An evening with Sri Samir Ranjan Das.

An evening with Sri Samir Ranjan Das.

He is an ordinary man like me or any other reader of Odia literature. Like many of you who will love to read this piece, I also know him as the most dedicated fan of the legendary Sri Manoj Das and the point of our affection to the person is what we feel about his ability to remain in constant inspiration to continue any work in relation to sir. Literally we feel him as a Kuni Hanuman.

That makes a sense that he may be an eccentric pro Manoj Das feeler that is typical to the behavior of a fan of any celebrity. I also had a small similar feeling till yesterday when he spent a wonderful evening with our family.

I was wrong so also you all if you feel so.

He now stays at Hyderabad and has come with his family for limited number of days to his native place and that of in-law. In addition of enjoying the festival he is busy to utilize his time in relation to literature.

He is a banker not a professional in a literature related field.

He attended a big seminar of the Odia Wikipedia ongoing work on E-book making of Odia literature at BBSR. Spent some good time with Mr Saroj Bal of timepass Prakasan with some positive discussion with the enthusiastic publisher.

The time we spent was very interesting that he brought the topics of his association with Sri Radhanath Rath (psychologist), personal experience with Sri Chandrasekhar Ratha, topics related to Sri Mohapatra Nilamani Sahoo, the script writer of Odia serial Duhita, late SrI Gopinath Mohanty, Late Sri Manmathnath Das, our Sarala Das, Jagannath Das, Swami Ram, ex editor of Sachitra Vijaya, Dr Bani Samant, Sreema, Sri Aurovinda, Dr Sanyal, The Samaj, The Sambad, Sri Bibhuti Patnaik, Sri Sitakant Mohapatra, Madam Prativa Ray, late Sri Biju Patnaik, Sri Harekrishna Mohatab, and sure I am forgetting so many names.

He was telling his unfruitful yesterday’s venture when he with Sri Dattatreya Dash went to meet Sri Hrishikesh Panda in his village and several other things at Balasore. Young Dattatrya should accept that time sometimes deceives you so that your time becomes more intense with some desired persons that it was.

In a nutshell this man Samir is not all about our link to sir he can be a very beautiful link to the huge encyclopedia of Odia literature.

My wife Dr Sarita Behera joined in the discussion a little later, after finishing her work and enjoyed.  

Some years back in a small meeting in presence of Madam Professor Sarojini Sadangi I questioned whether Odia is heading towards the similar fate of Sanskrit and should you or anyone else write in Odia if there is no reader.

I know the success of Pustak Melas gives an opposite and positive feeling.

The same odd feeling came when I saw a book on the footpath that was brand new, with the autograph of the author obviously gifted to a person as if praying the customer to bail it out which I did and it was not badly written either.

But I am wrong.

Till a single reader like Samir is there the writers ( he himself is one) are morally bound to write something to carry on the legacy of Upendra Bhanja, Sarala Das, Fakir Mohan and Surendra Mohanty. Proud to be an Odia, a reader and proud to be a small Odia writer. Very proud to know a friend like Samirbabu.

(His philanthropic activity and desire not to make our present work commercial is intentionally not discussed)

God bless you Samirbabu and your family. Thanks from my parents, Sarita and me to make an evening we shall remember forever. 

In Service..... The story of a lost bike.

In service.
In the far away place from capital where a lot of hype was generated around, poverty, hunger, trafficking and people selling their children, they had to work till their eligibility to apply as in-service candidates for higher studies.
 Of course they were doctors for whom doing a post graduation is as ritualistic as a Brahmin doing a thread ceremony for his son.
It did not come as such but after reading the whole of the forgotten courses that was read in five years to complete in five fortnights. The council played a hide and seek that took a lot of time exhausting all savings they had for the purpose. The delay was not as such but a scam , the big scam where a dozen  direct and another half a dozen in service candidates could get the question by malpractice on which they had nothing to say as the court order was favorable that one was bound to honour.
All money exhausted in the process of waiting in loss of pay making the couple the poorest parents of two.
To add to it the association always demanded the registration fee of five hundred that was never available. After working six years in government they had lost the attitude of begging that the secretary never understood. Rather he ragged taking the name of the most illustrious teacher that it was his order. And here the story began.
 There was no billing by police as it is seen today, "This medical college is the high prevalence zone of bike burglars, Honour them with two locks, keep vehicle in stand." As if the role of police ends there to remind you about burglars, which was not enacted then.
Being a Student that the public said as PG and the faculty said as in service PG, you felt as if you were yet in your mother"s womb to come out in the labour room after three years if they had mercy on you, the same labour room where you were born some thirty three years back.
Of course it was true. Who could proclaim on the judgement day that he had enough knowledge to pass!
Yes what was told...., yes as a PG student you were allowed to keep your bike in the stand free of cost because that cost even counted. There was no clue when the government would be pleased to sanction your study leave may be after a complete year.
But it was bad luck that he kept his bike in front of the main building for fifteen minutes by mistake that was enough for the specialist bike burglar.
Your first reaction, rush to the police station with a feeling that they threw a net to snatch back your most valuable possession after six years of service, ha ha ha , it was not you it was both of you.
The first advice by the friendly police was whether the insurance was up date or not.
No.
"Do it first then do the FIR."
(Now they are verifying but then it was possible as was the usual practice.)
He was quick to think the burglar did the same thing what he should do to the insurance company. That he could not do actually.
Next good advice was, go to Mr X of and he would help you to get back your bike if it was done by the usual group.
He was very confused, it was not his cup of tea.
But next day he being further advised by two more senior persons wanted to visit the Mr X.. Mr X was known to him since long when they were tenets as nascent couple some seven years back in his locality.
He was greeted well, was recognised and consoled well but Mr X told that it was wrong on his part to believe what people told.
He could not understand the mystery!
He reported the matter to the investigating officer and came back with a strong sense to revolt but against whom he was not finding it out. There were so many recovered bikes in the police station. He developed a bad habit to visit several police stations to see bike after bike. He felt if no one was taking those bikes then why one was not given to him although he knew that was not possible.

He remembered the SP of the town is the husband of his friend. Also knew he helped another doctor recovering his bike but should he disturb the SP for the small thing, a lost bike!! No he could not.

The next day in the department he told the thing to everyone to draw a little bit of sympathy that never stopped the right person to ask him to make no delay in registering himself as a member of the society.
He learnt he was nothing more than a student that to one in service being ready to march forward when there was a cyclone or a flood any where on the earth.
Never he could forget the bike 4S Champion of Bajaj make bearing number OR-05-C-1559, on which he biked 476 KMs at a stretch not once but six times in life. After sixteen years even the lost bike is so meaningful that always told him to be a villager only..    

.A Literature farmer's suicide .

A Literature farmer's suicide .
Sangram Lal (Red rebel) was a firebrand poet during his time. Got an award from Sahitys Academy in 1978, in post civil emergency period for his relevant literature during the preceding time.
He forgot to marry till he became beyond age. He was not a government officer or a professor of literature, to get pension after retierment. Neither he was an MLA or MP to get similar benefit. As he felt to retire he had no other option other than returning to his remote village in Phulbani(Kandhamal). There in his childhood, he became a rebel poet, seeing the oppression and atrocities towards people by high hands.
 His joint family and villagers took care of him. He remained engaged in plantation in personal and public land. He also loved to teach small children of his village. Children enjoyed his way of teaching loaded with stories. He was happy.
 No one from outer world remembered him till recently. In recent time, returning or non returning the academy award became a topic in society, after one after another awardees returned their award complaining intolerance to free speech and difference of opinion. A group of digital ghosts of literature in Bhubaneswar, the capital city of Odisha,  formed a committee to contact all awardees to take their views and indirectly pressurize them to return their awards. They met Sangram All in his village.
Red rebel had retired in true sense and was not aware of the current topics. He felt elevated and happy that, he still existed in the literature circle.
After listening every thing he committed nothing. He behaved indifferent. He was falling short to react.
 The committee did not expect it from a person called Red Rebel.
When they insisted, the slept tiger in him got up to tell, "In the name of freedom of expression you young men are killing my freedom". He recited his still remembered poem that shook the state against civil emergency.
Red Rebel however cooled down himself. His village life taught him to work on the ground reality. From where should he bring one lakh rupees to return. His family lived hand to mouth. It would be a great burden to them in the prevailing drought situation.
The next day however the unkind media printed a twisted story and took great care to send him copies.
Red Rebel became restless. His village folk reacted against it. Their voice did not reach the capital.
He picked up his pen and started writing.
After three days he approached the bank in the block head quarter for a loan of one lakh.
They declined to sanction any such loan, on the ground of uncertainty of return.
He tried to convince them that his poem compilation sells well. As the book got published he could repay. The bank manager politely told, "Sir! Your leftist ideas have no customer today, better to take rest not succumbing to the politics of literature".
He came back shutting up all his renovated ideas.
In the next morning he was found dead on his bed that all people thought to be a natural death, a heart attack of the old. However the sad bank manager was seen telling himself,"Oh another farmer committed suicide, a farmer of literature although".

Ruki and Khairun Hamma AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A COW. in Hati series.

            Ruki and Khairun Hamma

                                                                                  AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A COW.

                                                                                                                in Hati series.

It was half past mid night in the windy showers of unseasonal rain when nature was playing its own song; Dr Hati got the time to come back from labour room ending the day’s heavy work. Some unusual sound he heard that was difficult to tell whether to be a new born baby’s cry dragged by the wind with some Doppler effect that changed its pitch or the wind some where whistling a bottle neck. It was a real sound appeared to be a call to him only, so he moved towards its direction.

He had to travel through the corridor to avoid the rain.He moved towards the sound in the process stepped on heapes of cow dung in two occasions. The innocent destitute cattles self rehabilitated in Abantipur hospital have packed the corridor. 

They also had no chance to withstand the weather in the open space as was their usual practice. He saw a relatively healthy cow in the middle was weeping with audible sound as if in her better time some body taught him to express like her master.

Not only had she weeped she could speak even that Dr Hati halted to listen. She spoke with semi human accent but the language was not Odia, it was Urdu.

Salaam walekum daktar sahib!
Walekum..

     Rukeya, the weeping cow introduced herself, the daughter of her ex-owner Khairun (H)amma. Hati had no chance to guess her stuffiness of nose was because of hours of weeping or as she caught cold in the bad weather. Rukeya cleared her air way with a sneeze followed by a short bout of cough.

Can you not find me my Khairun Hamma’s house?

Where and why asked Hati!

Where I can’t say as I travelled some miles on vehicle. But you have to listen to my story and decide.

Hati was stunned and obliged to stop there to hear her autobiography.

All Hati listened till the end, and then from some cues he drew a thread to do a research on it that finally might lead him to find out her foster house.

Khairun Nisha was leading a very pleasant family life till the death of her husband Gaffur who was an automobile mechanic with enough income, enough for his village level living style. He was a nice man that never did forbid Allah to endear him.

Khairun’s passion for cows now became her means to survive. Her father was a live stock inspector who had chosen for her the best possible cows to keep. Khairun had three cows to start with which doubled in usual time. Gaffur was planning to have an extension of the cow shed when he met the fatal accident.

Things changed dramatically. Difficult time comes with intensity as Khairun’s father was diagnosed to have a cancer.

The last hope remained Rajaram, Gaffur’s very close friend who also was his co-worker. Rajaram is the man who used to take their weekly offer of milk in the local Shiva temple. There was no problem as human can have a water tight compartment of religion, caste and class but cows never enter to this controversy so also the milk. Rajaram also channelized the entire yield to OMFED the most trusted milkman so that there should be no marketing problem. However as it seemed there was no chance to save enough money to extend the shed having a maximum capacity for five. They had to sell one for this reason explained Khairun. Money was needed for elder daughter Guddi’s form fill up for the board examination. How can she tell Rajaram about the monetary need! So instead she pointed the crowding problem.

She selected Rukeya to bear the burnt as it was her most favorite and healthy cow. She felt Rukeya can withstand any kind of lack of care. Rukeya never fell sick, ate whatever was given to her, and was the most docile one to Khairun’s children. She felt sorry for choosing her to sell. She cried.

But what else can be done? They are now poor. Poverty forced to change her priority.

So Ruki had to go.

She felt Rajaram was the right person to do this job. She knew no fool would sell it to a butcher. Khairun herself never cooked beef because of her fond association with cows. She wanted to be sure that in future too when Ruki will be old there should be absolutely no such chance for Ruki to be sold to a Kasai. In this regard naturally her husband’s trusted Hindu friend was to be relied.

She told not to sell it to any Muslim or a cow trader Hindu even.

Rajaram took it to the weekly cattle market. He kept a good price for Ruki. Anyone who came for a bargain was asked about his details. The trader lobey was not much interested seeing the price. Rajaram like a very expert salesman described the milk yield Ruki had for her first calf. So many customers discussed and left for its price and the price he hiked when there was a little doubt on the customer’s purpose of purchasing the cow.

Finally he got a customer. The man Pintu believed if he donates the best of the cow to a Brahmin his father in death bed should directly go to heaven. He was ready to give the demanded cost without any bargain.

All formalities of the cattle market was done and Rajaram left back Ruki for a good amount of money. Ruki did not like the happenings. What was within her hand?

There was a rope around her neck and tag of being docile on her back.

 This had to be the attire of one who suffered man or pet.

 Moreover the transaction was over. Rajaram left the place with a heavy heart. Ruki didn’t know how to react as she was being sold for the first time in her life being born and brought up at Khairun’s house.

Soon she could know she was dragged to a different village with a new master Pintu.

Pundarkshaya Panda was the only Brahmin in the entire Panchayat who received the donation of cow. It was his family tradition which he was committed to continue. All other stoped taking cow as a donation. Who could take their care? It was a problem for him too. He was staying alone in village. Both of his sons were now employed in the city. Agricultural helps were not available. Cheap rice scheme made labour class people reluctant to work, he cursed. He knew he was unable to take care of the animals however he was reluctant to stop the tradition. He had some responsibility for the common people in the society. How could he stop sailing someone’s boat towards the entry gate of heaven? It was his inner feeling not greed. Had he any right? Our forefathers did it. He was in no mood to stop taking this difficult donation. It was a big responsibility.

So he prescribed Pintu the time method and logistics for the small ritual.

Now Ruki was gifted to Pundarikshaya.

Pundarikshya had a method. He any how kept the new animal for some period.He delegated the work of disposing the animal to needy people at a nominal price to one Pabitra who was trustworthy.

Pabitra played a villain without Pundarikakshaya’s knowledge. He sold all such animals in a distant market and to traders supplying to slaughter houses at Kolkata. He deceived Pundarikakshaya in a very fine manner. to Pundarikakshaya who now felt relieved.

 Ruki was taken to a different market where Pabitra sold her to the traders after doing all lawful formalities.

That was a very successful market day for the one trader group as their rival group for some reason did not come to the market.

 Transport facilitators who charged some money from the traders to facilitate smooth passage till they reach Kolkata. They were a kind of Mafias. That day because of their cheap purchase the mafia group demanded more which the traders declined to give.

A conflict started when the mafias telephoned to the cow savior unit of the circle in secret. Now they allowed the transport without taking their price.

Ruki was packed in side the carrier of the truck that was packed up to its full capacity. None liked to hear Ruki crying Khairun Hamma! Khairun Hamma! Khairun Hamma as the truck moved some miles to reach Abantipur where the cow savoir unit was ready to snatch these animals to set them free in front of camera.

Ruki didn’t know where to move. Wherever she went someone drove her out. No one was ready to keep such a healthy and productive cow free of cost! Ruki now joined the group of above fifty destitute cows staying in the government hospital’s open space. No shelter, no protection from rain and sun. No social status. Whenever the moods of the staff made them remember the cows’ existence the only thing they did was to drive them out of the campus to some distance from where they returned back as soon as the staff returned.  

When someone succumbed to death no one was interested for its cremation. After taking a heavy amount two sweepers came and carried them to the village cow field to throw the caracass.

Ruki only cried at her top Khairun Hamma, Khairun Hamma, and Khairun Hamma!

Where was Khairun Hamma? Possibly this thread would help Hati to reach the noble lady that made Ruki’s journey a full circle and she got back her right place right care.

(Dedicated to those golden time of two months in 1983 when the author

 was close to his family cowshed of six bullocks three cows and a Hariyana Bull. The bullocks were named even.)