My ancestry in my memoir Annyatha Mullyaheena.

Dt 28.09.2014, Annyatha Mulyaheena , My ancestry.

     When I think about my village Tulati, particularly the dwellings of different sahi basti, wards, the placement of important structures and deities, temples, ponds etc, and the caste pattern wise housing I get so many conclusions. Many of my speculations may or may not be true but I think logically as far as possible. Let me start with our sahi Rahimanpur where not a single Muslim house one finds, how such a name came I once described, no ruler did it, a settlement officer being requested by several names preferred by different influential members, he on those days of non RTI, ignorance pushed his father`s name. This is a sahi of settlement of houses mostly on the two sides of the road. This was not actually a road but a running water nala that in three to four months of monsoon carried whole of the water from our western side to the eastern side fed the great pond Nuagadia just at the west of the village and the majestic pond of Kastura that is on the adjacent east of village and surplus carried to the vast paddy field on the south as it turned south ward at the boundary fence of my house. So my house is at the AGNI south east angle of my sahi also of the village, that is at the south west corner of the majestic pond. So the road or nala connected the south bank of both the big ponds. At the west the deity Maa Hingula and Maa Jagulai, at the middle Lord Gopinath and Maa Basulai bless the villagers. Our village has plenty many ponds and places of worship that in no way can say our fore fathers were blind believers; one can be envious to know that my village school was established in 1886 speaking literacy was a felt need.

From our roof.

    The portion of Rahimanpur I speak here consisted of two sub groups the Karana sahi and the Hatua (small business doers)sahi, Karanas stayed on west side and Hatuas on east side. The hatuas mostly were Telies (oil man), and a few Banias (gold smith), Gudias (sweet makers), Khandayata and the great Brahmin Ghana Acharya whose son Adwita became Ayodha Dash the learned pandit and Mohanta (chief) of Balaramkot muth of Puri. That family already left the village when I was a child. As telies were majority among the hatuas a portion is called telisahi. All the oilmen were Sahoo by title except our family. Our family was different in two aspects, it was titled Senapati (leader of group of army), our house was not connected to the teli sahi and there was intervening house of a delicious sweet maker whose Khiragajas no one in the world made better. One more aspect of my house is that it is not connected to any by lanes. The by lanes are Kanoongo gali, Rauta ghara gali, Teli sahi gali, Basuli gali. Moreever my grandfather`s mother came from a sahoo family of our sahi which proves we were of different family. The sahoo group was one Kutumbha and ours was different. My forefathers proudly told they were producers of turmeric not oil, it seemed very funny. Why a family would be known as oilman if they did not produce Oil? What way turmeric production is better than mustard production, and squeezing oil out of it?

     So for the above said various reasons I feel our family migrated on a later date and dwelled obviously where houses of other families ended, there was no place near any by lane, hence it constructed its house where it got space. Our family must have settled before the Majestic pond was dug, how else the pond is at further east of my house. Our house must be there before the Gramadevati Maa Mangala`s worship started so that Maa`s place is only a little east to our house. Our Hindu Bastusastra allowed extension towards east and the geography also suggested so. The school started in 1886, the pond must be not much before as the villagers who dug such a big pond must had thinking for a school and Maa Mangala`s worship must be a phenomenon of say 17^th century when our earliest forefather migrated to this foreign village for which I am so emotional about.

     Titles are of two types meaningful and meaningless, for example Mohanty of Karana is either meaningless or of some meaning which we do not know but Pattanaik obviously is meaningful somehow means head of the chiefs. Like Sahoo is an original title and Senapati is an earned title. May be someone in my ancestry came out of house with a stick and fought with a miscreant for which a King or a village head tied a turban on his head and called Senapati, then the descendants to glorify it did not return to original title. During Vakti/ Vaisnaba movements irrespective of caste people loved to take the title Dasha/ Dasa/ Das. There seems had no scope to get such a title in the geographical domain of Annyatha Mullyaheena, my village Tulati , so we came as Senapaties from a different area, why someone a Senapati should leave his native area? I do not believe it was for any gallantry but maybe we were driven out by natural calamity or by man made. Somebody is an Odyia, a oilman and a Senapati ! From where? Where and where??? I always exclaimed. So far I know at some places of Jajpur the oilman with Senapati Title exists. Now one Kanhu Charan Senapati is a government servant at CDMO Jajpur`s office is such a combination, may be at some other places. So I feel we were not great migratory birds but of local variety.

     I feel proud my grandfather and father remembered the ancestry of several generations, my grand children already born (elder brother`s granddaughter and elder sister`s granddaughter) are the 8^th generation we have remembered.

                                            Rama

              Shankar…………………...Sapana

                   /                               /

                   Nandu                                        Bikala

                   /                                                  /

                Anama                                          Jagata

                     /                                                                                     /

Padna, Gopala, Madhaba, Ajaya       Madana Mohan(my father) and Gagana Bihari(my late uncle)

                                                                       /                                                  /                         Kartik Chandra, Pravatnalini, Ashok(late),Sandhya, Rabinarayan…Kishore Chandra, Muturi

               /                                                                        /                              /                   Roshni, Kiran,JyotirmayaJyotirmaya     SayamSuraj , SohamSamprit               Sipra, SmrutiRanjan

         Usually a generation is counted as 50 years so up to our generation we can tell we are aware of last 300 to 350 years. This matches my assumption that roughly my family started residing in Tulati from Rama. Let us presume Rama the great grandfather of my grandfather eloped with a Sita, may be of other caste or community so was driven out by his villagers, came to Tulati the foreign liberal atmosphere and permanently settled here.     This is the first part of my ancestry, its internal matters to be discussed in next write.( My personal opinion is in our land of high mortality and early marriage one generation may be as less as 20 years if a father married at 18 got child at 20 and the son repeated it. It may be as high as 50 years too if one married early sure but it may be too many years if one`s several children died and the one who came at the age of fifty somehow survived. I think we are staying here for lesser number of years.)

Kastura the life line pond of my village.

I do not feel generations should be counted as 50 years it should be 25 to 30 years I do not know the procedure my father was born on 13.11 1936 his father in 2008 and grandfather in 1889 then what should be the length of a generation? Uncle Padana who is one generation senior to my elder brother is actually one year younger than my brother; number of years for their four generation is equal for our five generations. The age difference between a father and a son may be as less as 18 years on those days or maybe 45 years if several children died and last one survived. So no one can correctly tell the date of birth of Rama the great grandfather of my grandfather it may be anywhere in between 1795 AD to 1830 AD. He must have come with Sita at the age of 18 to 20 so the correct time of my family`s settlement at Tulati may be somewhere between 1813 AD to 1848 AD. There is also a chance that Rama`s father or grandfather were locals but they had not more than one son so the family was not extended. 

     It is very interesting to know that the great grandfather of my grandfather Rama`s wife was Sita, in our side Sapana`s wife was Sharia, Bikala`s wife was Pata, Jagat`s wife was Janjali. My mother is Lakshmipriya and aunt again was Sita. I presume and what I had seen in my childhood women were never put in lesser place in our village. Our village`s life line the majestic pond of Kastura was dug by a lady Kasturi so how can anyone discriminate. This is the main reason why my grandfather remembered his great grandmother`s name and felt it important to teach my father. My father`s eye sparkled when I demanded to know their names, he told the name Sharia his great grandmother as if she was his own girl friend.

What is in a name? May be there is. Rama was a great name. His sons Shankar the Lord of destruction was a great name, the other son Sapana meant dream was a romantic name so also his wife Sharia. This suggest our forefathers were advanced they did not keep names like hagura mutura etc. How then came the names Nandu as Shankara`s son and Bikala as sapana`s son, so ordinary names. Nandu means shaved head and Bikala means melancholic. I assign one out of two possible reasons. 

     The first maybe before Rama the Senapati family was great. Rama came moneyless to Tulati worked as a labor class man and the family lived miserably, although the tempo of keeping good names was there in next generation it lost its meaning in the third generation in a poor family. But I reject this proposal as on those days strong people earned more, my grandfather told his grandfather was very tall strong and stout, so also was his father, my grandfather as I remember was a tall man but was with diseased figure when I saw him, my father and brothers are very strong.My uncle Gagan Senapati was tall unfortunately was chronically asthmatic and died at the age of 37 in 1975. So also Shankara`s descendants were and are strong. Hard work is the hallmark of both the families. Of course our ancestors were not rich at any point. It was not possible someone settled in a new village not for any glorious work would be man of money or power. 

     The second reason maybe on those days of high mortality many children died and people had belief that if ordinary names were chosen the Yamaraj  Lord of death ignores the kid. Such a practice was continued till to recent times. I support this theory as both the side had only one sons for continuous three generations, did they adopt any birth control, not a possibility it was because of high infant mortality. Yes my grandfather had three sisters all died, the last of them was a maternal death. My great grandfather had six sisters and all of them were leading family life in different villages nearby. Bikala Senapati died in 1942 at the age of 52 only, This was sudden from some febrile illness. Malaria?? His wife Pata survived till 1961 who was the dominating figure from 1942 to 1961 she did try for the improvement of the family and started money/ rice lending business. She was very short tempered and she wanted strict discipline. She on the date of her death had a dispute with a neighbor Fakira Sahoo on recovery of the money. The sick Fakira Sahoo had to return it to her instant but with displeasure, my grandfather sympathized the man. The old lady did not survive to enjoy the money returned. She went to attend the call of nature, was found dead in our family pond. Everyone thought it was accidental, can someone do a suicide following a dispute with a neighbor and after winning the dispute only because my grandfather sympathized the other man who was sick. Let us presume the hurt sick man`s curse my great grandmother could not survive. Fakira Sahoo was extremely sorry as he and everyone else loved the old lady. So what was the fun in being obsessed with the money you lent. My parents keep Pata in very high esteem, she made our family self dependant on agricultural output. Her son and grandson thereafter became able to certain extent to improve more to bring the family from lower class to middle class. Pata Senapati the widow recovered what Ramaji lost eloping with the girl Sita as a money less man to settle at a foreign village Tulati, the kingdom of Annyatha Mullyaheena.

     It is my pleasure to feel Shankar`s family the other side of Rama Senapati also became members of middle class at equal time. We remained humble with each other`s family and never forgot our forefathers were not very rich though we were Senapati meaning Commander`s family.  

   

Keep Pocket in short story collection Madhuban days.

Keep pocket.

Keep pocket!

 Mr Mishra was confused over the name or adjective of the old man in his sixties, he knew pickpockets. Those are plenty now a days, not a few in earlier days either. He asked Mr Nayar over a cup of tea. Nayar the proud man works as head accountant in the Jindal Stainless Steel and Power Limited at Madhuban industrial area. He belongs to Malgudi in Kerala and personally knows RK Narayanan the founder of the city, but he desired to live here with family forever. This old man is seen here for last several months only.

The tea tasted pleasantly different, keep pocket prepared it with white milk extracted from the mesh of coconut pulp.

 Oh!

Mr  Nayar explained, this man is not an ordinary one, a famous man in entire Kerala beyond Malgudi. Not only in Kerala the whole of South India knew him. Famous! Mr Nayar wanted to correct it to infamous.

Once upon a time he was young, with a beautiful wife Heena and two small children a toddler boy and an infant girl. He earned enough to run his family and to keep her wife in up to date fashion that made her happy. She never enquired what exactly his earning was and the method.

Melas were the best places for his job that demanded clinical precision, and attention of a fish bird. On one occasion as told by RK Narayanan he followed a man of his own age moving in the mela with a conspicuous green blazer. Green blazer drank green coconut milk this man followed, he wanted a balloon from a vendor as demanded by his motherless child and bargained for it's price this man overheard. This man went on following the blazer till ultimately the job was over, the purse was picked up.

 Before throwing the empty wallet into an unused well he wanted to fill the flaps with small pebbles to be sure it dipped to the bottom of the well to be unnoticed. He discovered the balloon, that one which the green blazer purchased for his motherless child. It turned his heart, became too emotional to feel the reaction of the longing child of this cruel man bargaining on the price of a balloon for a motherless child.

 He once again was in the mela spotted the green blazer in the rush and tried to keep the wallet back in his pocket with the balloon inside, a bad job for him tried for the first time in his life.

Oh no! He failed and the strong man in green blazer caught him. It followed the standard treatment by the mob.

Heena now could know their life line ran with his unholy earning.

 She tried to get her man released as the last act was the only good work he did in his life. Why then punish him? She moved from post to pillar, but it was proved beyond doubt he was a pickpocket. The only defense he uttered everywhere and in front of the magistrate was that he tried to keep it inside his pocket.

 This was not a defense but confessing the crime.

 Still then his wife tried. The advocate told her the only way was to convince the green blazer to withdraw the case. Now she became penniless.

Heena went to the complainant several times, cleaned his house, did all works she found pending in the womanless house. That man sympathized her, gave her money to run the family, sent chocolates to her children, and finally agreed to withdraw the case as he was convinced the pickpocket with a good intention came back to him and actually tried to keep it back.

 He first went to Police station with Heena. Heena saw the photograph of her man on the warning notice board. It depressed her. The police officer told that the matter is now within court's control and there only the appeal to withdraw the case would be done.

 They went to the advocate, paid his fees and he promised to appeal.

 They went back to the railway station, here also her husband`s photo was displayed which she could not see as it was displayed at a height. Now the green blazer intentionally made her aware of the photo there and at some other places in the platform. "Once the man returns will start picking up", he reminded her. With a voice full of concern and compassion he wanted to tell her that the future was not desired to be in bad hands of that pickpocket. He wanted to remind she was very beautiful and her children cannot be properly groomed with unholy earning. He wanted to take their care, he wanted to impress her that his own son is very nice and mild tempered.

He was rather crazy, to win her imagination.

 Something echoed in her core. She was no more interested for his release, she got afraid. She was now concerned, the punishment was only one and half year imprisonment which she imagined should have multiplied with number of previous crime he had done. Crimes were increasing only because of ordinary punishment. What would a weak and poor man do to her after his release? His name was reflected on all mirrors as a pickpocket.

 Felt pity for him.

 Green blazer is strong, with money and earns from noble work with all probability. He had one child she had two. What harm is to add a child of theirs to his child and her children?

she now was excited for him.

 They returned back towards his fairly good house. She was found sitting very close, resting to him like a creeper.

 On the very next day she with her children lived with him. After few months they sold everything and left Malgudi forever.

No one liked to carry the message to the pickpocket. He by the time of his release was a joke in police circuit as keep pocket.

He lost his mental balance seeing the happenings, went to the police station to lodge the complain that Green blazer stole his wife. Police consoled and counseled him to leave the place.

He demanded some action; if keeping back a purse was punishable then burglary of his wife and children needed some bigger punishment.

 Now all told he was mad, children threw pebbles at him; all called him keep pocket to chide. The man left Malgudi and wandered at different places of south India, his photograph on the notice boards made his life pathetic.

 How he lived till today is strange.

He cursed himself for not being capable of keeping something in someone's pocket with equal skill of picking a wallet. tried practising. His only purpose of earning from various manual labor was to save some money, buy a wallet and keep a currency note and a balloon inside it, then put it in someone's pocket who appeared helpless to his eye. Sometimes people misunderstood him, some people got real benefit and it became a perpetual news item. He always remained in disguise. When he could not earn anything he tried differently, would pick up from two pockets and exchange the rich man’s purse with poor man`s.

 He spoke to himself, "wallets love rich pockets."

 Once he picked up a purse and could not do the next trick. A photograph of a middle aged woman was noticed in it. Yes it could only be Heena. Instantly knew the purse belonged to his own son, he got an address, Jindal stainless, Madhuban, Jajpur, Odisha that brought him here.

 Mr Nayar deciphered his language in this unknown place and could know it was his own address which Heena`s son kept to meet him here to appear an interview, days ago one of his relations in Kerala requested  to help the young man's entry to his company.

 He did not leave Mr Nayar with a hope that his son may come here one day. He lived with hope.

Mr Nayar is not telling a story it is real as exchange of purses makes news in Madhuban. Mr Mishra suggested taking the keep pocket to a psychiatrist for a cure before he meets his son.

 Neither of them is sure it will help the situation or will be detrimental.

  

The lonely last in my memoir Annyatha Mulyaheena.

The lonely last Dt.24.08.2014.                                                

      This is an obituary to a small Tendu(Kendu) tree, the leftover of the lost woods at the western side of my village Tulati. The tree stood for decades as if a guard at the end of the revenue demarcation of the village and a huge playground. The length of the playground was about two kilometers and it had a spread of about one kilometer.At the end stood this Tendu tree and there after we believed the area of village Khaira started. There was no dispute over the tree`s right it was ours and was at times an active functionary of our village customs

      Our elders always told stories about Tigers, jackals, trees. We too believed  domeoneso occult power converted a man into an animal, to be more specific a tiger, with the splash of turmeric water on him who thereafter was free to enter the woods to befriend a tigress and when he returned his wife threw the special water chanting the mantra to get back to human shape. Fantasy prevailed in our mind for long. 
Such a huge field was there but no one told about any sporting activity. Surprisingly there was no name to this huge field which we called after the name of a pond Nuagadia. So it was Nuagadia Padia means the field of the new pond. This pond is a huge pond at the end of the western most sahi. It was called new pond obviously because there was an old pond in the village the most famous Majestic pond Kastura.

Why there is no name to such a huge field in a village that loved to name small tiny piece of land such as Kusumadiha, Manduli muhana, Tumunia, Mahulia, and so on, this puzzled me throughout my life. I believed, might be this piece of land did not exist earlier and it was woods of Sal, Piasal, Kendu, Asana, Kuruma, Kasi, Mahula, Mango, Kusuma, Bamboo and so on, how could my forefathers name a field which never existed was a logical conclusion to my turbulent mind, and this tendu tree stood to witness my logic. 
When as a child one learnt to ride a bicycle it was the pleasure to ride to the tree as if one`s first expedition of one`s upcoming life. There was absolutely no Jungle in my village when we were born, we had no nostalgic attachment to any tree except the one that each family planted as a village culture, to water it from a holed pot hanged at some elevation on the Mahabisuva Sankranti the starting day of our Odiya calendar, the Baisakh, this was usually a peepal or a banyan tree.

     This lonely last of the lost woods was a tree of many contrast, nobody knew why it was saved from human axe even if no story of any God or ghost was attached to this tree, no villager cared this tree, it was a small tree that never grew, there was no yield of the sweet Kendu fruit on it in the springs that also puzzled me too much in my childhood. Might be there was an explanation. Yes it was very much attached to the customs of my village especially to the girls, all unmarried girls.

     On the last day of Raja, the three days festival of monsoon the boys played a customary game of Bagudi, a Kabadi variant at the beginning of the field where is the Pitha of Maa Hingula . The drum beaters Udia, Ferta, and others played their instrument Dhol at the loudest free of cost, to give their contribution in the celebration. 
So sad they could not play with the higher caste and we could not play their drums.
 All the girls of the village travelled by the side with their beautiful Raja wears so colorful. They would bid adieu Raja the festival of (start of) monsoon that made mother earth fertile for a season to yield crops like the Raja (menstruation) of a girl foresaw her future fertility. The girls were not allowed to walk on the mother earth to celebrate its tenderness on such periods but how they travelled, there was no air car. To make it symbolic they tied a paddy straw around big toe so that it separated them from direct contact with the tender earth.

     They would reach the Tendu tree where they embraced each other as if they embraced their mother before a separation for a long year, they made merry of their collective friendship, their feminine power, their specially gifted ability to be mothers in future. They wept, they wept to think that some of them must not be there in next year as proposals of their marriage was being discussed. 
Other villages must have many similar beautiful customs. These otherwise meaningless (ଅନ୍ୟଥା ମୂଲ୍ୟହୀନ) customs remained as signature of a village.  
The girls did many promises to each other keeping the Tendu tree a witness of their resolves in many.
This was not the only function there; they had to locate their spots of buried kaudis (Skeleton of small marine animal with a smooth concave surface and a surface with a grove with corrugated margin, that once was used as Odia currency) and tried to reinforce the identifying symbol that would withstand the monsoon shower till Gamha Purnami the festival of Rakshyabandhan when the tree would be revisited. Then they returned after the light faded, many a time they had to withstand a shower to see off the festival at the western end where the lonely last stood far away from the village proper.

     It was then forgotten till the date of Gamha, on which day the sisters tied a decorated thread around the wrist of their brothers to remind their responsibility of protection and love to a sister like Lord Jagannath and Balavadra had their rakshi from sister Subhadra in the grand temple. 
Ours was a different village, our eves were not given a sense of helplessness that they needed a protection from younger brothers, the logic was elder brother had a responsibility to protect his sister, younger brother is to be protected and girls had enough courage to protect the young one, I always loved the differences in customs and their reasons assigned, but was unfortunate and fortunate that my two sisters were elder to me, but all my siblings loved me more than others as I felt.

     On this day our girls not only wanted Baravaya from elder brothers but also started another festival KHUDUARANKUNI that is dedicated to brother`s protection and wellbeing. 
During these monsoons the male folks in past travelled the river and then the sea to places as far as Bali, Java, Sumatra and many east Asian countries for trade and fortune. The seven sadhaba brothers went for trade leaving the dear sister Ta-a-poi at home to be tortured by the six sisters in law except the youngest Nilendri. But with all difficulties the girl did the Puja of the Deity Khudarankuni (one who loved broken waste of raw de husked rice) for the safety of her brothers and they returned safe to save Ta-a-poi. 
So our girls started the month long festival from Gahma onwards. They went to the kendu tree with a Kaudi each. They would spot the buried Kaudi that they dug out and collected soil to be used to make the idol of the deity and rebury a new Kaudi for the next year. They carried the soil in a basket and returned together.

      At times they falsely located the spot and went on digging but the Kaudi was not recovered, she became extremely disturbed as she had to connect it to her brother`s safety. They cursed the tree as it was given the responsibility to be a witness and to remind her, the location. Sadly year after year the Tendu tree was cursed by one or the other so it never grew and a day came it vanished. 
How? I never liked to ask any villager. One may laugh at me that I am not worried for the vast woods of my village already lost and cried for the lonely last, the kendu tree at the border security force of my village at its wagha.

     The soil is now swampy, erosion had to come. Last I went far on a bike to reach the spot of cremation of my friend Ashisha Sahoo a lightening casualty and my bike was halted by sticky mud, in our time even in the heavy rain it remained hard to play soccer that the present day children may not believe. There is not the lonely last to witness my claim, Oh God save this green earth.  

Old Students Association. In Madhubana days a short story collection.

Old Students Association.

     Madhubbana High School was the only institution to learn in the entire princely state. After two decades of its existence the next high school was established in Srujanpur. Half of a thousand students under the active guidance of teachers almost fifty in number excelled in academics, sports, art, NCC, Scouts and guide, and in many other activities with wonderful year end results. Gone are those golden days, the school is now squeezed by different named school like Stewart, Cambridge, St Marry, Saraswti, Ganesh and Kidzees at private side in the nearby urban area, many semi government schools at the other end in the rural corners. The moral values and social utility of the institution is more effectively constricted, more than the academic results.

      A few, critically analyzed the situation and Rajendra a 1985 pass out was at the lead. He bore the pain to contact and approach till a reply came from almost all of his classmates, finally the Association of 1985 Alumni shaped up. Initial plan in the small gathering was to do a repeat get-together in a bigger way to finalize the future.

      From Birendra, the now American cardiologist to the matriculate trolley puller Narana Patra, the ever running nose suun suun Malati, now Mrs Commissioner to Priyadrshini the one eloped with her boy friend right from the final exam hall, now she herself is a grandmother by the repeat act of her beautiful daughter (year2005), to the still bachelor wrist watch technician Rajendra all became nostalgic with the idea.

From a grandmother to a bachelor all friends promised their joining in the event.

    Rajendra lived in a dream land with train of ideas, just like the way he organized the school dramas. He did not change, thought the idea would run viral from batch to batch leading to formation of common old students alumni, a big think tank helpful for the development of his area. He had no motive to collect a big amount from the American doctor or from the running nose suun suun Malati, always felt proud for them as if they were assets to his own family. Let them be powerful in their own places he pleasantly thought, they were prides of the batch.

The last get together four years back, was attended by twenty students and three teachers, made an appealing leaflet with their teachers’ messages; with warning for defaulters and absentees in the coming years as if they would be jailed if did not cooperate. It worked, fear of being fined!!

They replied, encouraged and thanked.

      He did not stop organizing for the last four years. Gradually his watch shop became the de facto office of the association. Anyone came to native place dropped in, sat on his shop awning, had a cup of cola, he arranged conveyance and other needs for them. He also was given several assignments by friends without any hesitation. He obliged all with love, a sense of responsibility, and with confidence of being done. It might have helped him in business which never was the purpose.

     The day of union approached, a huge success, all available students from all parts joined, most with their spouses and children. The presence of ten teachers added to the grace of the union after twenty years. From the very old Sanskrit teacher to the grandson of Priyadarsini, people of four generation made it a conference of colorful variety, a beautiful gallery, The Old Students Association – 1985. How charming was the scene when the priest of the presiding diety of Garha Madhuban Sri Narayan Acharya embracing the sweeper Chinda Mukhi at the height of nostalgia of limitless free school life, as pleasant as daily closing bells of the school at four in the afternoon.

     A few were bachelor like Rajendra, some had sons and daughters as old as the grandson of Pryadarshini, were playing together making sand houses at the side of the Ashokjhar stream that fell from a height at the camp site, at the beautiful foothill of Ashok.

   There was Mini the smartest, most talented, great orator, story teller, research scholar a PHD, who once founded a woman’s college and was its principal till government closed it. It did not match the policy guideline of not allowing two colleges in the same block headquarter. Others believed as she did not bribe, she could not make her project pass through. She could not cope with her wishes shattered, became neurotic. While her colleagues left for other employments she remained an adamant and useless unemployed PHD. All in the gathering did not lose their love and a beat of respect for this unfulfilled talent. She could not find a match neither did her four little educated brothers pursue her to be settled. She was still a talent, her intellect became her liability. Her uniqueness and attitude made her separate from the stream, like confined water detached from mainstream, swampy stale and stagnant,  just like many such collections by the side of Ashokjhar. Her situation, some old envious friends, compared like this. Mini at her time was many such friends’ first crush of adolescence.

     Her youthful chapter was of pride, promise, words, and of unmatched beauty. She was a victim of the adversity came with her own natural perception of progress, and her out of the way ambitions. Those were not positive development, rather her egos that made her confined in a friendless dark cell, she analyzed in retrospect but it was too late. It was her foolishness to expect to find a soul mate emotionally charged enough and ready to spoil his carrier in dark rural estate Madhubana. So her status was single. She had no age to feel like a butterfly, gardens no more had fragrance, flowers did not have honey, she got lost, soon her intellect pricked her and brought her back from the lost world, she swayed to and fro, she felt ashamed and gathered all pieces of her board to celebrate, yeah, to cherish the time with friends.

     In the last union there was Soumyadarshan , the name literarily meant the most handsome that he actually was, the husband of Chitralekha. Ironically the same Chitra once carried Soumya’s letter of preference and love to Mini as a common friend, the only one aware of the fact. She was not adverse but he became uncomfortable and insecure with Mini’s talent. The relationship weakened before taking a shape. Destiny planned and solemnized Soumya and Chitra’s marriage.

There was no soreness in between the two ladies over it, their daughter was comfortable at Mini’s arm in that gathering.

    Soumya was the main helping hand for Rajendra in that edition, he was a political organizer, the one who fought against liquor mafia, the one rare man who repeatedly became the Sarpanch of Madhubana as an independent candidate not bribing the voters, the one every political party invited to join with but he politely refused as he knew he was unfit to follow any party line that he personally did not like, might put him in conflict. He was the agro revolutionary of the area that fetched him enough to earn a descent living, did politics as an old generation Gandhian with passion and dedication, politics as social service, not to mint money. At Soumya’s active help and encouragement and participation  local friends Rama, Dama, Shyama, Sahankara, Zulfiqure, Ganesh, Vijay, Ajaya, Parwin, Priyambada, Sadhua, Sima, Prajnya, George ho and so many; Rajendra was almost at the finishing line of the hard work of last four years. He forced almost all friends’ consent and contribution. All replied with zeal.

  He was apprehensive, how to handle an expected big gathering in this rural area with no convention center. Soumya planned it out.

Unseen disaster shattered all their desires.

They at the last phase of preparation waiting for Soumya in a meeting came the news from Chitra about the accident of Somya , Rajendra with friends rushed to the hospital with all the money collected, his common sense needed no body’s permission, the entire Garha Madhubana united in prayer, all efforts from all sides was of no help. The undisputed leader of Madhubana could not be saved from the decision of cruel time. Every family in Madhubana lost his dear son.

    It turned to be a murder by liquor mafias as his anti liquor movement now was spreading out of Madhubana.

   Chitra gathered courage the Old students association stood by her side at these crucial hours.

   They did not postpone the planned reunion of alumnae.  

   The arrangements completed at the foot hill of Ashokjhara, the temple of Lord Shiva stood beautiful, the tents were finely led down, all possible facilities were made available, all types of country old recipes both vegetarian and meat items, special tribal food collection, everybody’s prior demand was fulfilled, they could not stop some friends coming from distant places bring branded alcoholic beverages to share with old friends ignoring the recent tragedy. They were found to gather at a distance from the teachers.

      Mini looked normal and happy. Kids shared chocolates, sweets, biscuits, and fruits, adolescents were merry making, each one seemed to be excited about their developing features. The people from urban grooming were sharing their Harry potters, the rural guys and gals reciprocating their jungle book, the hares, deer, elephants and how they themselves have to play a harry with many interesting interaction with the hill, the fountain and the jungle.

      When his mustache comes out and her curves take a shape he or she is the unbeatable flyer, the rural on the back of the greenery the urban on the roller coaster amazingly powerful, unstoppable.

     So many teachers were around Mini, may be discussing some important matter with the talent or convincing her to settle.

    Rambha was worried about her daughter of sixteen who had gone inside the woods with some younger children, in the direction towards which had gone some of her classmates she remembered very naughty, and two of them still bachelors, to add, they had gone with bottles. Thanks God some male adolescents with sparse facial hairs also went to the same direction, she was not afraid of them as was she for her naughty old friends.

    Birendra was second to Mini in academics now appeared as her advocate and counselor. He encouraged the teachers to convince her to settle, he himself tried to convince her. He considered himself to be the final winner in their long academic competition as children and as adults. Did time end here with no possible change; he forgot to ask himself.

He was like anyone involved and absorbed in a little immediate surroundings, shine his status being a leading cardiologist of the world.

Mini was smiling, she had chosen her own way devoid of any chance of losing, she was a natural winner, and the words of friends and teachers encouraged her, she saw her wings once again colorful, flowers’ fragrance returned, the nectar loaded in these were worthy to taste, she flew like a haladibasant, the saffron bird of spring.

     Rajendra was absent; he camped at proper Madhubana to see all the delegates comfortably reach the camp site, and then went to Chitra’s home to convince her coming with children. He in the name of the kids begged her to get back to some normalcy of life. Chitra the Brahmin widow with the white sari, vermilion less forehead, bangle less wrists looked like thick cloud at the top of the hill, dreadfully tender may spark with lightning and thunder, like the roar of a lion. Her attires notified herself as special not the common. Any way under her kids’ pressure she agreed and all of them reached at camp where the atmosphere looked as if all waited for them.

     First came the ever running nose suun suun Mrs Commissioner Malati and wept aloud that annoyed Rajendra. This lady did not change, always suun suun at every drop of a hat. Ladies around Mini left her and joined Malati in weeping, people showed their pity on her children, Aha chu chu. The experienced old teachers joined in chorus.

     Birendra and other men left the place of Mini, they dragged Rajendra to the non-vegetarian kitchen, where it smelt like alcohol, was very nauseating for the vegetarian Rajendra loaded with the aura of late Soumya’s war against liquor. His friends cracked vulgar jokes at him; some were seeing and showing forbidden scenes from their higher end cell phones (2005). Others under alcohol were peeping at the modern attires of the grown up daughters of friends that made Rajendra as uncomfortable as the young adolescent boys capable of observing the behavior of these uncles.

     Birendra raised the topic straight forward that it was the wish of everybody including the teachers that he should oblige their proposal of getting settled with Mini. He also informed Rajendra that she had approved it. No one revealed how the lady was told and persuaded presenting it was Rajendra’s wish. Now Dr Birendra the American cardiologist harangued the wrist watch repairer the organizer of the meet Rajendra to give his nod. It was a proposal for Rajendra which he never would dream even. What was the problem when the brilliant girl was ready urged the friends.

Of course she was made so ready that she was totally feeling light and flying like a bird, shedding twenty years of her life and as if an illiterate girl of seventeen. The situation made a doctorate who did not bribe the authority to get her dream project; a women’s college passed through, had to fall under pressure.

     Rajendra was stunned, they were joking, preparing the list of gift to be offered by different friends for a comfortable home making, batch 1985 was so rich with money but they were so poor in ideas. Rajendra in last several years obliged everybody`s local need with affection, he was taken to be granted for any reason and his neglected life decision was now sabotaged by them. He to oblige was a mere formality, expected the friends.

    How these people who had come for some fun only would be so cruel to him, he was not thinking the merits and demerits of settling with Mini he was critical about the trespassing of the limits by these grown up people who claimed to be friends. How weak was their code of conduct, he at his approaching forty, first time felt he was an adult, he looked red people thought he felt shy, but he had to control his anger, he badly wanted Soumya’s never possible presence.

He had some doubt on himself, should Mini think it was the whole purpose of organizing the meet.

   He controlled himself, he had to finish the job of a good organizer, and he counter convinced the gathering that he rejected their idea. He politely disapproved the teachers’ proposal as well.

Birendra now was in problem, it was he who had taken Rajendra to be granted, how and what to tell Mini now? So Birendra tried his level best to pursue Rajendra but of no result. He understood the injustice done to Mini and these guys could never rectify, but still he did not concede.

    Chitra could not tolerate too much of sympathy, she and Soumya were the center of last meet, she really fainted and was carried back home.

Mini the educated most cultured lady pretended to take the tide very lightly without making any scene.

     Next day …. Mini called over phone and told sorry to Rajendra, and thanked him to save both of them from an accident. Chitra too called, she was also speaking normally and felt sorry that she could not behave matured.

Rambha’s call was terrible, she alleged her daughter was shown few over’s of cricket one day match by Suryakanta, instead of in between advertisements in came some adult materials, lucky some boys arrived.

Suryakant, yes Rajendra believed.

    Now came Birendra who felt very sorry, they went to all three ladies` house and normalized things.

 Birendra felt very highly about his friends staying with a lot of difficulties and how closely they are attached with their own situation, connected to the fire of the woods, water of the Ashokjhar, the breezy air that intruded to the village all weather by the specific arrangement of hills, to the soil at their feet and the dark starry sky at night, he longed to be attached but no chance.

      Mini was taking tutorials of college students, Chitra was busy with children’s care both the ladies solicited their healing arrival, and Rambha she could have spoiled the meet yesterday but had enough patience to wait a day.

    Rajendra’s concluding remark was, “Past is gone better to live the present time as it is, and be prepared for the odds and evens of future.”

 He had taken a new assignment the un fulfilled vision 2020’s rural chapter that was the original project of late Soumya. Birendra, Mini, Chitralekha and Rambha promised to shape it up the way Soumyadarshan wanted.

NOT A SHORT STORY NOT A MEMOIR SOME CONCERN ABOUT A NICE THING PROPOSED.

Dt.29.07.2014.
Statue of Sardar Patel. My views, what are yours?
     In Manoj Das`s literature in more than one places and recently the same in some other writer`s article what I read, I am putting here to open my views on the proposed statue of a great man, the original and only one iron man of my country in modern days, he is Sardar Patel, the enemy less. He delivered his task to his dear country probably in the most perfect way humanly possible that no one else at independence was capable enough to do, uniting the great many princely states. I believe there is absolutely no controversy in feeling him the strongest man to be an Indian.
     In a misty winter post dawn a beggar in his rags stood by the side of an important road in USSR, the soldiers marched en route turned their head side wise and paid salute that amused the beggar, for a moment he enjoyed his importance before questioning the reason. He looked back, and was astonished how he could forget the statue of Lenin where he spent years and which the soldiers saluted.
      How dramatically things changed, after Glasnost and Perestroika USSR dissolved and the same statue was broken by none other than the countrymen of that great nation Russia not by any CIA or any other outside agency within the same 20th century. How beautifully R K Narayanan had touched it in his story Lawley Road in Malgudy Days much before things happened.
      The statue or crafted out image at Bamiyan on mountain, of Lord Budhha was damaged by the madness of the Taliban. Real history can be more absurd than any unthinkable fiction.
      Sardar`s statue as proposed by the prime ministerial candidate of a major political party Mr. NAMO in his won state which is also Sardar`s native state was nothing illogical as a matter of honoring people worshiped by masses, this is our culture. Now he is Indian PM and already done some budgetary provision to build the statue shows he is a committed man and should be regarded for it as keeping commitment by political people had become a rarity. So I must put forward my views with utmost regard.
       We must not compare some other greats like Pandit Nehru and the merit or demerit of seeing Patelji as our first PM as this never is going to happen and it only comes from devil`s mind who can enjoy imagining the fight of ghosts of two mutually admiring historical greats of our nation. I am aware of the fact that now a day’s so many people are not sparing our first prime minister, and even criticizing the father of the nation as they perceive he favored Panditji, my personal opinion with my little knowledge is that the available resources were properly placed in the right portfolios and they performed with great responsibility, honesty, dignity, dedication and passion. Of course no one out stood our then home minister considering the complicated scenario that he solved with steel nerves. So honoring him is a thing of absolute support, but comparison is bad work. Competing with height of the statue of liberty is madness; liberty is so supreme a virtue that cannot be measured by any height, statesmanship (of the iron man) is such a great attribute that cannot be measured by the height of a statue. So this competition is foolishness.
      Building this statue should not be seen as an isolated event, we do not end here, it will begin a serial as long as an Indian TV soap that never ends. Yes there will be all the, 33 corer of Gods, all prime ministers, all the freedom fighters, Tagoreji, Netaji, Mohatma, Vivekananda, Saibabas, Sriaurobinda, Ambedkar, at least 4 greats from each states, all the noble laureates, all the Sahid Virs, Hokey and cricket greats, other sporting stars, Lataji, Amitav, and of course Rajanikant so many greats in different fields in such a vast country. May be India will be the country of tall statues.
Those who think my view is a joker`s stuff please remember how Mayabatiji started doing a park of statues not very long ago.
      Certainly Odisha will do statues of Kings of Ganga dynasty, Samrat Kharavel, Madhubabu,VSS, MKCG, SCB, FM, Gopabandhu, and of course Biju the lion. So wise men be careful, you may do a thing but do not bring a sense of comparison or competition that never ends.
      A Kohli always comes better than a Sachin.
     What is my opinion? We cannot retreat from the plan, it will be insulting, but certainly it should be outside Gujrat, may be in Hyderabad near Nizam`s, or near Raja Harisingh`s palace in Kasmir, or may be at national Capital. Why? As this can easily be done for this loved national figure. This is not possible for lesser greats. This will increase the importance of the proposal, will shed the parochial angle. More ever I suggest its height should be slightly smaller than the statue of liberty to give a statement that we are not competing which will avoid the competition chain reaction as suggested above. More ever there should be collective decision and guide line in this regard to end any possible madness in future.
Once I opened a TV program, to my amazement it was Atalji`s those lines which meant ,"Oh God do not take me to that height that I should feel lonely". NAMOji ask Mr Patel`s soul if you can, you can listen the same lines of Atalji he must utter. A Hanuman would feel shy if his height is done more than that of his master Lord Rama. NAMOji if you still do not understand then imagine in the coming days if someone plans NAMOji`s statue in front of Sardar at a higher level or say in front of Atalji or a Shyama Prasad Mukherji.
     Sadhu Sabadhan, wise men you are warned by a small man like me as I feel it is my patriotic national duty. I am sure I am a Gynaecologist not a Psychiatrist .

     Certainly Sardarji is not greater than The Budha. Are we not behaving like the above said beggar at the shadow of the Sardar?                                      JAY HIND.

TWO MASTERS A hati series story.

Dt – 24 – 05 – 2014 Two Masters

    On Dr Manas Ranjan Sahoo the eminent surgeon`s photograph with the living legend Mr Sunil Manohar Gavaskar , I wrote little master squire. Dr Sahoo “Senapati you are joking”.

    The story teller Dr Hati entered as usual with his cracking laughter ha ha ha ha and viewed my FB interaction. He told, “Yes you are correct Senapati ,Manas matched the legend, better you listen this real life story of mine, ha ha…”. 3^rd story… of Hati series.

      Dr Hati was attending his uncle under treatment at Tata Memorial Hospital Mumbai, from where he flew to Bangalore to receive his sick uncle`s literary award from a prestigious linguistic institution. He was handpicked by his uncle as Hati follows his research work in Odiya literature that fetched the award.

     There was no story in receiving the award for his uncle`s boiling midnight oil, in the most descent mannerism. He being the dummy was not the subject of interest and he liked every body`s wish for uncle`s quick recovery although his inside doctor knew it is terminal. He returned.

     The air ticket sponsored to him was of higher, class not of cow`s class that put him in discomfort. Hati never travelled in this class where he found Rahul Dravid by his side, there were Tharoor, Sova De, Kiran Kher like people whom he recognized, he felt not being elevated but diminuend. Reading book may help him so he opened his hand bag, picked the book received from organizers,

“Comparative study of Odiya, Bengali, and Assamese of eastern India”. As such he loves to read this type of literature because of his uncle but not on that day with the elite surrounding. There was no suitable alternative other than to connect with the book, his uncle`s essay was there, and he did the repeat reading. He was not sure any conversation happens in this class or it remains a silence zone. He being a fan of Mr Wall of Indian cricket felt it an honor to seat at his side but kept mum to give justice to his nervousness.

     Mr Dravid was reading Immortals of Meluha. Dravid broke the silence and started, but Hati liked to give his introduction as the other needed no introduction. "Oh you are not a professor at Shanti Niketan, I presumed so", told Dravid. The Obstetrician Hati now comfortably joked, see Mr Wall the number of test runs you scored can match the number of deliveries I conducted. Great told Dravid which confused Hati.

        What is great there, the lady labors to sweat and a pool of blood, Hati gains from the bloody business, can it be great? No no told Hati, obstetrician is just like a cushioned tray to receive a VIP, and at times witness tragedy. Do not joke doctor, you are the friend at people`s most anxious moments told the wall. Hati replied ten runs in last over with two wickets in hand, and the bowler is Shane Warne, like situation, it was too hard for him to stop his free flow of laughter ha a a. Dravid instantly replied no it is more tense a situation he knew being a father. Is it really so? Hati felt shy and honored, which made him comfortable to spend rest of the time up to Mumbai gossiping with the legend.

      The discussion was mostly on uncle, the three sister languages of eastern India and how both the men were connected to books beyond their profession. They were too absorbed in discussion to forget the presence of writers like Tharoor and Sova De. Hati being encouraged by Dravid was now talking at equal terms not as a fan and a legend. He tried his level best to impress Mr Dravid that a Hati can be an intelligent species. It was interesting to see Dravid preferred little conversation beyond an exchange of smile of recognition and admiration with the other elites. Hati found reserve people can be so exciting and a casual man like him can be so well mannered, he sensed an amusing sensation against the discomfort to start with.

        He had to travel with Mr Amir Khan who was coming back from Portblair at identical time as they had to share a motivational program in a private university at Mumbai before which the perfectionist Mr Khan would interact face to face with Wall. Hati did not feel comfortable to meet the man whom he considers a great actor second only to none other than Kamal Hassain and above anyone else in Indian cinema, his shyness reappeared. Moreover being an obstetrician Hati feared if Amir thought and alleged he did sex selective feticides, he had seen his two episodes of Satyameva Jayate. Hati felt sorry for his professional colleagues for whom he is put in this unfortunate situation. How can Hati avoid such an opportunity his favorite cricketer introducing him to his actor of choice? He could not overcome Amir`s other episode of SMJ in which he uttered his fear to attend Indian hospitals, he can afford but can his countrymen? They henceforth will go to the hospital with increased negative mindset. Hati seriously thought to invite Amir to his area to make him know the real bondage between a doctor and the patients, he was turning megalomaniac. He was not angry on Amir but emotionally wanted to defend a doctor`s special status in the society. Hati always positioned himself as a washer man or a hair dresser serving people with the expectation of getting back the love the way Hati loves the above two servants of society.

What are you thinking man, Dravid observed him lost somewhere, Hati found Amir in front of them true or dreaming? Hati was overwhelmed to be introduced to Amir by Dravid`s  words, “The obstetrician from Odisha  who already had crossed my test runs in hosting the arrival of lives to this world, is it not a greater achievement than mine”?

Amir did not go back to SMJ but his face brightened with his beautiful smile, and started, “Not comparable. Millions pray for a safe Dravid`s wicket in a tense situation with a mix of patriotism whose help for building a nation cannot be measured, the wealth generated by BCCI although can be. In doctorsab`s case a family offers a million prayers for the safety of the woman and her product of labor.

" If everything is fine you both are praised, if anything goes wrong Dravid or Hati you are stoned. For actors like me after a hundred retake and promotions things may fail but nobody mourns."

 Hope you saw Three Idiots, Chetan Bhagat put some good quality to each of the three ordinary five point some ones, we put all qualities in an Amir Khan to make him an Indian macho hero that sold very well but can you compare me with you two guys or with a Chetan ? No we cannot, better to do the job in proper spirit what one may be doing”.

 “That is why we are your fans Mr Perfectionist”.

They moved to the promo as greats, Hati moved towards Tata memorial as an ordinary to narrate everything to uncle. Kusuma Parase Pata Nistare, the thread from the cover of the banana tree used to make a garland, with the touch of flowers gets salvation around His neck.