a solid slap by the ape. Bou told a monkey`s slap was with no mercy of the human type. The boy got the comparison, monkey`s slap was like that of the father`s not like the slap of the mother. The broken mirrors and slapped new daughter in laws became common in the village. People were concerned and started discussing to drive away the herd, their several attempts failed. Even if they were driven to the far west in the jungle of Pachhikot range within hours they returned back. People became impatient and organized meetings only to discuss monkey menace.

Someone gave the idea to call the nomadic tribes of Mankidias (monkey catchers and monkey eaters) from Mayurvanj district from a far place. They would teach the monkeys a lesson. What lesson? Kill and eat , sell their hordes could not qualify as teaching lessons to the maximum number of people who in the village were liberal minded and the devoted Hindus objected the idea because of the special status of the species described in Ramayan. So the matter did not carry till a member of the herd did a typical monkey gait. Bou told with confidence with no hints to her narration to be fact or fiction, there was a baby less she monkey that became very affectionate to human baby. How could you know Bou that she had no baby? She told as all other female monkeys were always holding their babies on breast even when galloping from one tree to other. Bou told babies never fell from mothers arm be it human or ape. So she had no baby and she could not beg a baby from her sister or aunty, which never happened in animals. One day it came down and held our neighbor`s very small baby to her arm and ran away. The boy in me screamed, could a human baby hold the mother monkey the way its baby did? Yes the village was stunned and the only possible means to solve this incident was to stop reacting. All prayed God. Probably the barren she monkey did not get the pleasure she intended as the baby of course did not stop crying. So being disheartened or as it understood the situation it dared to come back and put the baby at the place from which it was snatched. The family whose baby it was thanked the monkey and thanked God so also did the villagers.

The decision in the next meeting was obvious. People collected money to meet the expense of bringing the monkey eaters to the village. Bou told, her grandmother in law refused to subscribe the proceeding and no one in our family had the guts to displease her. So the villagers isolated the boy`s (my) family.

 A geographical description of the village is required here. In Odisha water flows from west to east. In our village all water from the villages and woods on the western side passed through our sahi in between the two rows of houses so that the road in between was converted to a water loaded tributary for the entire rainy season. Our house is at the east end after which the majestic pond of Kastura is placed. Plenty of water after our house was divided to two parts, one half poured into Kastura and through the pond was diverted south ward another half directly was diverted to south ward. So the large southern paddy fields got enough water. A particular place got maximum water where there were not only plenty of big trees but also was the place to catch  a lot of country fish with nets of round frame (manduli jalla) and the place was named mandulimuhan (face of round framed nets). This particular place was monkey herd`s favorite. The mankdias (monkey catchers) did there dwelling at that place and did spread their nets on a vast area.  (It is strange coincidence that as I wrote this part of the memoir that includes Mankadia tribe one laboring mother of this tribe has reached my hospital to deliver, they rarely come for the reason)  To be contd .

Sunday, 22 June 2014

Part two of Banarayuth Mukhyam, in Annyatha Mullyaheena, memoir.

 Dt –22– 06– 2014 ANNYATHA MULYAHEENA CONTD.. in English it means Otherwise Worthless read first part to understand this portion.

   Banarayutha Mukhyam. (Monkeyherd Captain)   (part 2)

Why don`t we see a lot of trees at mandulimuhan bou? It is our fate, we are cursed, who can do away of the tears and humanly prayer and prostration of the monkeys for mercy before they were brutally killed being captive. I cannot represent the way a mother described the fact of such cruelty to such a young child that to a very sensitive son. She was an expert narrator as I do not carry any negative memory of the event.

 The animals had a peculiar behavior, they stayed in melancholy with the smell of their fellow`s flesh and the exhibition of the hordes being dried hanging from a line of rope. They stayed in the village only to be tactically captured one by one and slayed. (This was the treatment to the members of our Lord Ramachandra`s associates in the first of the two epics on which our civilization stands. The faith is for the convenience not for any reversal.)

  But yes, the Banarayuthamukhyam and three of his associates they could never capture, how can they kill the Hanuman that withstood the age of Ramayan and the age of Mahavarat to teach Bhima to control his ego, he remained free in the village and finally stayed inside the paddy ware house of one rich villager. The monkey catchers thought everyone finished and a few left the place deep into the jungle. Bou added, after fasting for several days they left the village permanently, with them the vegetable cultivation, the jungle and the trees at mandulimuhan all were gradually lost from the village making it literally a desert. The villagers do a customary Banabhoji (picnic in a jungle) every year at Mandulimuhan where no trees exist at present.

  Bou further added the Banarayutha mukhyam brought never seen before delicious fruits from the deep woods of unknown location for several years to the rich family who saved by not disclosing the last four monkeys hide out.

But how can the Banarayutha Mukham hide, there must be echoes of Ram Ram , Oh Lord Ram that can identify His location. Bou told only true deevoties of Rama can hear the echo and not a single such person was found in the village during the tragedy. Story ended there as the monkey herd plucked and destroyed all the ripe guavas in our garden, may be some solace the boy got seeing the monkey act.

(The incident of course happened in my village but probably some portion were my mother`s imagination to please and pacify her son I never wanted to verify the fact only to salute Bou`s narration, the old lady is alive and can answer your queries if asked in Odiya her cell number can be given on demand) Dedicated to Anil Kumble and Ricky Ponting the two captains during monkey gate controversy of 2007.                                                    

Snake and the cow, on Mother's Day, in Annyatha Mullyaheena, Memoir

ANNYATHA MULYAHEENA…… childhood memoir.
Is it possible to write adequately on motherhood, that to by a male? Answer is a big no. I am putting here a perfect picture of still confrontation between two mothers, witnessed on Raja, the festival of monsoon during pre 8th class summer vacation in 1979. The cow with a fresh calf was grazing at the southern side of our kitchen garden where there was the sweetest guava tree near the cow dung pit that supplied good manure to it; at a little distance was the bamboo bush on the wall of a tiny family pond, used for washing the dishes. It was not for swimming. In between the pit, the pond, the bush and the sweetest guava tree was a weak Bella tree that never grew. Nothing grows well near a bush of the tallest grass, bamboo. That weak tree could hide a story at its root.

The area was an attractive place for children to pluck guavas.
The boy in charge of the cow was Indramani whom I called mamu suddenly screamed. All the festive gathering rushed to the spot. The cow was in a special posture never moving an inch and creating unusual sound not akin to cattle, a big cobra stood at its maximum spinal erection spreading its hood to the largest without moving a little from its place, throwing hissing sound but not swinging to and fro as a snake does. The cow was not guarding itself but clearly guarding its baby calf not to go near the danger. My father went with a big and stout long stick and first tried to move the cow to safe place but in vain, and then he tried to threaten the snake with the stick it also did not move. Our villagers do not kill snakes as a first option as we had a natural snake help line in the form of Singh Sahi, the snake charmers of the village. One was summoned and the perfect still picture of nature remained as such till some minutes. Now a plan B was adapted by moving the young calf to the distant cow shed and then only the cow moved to the shed. Probably the unusual voice of the cow was begging this for long time. With the movement of the cow the snake receded inside the hole at the root of the Bela tree. Bella tree and the snake favorite of Lord Mahadev on this festive day can be a news item today but that story ended in tragedy.
The snake-help-man arrived. The skilled man put all his special efforts to catch the reptile which otherwise was an easy job for his degree of experience. With a lot of trial he brought the cobra outside, caught it safely and the man told it laid eggs so was very dangerous. The eggs were not like bird`s egg but all had ready young ones some already out and some were inside the egg, and some came out in front of our eyes.

To memorize snake is ovoviviparous, and to see it in reality is different. Total 21 cobra-lets were counted in our own kitchen garden but what to do with them. We were told, the Singh would be the king of this brigade and will rear them. 

Elders were discussing why the cobra mother did not come out or recede till the cow was there; it also had motherly instinct to feel the cow may put its leg destroying the young ones. 
It was not difficult to go to the singh sahi to verify the snake and its young ones and unfortunately not a single young was there I believed we were wrongly told so to keep the sensitive childhood unhurt, tragic fact is that, the platoon was killed.

Annyatha Mullyaheena (ଅନ୍ୟଥା ମୂଲ୍ୟହୀନ),MEMOIR

Dt – 17 – 06 – 2014  ANNYATHA MULYAHEENA (ଅନ୍ୟଥା ମୂଲ୍ୟହୀନ)  MEMOIR……

This Odiya title means OTHERWISE WORTHLESS is my childhood memoir. I am deciphering newer meaning to ordinary events happens to every child anywhere in the world, I enjoy the wonderful days I revisit in my not so small village Tulati, in Korai block of Jajpur district in Odisha. Friends feel as nostalgic as me and encourage me; here no controversy comes unlike my writes on political and social issues. So I enjoy. This is not a chronological memoir, rather like Déjà vu of flashes of lightening happened anytime.

Yesterday I went to my village driving my sister in law`s family, first time they saw my village the geographical domain of Annyatha Mulyaheena as I introduced the place to them. They stay in Mumbai, Jhupa and Bithal the children were excited to see the majestic pond Kastura on its bank as we passed from east to reach the first house of the village where my parents became pleasantly surprised to see all of us visiting unnoticed as happened in 1970s and 1980s in the pre telephone era. My younger brother, his wife and two children and my mentally unsound aunty all became as happy as my parents in their 80s. The day before was father`s day I did not write anything on the old man who was once the most hard working man in the entire world, he is fit and fine with his controlled diabetes and hypertension under the care of my physician wife.

The majestic pond was calling me to jump inside which I do every mid June during the monsoon festival of Raja in Odisha when our mother earth becomes Rajaswala (menstruates) to conceive the crops for the season. Sorry my dear Kastura I cannot jump, not that you are as dirty as you were in last 20 years of middle class refusal to use you on health ground but that now I have no time. The legend says it was dug by Kasturi the eldest sister of the seven, each of whom did one pond in different villages nearby having a name.

Years back when I was too small a kid to learn swimming I was thrilled by seeing my elder brother late Sri Ashok Kumar Senapati (chandavai) and his friends swimming and playing in the water body, about twenty adolescents. My brother offered me to take inside and I jumped to his shoulder. He was strong enough to carry me right into the middle of the pond of hundred meter each side. But it was not as pleasant for me as I thought initially, I hided my feeling of fear. 

Not fearing anyone was our village culture.

 Chandavai probably got tired and wanted me to transfer to one Sri Tapan Kumar Mohanty (Tapandada) for a few minutes. I was trembling to remember the depth of water at that place is to be that of seven palm trees as elders tell stories on the water body. To add to it the soft clay below is of the depth of forteen palm trees. My condition was terrible which I did not reveal.

Tapandada was not that strong and a nervous I held him so tightly that he could not swim without throwing me apart. I was going down before my brother or anyone else could catch me safely.

 Believe me suddenly I became fearless, held my breath (holding your breath for a longer time was a usual competition amongst children) searched violently with my two arms and hands raised above like a Droupadi as the Mahavarat tells. I was going deeper do not know how many palm trees (read feet) deep and how much time left that I can keep my respiration in a halt. Sure all were searching me, some dipping down. Yes I am alive to write this means God sent my maternal cousin Babulavai`s one foot within my reach and I was no less than a Jhontey Rhodes to catch that, the most important catch of my whole life. Yeah I had not aspirated a drop of water and within moments I was on the surface to breath God given free air. Sooner I was taken to the bank. My house is the closest house to the pond and my parents got the news in the next moment.

Chandavai and all other adolescents were trembling now fearing the dearth of the villagers. My father took it very lightly; there was no scolding of my brother or cousin. My mother was with a momentary tear and the issue finished there.

He is my father he was non reactive, patient, strong, caring, brought us the best of food possible by a primary school teacher, and did small poultry, kept some goats and cows to feed us the best. He made provision of three personal ponds and several fruit trees to feed us fish and fruits. He never panicked when my eldest brother became the first in the village secretly joining Indian Army and Chandavai his second son also followed the pursuit. Many many more things he absorbed without giving the impression of being panicky. He allowed Chandavai to be a Sanyasi and later on when the monk accidentally died he told he was already His property year’s back. Many more personal things may bore my readers. That is my great father as great as your father. (Dedicated to my late father in law Sri Bidyadhar Behera who was as important a person to me and my wife

. Love you dads.)   

Caste, in Hati series stories..

                                                      Caste

      Dr Hati was posted in a rural Public Health Center in Jajpur, where his boss the in charge medical officer was from a sweeper caste in the traditional caste system. There was one class four employee Hari Panda, worked as an attendant, a very obedient man expert in his job, a typical representation of the lost old model sincerity. He was a real Brahmin, vegetarian, honest, humble, knowledgeable in traditional literature, who observed all chaste rituals expected from a Brahmin. Beyond his profession where he worked in a lower rank, he was a respectable man in the hospital colony and all took his help as a priest.

 Jasmine the beautiful daughter of Mr Panda, one day came back from school crying as she was not given any money by the School Head Master even if she stood first in the class, instead Rohan the head doctor’s son who secured lesser mark than her was given scholarship. None had words to console her, needless to say the whole colony lived like a single family and Mr Rafique the pharmacist tried hard to calm down Jasmine, trying to convince that it was not any award or reward for Rohan but a stipend as per govt provision for scheduled caste to which he belonged. She did not understand anything, she was a child and all these caste explanation had nothing to do with her innocence. Her sensitive childish self was hurt to a greater extent than the elders’ ability to console her with explanations. Rohan had no clue and nobody felt comfortable to tell him the fact, which he ultimately understood, and wanted to convince his friend to share the money with her. After all his priority was friendship with Jasmine. He needed a friend in the small colony to play with, as his priority over anything else. At this tender age also he had sensed that children of many families beyond this colony were not allowed by their guardians to be his close friend. In his birth day he did not get too many friends to share his cake. Jasmine was his best friend and only friend which was another reason why she felt so hurt with the discrimination by the school authority. Rohan the innocent boy always tried to please other children to beg their friendship. He cursed his lower caste status, which prevented others to be spontaneous to make him a friend. Children are better human, the caste of Rohan and religion of Rafique juniors could not stop them play and grow together.

Jasmine after sometimes was seen playing with Rohan.

       In the next winter the colony had an excursion outing, organized by Dr Hati, places chosen were Nandan Kanan the zoo, Sun temple at Konark the ruins of marvellous art on sand stone and Puri the abode of the Lord of the universe to cater the different demands of various age groups of the colony.

At the Lion gate of Grand temple  of lord Jagannath, under the Arunastamba (pillar of Sun) the discussion was should the scheduled caste Medical Officer, the clean shaven Mr Rafique and their children enter the shrine or not. Jasmine demande she would not enter without her friends; Rohan and children of Rafique uncle. Children did not understand the matter. Finally Dr Hati`s idea that children are caste less and faith neutral let them enjoy, prevailed. While climbing the twenty-two steps children looked back on those elders who did not enter beyond the Patitapaban (savour of the downtrodden) idol at the Lion gate.

 Their return journey was mostly in silence, children slept being tired others were too thoughtful to gossip, the only man laughed a few times was Dr Hati, as if to break all the traditions with laughter.

     In due course none could stop a growing friendship between Rohan and Jasmine that changed its hue with their changing age. The best thing Dr Hati told about his medical profession on those days was, no promotion, and usually no transfer unless there is any public complain. This aided their friendship grow together hand in hand; both of them became interdependent to a proportion of any imagination. Friendship between adults of opposite sex on those days had only a single meaning that they were in love. None of them were conscious about their own affair as it had grown naturally and effortlessly, there was no space to accommodate any other thought or person to make a small separation between them. Without knowing they were in love, they loved each other as they loved to eat or drink or cover them in winter or enjoying the fragrance of flowers, so natural.

 Respective parents were not comfortable, Mr Panda was under pressure from his Brahmin Sashan (governance), he also did not forget his position, the Medical Officer was in a similar state, never liked to be blamed that his son trapped a highly talented upper class beautiful girl.

 Dr Hati laughed once again to reveal that the young duo always wanted him to help when ever situation needed. Once he even joked, “Mr Rafique take them to Islam matter would be over, caste would be irrelevant ha ha ha ha”.

Matter got complicated as it went to public discussion and traditional caste clash.

     The journey was no more remained smooth, not a wind but a tornado, and the young lovers were at serious risk, so also the two families. Luckily situation forced them to grow their carrier and both could make it to Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi the competitive hub. Rohan was not so ordinary to give up, he well utilized the government scheme and matched his girl friend Jasmine. He became an IPS and She an IAS. They got married at Arya Samaj mandap in the state capital of Jharkhand where they were stationed in their first appointments. Did not hesitate to receive the cash award which state used to give such daring couples and Jasmine the collector cum district magistrate  received it as revenge to her childhood frustration.

        Once they visited Lord Jagannath`s sanctum sanctorum as ordinary citizens without making a possible issue out of it.

Dr Hati once again reminded the listener that he knew all characters of the tailor made story, Panda and the Medical Officer are alive and quiet happy. The names Dr Hati kept secret. 

      Senapati ! Dr Hati asked the listener, what happened to Lord Jagannath when the dalit couple went near Him, and for Rohan it was the second entry, can you tell? Hati added, many clean shaven Muslims, plenty of dalits, and people of all faith must have reached Him, nothing happened, nothing, all are people’s creations; Lord loves all, ha ha ha ha.

The listener simply told, “Yeah”. But he asked why the high placed couple did a back door entry like this hiding the identity?

Dr Hati once again laughed not ha ha ha ha but many more times and told He the Lord pulled the string they were mere puppets. No reply from the listener was possible.