(Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. He was involved in various Artificial Intelligence and High-Performance Computing projects of national and international repute. He has got a long experience in the field of ‘Natural Language Processing’, especially, in the domain of Machine Translation. He has taken the mantle of translating the timeless beauties of Indian literature upon himself so that it reaches across the globe. He has also undertaken translation work for Shri Narendra Modi, the Hon’ble Prime Minister of India, which was highly appreciated by him. He is also a member of ‘Bombay Film Writer Association’.
We present an English Version of Shri Sanjay Bhardwaj’s Hindi short story “शाश्वत”. We extend our heartiest thanks to the learned author Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi Ji (who is very well conversant with Hindi, Sanskrit, English and Urdu languages) for this beautiful translation and his artwork.)
श्री संजय भारद्वाज जी की मूल रचना
संजय दृष्टि – लघुकथा – शाश्वत
– क्या चल रहा है इन दिनों?
– कुछ ख़ास नहीं। हाँ पिछले सप्ताह तुम्हारी ‘अतीत के चित्र’ पुस्तक पढ़़ी।
– कैसी लगी?
– बहुत अच्छी। तुमने अपने बचपन से बुढ़ापे तक की घटनाएँ ऐसे लिखी हैं जैसे सामने कोई फिल्म चल रही हो।….अच्छा एक बात बताओ, इसमें हमारे प्रेम पर कुछ क्यों नहीं लिखा?
– प्रेम तो शाश्वत है। प्रेम का देहकाल व्यतीत होता है पर प्रेम कभी अतीत नहीं होता। बस इसलिए न लिखा गया, न लिखा जाएगा कभी।
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ A GHOST स्टोरी – Part -2 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
‘Now it was my turn to weep. And see an act of treachery by a friend. Brajlal said to me smilingly, ‘One must be kind / to a crying child!’ He had already scored four that is four laddus at a time sent to his inner world. The stomach.’
‘And I was clean bowled. Just like the glorious retreat of the British army during The Second World War, I had to accept the tragedy with a smile on my face. I handed over the rest to that unknown villain.’
Mama stopped. Probably reminiscing that past tragic incidence, he was feeling sorry again. Even after so many years.
But I grew restive. What was this? A ghost story? Where was that ghost? When would he appear in the story line? At least this could have happened – when the boy was yelling in the crowded bus, the driver turned his face and asked his mother to keep the child shut up. And then mamaji and his friend just fainted when they saw that the bus driver didn’t have a face. It was a headless body driving the bus. At least something of this sort of an unexpected climax could have occurred. A different story line! But here it was just a tasteless dish of a good for nothing ghost story! Out of frustration I screwed my eyes and murmured, ‘But the ghost? Where is he, mama?’
‘Wait, wait, a test match can’t be played merely in fifty overs? Haven’t you heard the saying – ‘if you can wait, you get the sweet to taste!’
By then ma had already brought tea and two plates of pakoras for three of us. Mama made an immediate capture of a plate and sipped his tea. His face brightened up with satisfaction. He started again …….
‘Rana and Chotku, you won’t believe me but at least in one thing Brajlal was more than one hundred percent correct. Oh, the dishes his dadi prepared that day – were all beyond any description! Pulao, fish curry, then dahi bada and above all her gujhiyas! Oh, even if my mind forgets them my tongue will never! My tongue is salivating again now that I mention it.’
‘But mama, the ghost -?’
‘Will you shut up? Or else I’m going to hang you from that toddy tree, and then and there you yourself will become a real ghost!’
I hung my head in disgust. I was in no mood to listen to this story of foodies. Pulao and gujhiyas are the things to be gobbled up. Not merely a thing to be heard about.
‘And the next morning, after the breakfast…’ mama, now full of energy, started batting again, ‘I and Brajlal went out to play cricket in the field, just outside their house. At first, I was bowling and Braj was at the batting end. After five or six deliveries he hit the ball and I ran after it. The ball went behind a big banyan tree. The moment I reached the spot to pick up the ball, I saw there ……’
Mama stopped again. He knew the secret of the art of storytelling. Sometime a silence is much more eloquent than a hundred spoken words. We two brothers jumped on the bed.
‘What mama? What was there?’
‘There was a man lying on the ground behind the tree. He was bleeding profusely. Blood was smeared all over his body. Blood was on the banyan leaves splattered all around him. He was groaning in pain, ‘Oh, is there anybody? Help, save me from this murderer!’
‘And a bearded man, with murder in his eyes, was seated on the chest of that hapless fellow. This second man had a dagger, smeared in blood, held in his raised right hand. He was repeatedly stabbing the poor fellow lying underneath.
‘And I? I didn’t have the power to yell even. Both my legs were as heavy as big black stones, seen in the movie ‘Sholey’, standing on which the villain Gabbar Singh would deliver all his famous dialogues, ‘They were two and you were six. What a mismatch! A gross injustice!’
Mama continued and now we two brothers were transfixed.
‘The man lying on earth yelled his last cry for help, ‘Babuji, please save my life! The killer is butchering me. Won’t you do nothing? Oh god! No brave heart throbs any more on this earth? Ah, ah!’
‘With each stab of the dagger he would let out a cry which could tear anybody’s heart. I stood dumb founded.’ Mama covered his face with both of his hands.
We two were pretty disturbed. Was he crying?
‘Ultimately the man died. And the murderer laughed loudly, ‘Yes, today I’ve done it. O god in heaven, see, I’ve taken my revenge. Ha, ha!’
‘And then I came to my senses. An awful thought suddenly struck me, that I was the sole witness of the murder. I must not be seen or caught. I fled the spot. Who could care to pick that god forsaken cricket ball after all? I rushed to Brajlal, breathless.
‘‘He asked me, ‘Why? What happened? Why your face is white as a sheet?’’
‘I was stammering, ‘B – Brajlal, a m – murder! There – he has killed a man. In front of my eyes. I just witnessed it.’
‘And just then someone laughed behind me. I turned to see. Oh, this time it was not the killer who had taken his revenge, but it was the murdered man himself. The dead man with blood smeared from his head to his toe. A ghost!’
As the event unfolded Chotku and I – both were shaking.
‘Pointing towards me the ghost yelled, ‘You, you a coward! You didn’t help me. You were simply watching the gruesome murder. Oh, I won’t let you go. Now you too will die in my hand. Ha, ha! You can’t escape the wrath of a ghost.
‘I turned to rush home, but he jumped and held my hand and then….
‘There was nothing but darkness all around. I fainted and fell on the ground. The ghost continued with his blast of laughter.’
Chotku whispered into my ears, ‘Bhaiya, I’m scared.’
I tried to assure him, but I too was nervous.
‘After that what followed’, mamaji said, ‘I don’t remember. How I was brought home, I can’t say. When I opened my eyes, I found dadi sitting beside me, waving a fan in her hand. She smiled and said, ‘Good god, I’m relieved that you’ve regained your senses. How are you feeling my boy? Want to drink some water?’
‘I nodded, as my throat was totally dry. She herself poured a little water into my mouth and then turned back her face to reprimand someone. Oh, both of them were standing there in the courtyard! The murderer and the dead man that is the ghost! Dadi said angrily, ‘Just see for yourself Rangnath, what you two have done to this innocent lad. He is from the town. How can he be aware that these sorts of practical jokes are common during the Holi festival in our village? No, no, you’ve not done a correct thing. After all he is our guest. If anything would have happened to him, what answer could we give to his parents? Just think this. It is Shiva who has saved our face from the humiliation.’
‘The ghost and his killer were smiling with their heads down.
‘And see the deception of a friend. Brajlal too was all smiles. It was obvious that he knew everything from the beginning. He simply enjoyed adding fuel to the fire. They all participated in this drama full of lies and deception.
‘Yes, like Shakespeare I too can say, ‘Betrayal of trust, thy name is friendship!’
We two protested, ‘But mama, it was not a real ghost at all. You just tricked us.’
‘Shh! What else do you want my dear nephews? Here too the dead became alive again. A real Resurrection. Then? Was it not a real ghost story?’
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ A GHOST STORY – Part -1 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
‘Tell me first, do you believe in ghosts?’ asked mamaji.
We two brothers looked at him with startled eyes. Such was the atmosphere in the room and outside. Nervously I stuttered, ‘M – mama, have you ever seen a ghost?’
Immediately a philosopher’s mask hung from his face, mama looked out of the window. As if lost in a supernatural question!
Outside it was drizzling since evening. Twice or thrice power supply of our house was gone.
‘Yes.’ just a word of affirmation, after a long silence. Mama was an expert narrator. He knew how to create an air of suspense. How to pump an air of interest in the heart of the listener. So, again he stopped.
A yellow white dagger appeared in heaven and it split the dark bosom of the night sky into two. Followed by an outcry of roar in the sky. A thunder.
We two were brimming with fear and eagerness. Naturally for a ghost story to be effective this fear factor is of utmost importance. A gulabjamun must be sweet and tasty, a golgappa or panipuri must be sweet and sour, and so should a ghost story be full of anxiety and the element of suspense and horror.
‘Yes, I had once seen it. The ghost of a murdered man! To believe it or not, is up to you.’ his words came out at last.
We got worried, ‘Oh, would he stop telling us the story?’ I said, ‘Oh mama, why do you say so? We certainly believe you. B… but the murdered man became alive or what? Started moving?’
‘Do you little boys know, there is word – Resurrection? That is when the life comes back to his dead body. Probably by the same mechanism of nature that murdered man was – oh, should I say – raised from the dead again?’
‘Bhaiya!’ Chotku, my younger brother, clutched my hand tightly.
And I, Chotku’s elder brother, who he depended so much on, started sweating. I was in a dilemma. Should we let mamaji continue with this horror film? Or was it better to pull the curtain down?
But curiosity never sits idle. It’s always restless to run and relish. Naturally we asked in unison at last, ‘Oh mama, come on. Enough of this beating about the bushes. Now begin the main story please.’
‘Didi!’ mama called out to ma, who was busy in the kitchen, preparing special dishes for her brother, that is our mama, ‘Send a cup of tea, please. And if you wish you can send a plate of pakoras too. I don’t mind.’
We two glanced at each other’s eyes.
‘Now listen patiently and don’t disturb when I’m in full flow of the narration.’ mama began.
Pointing towards me he said, ‘I was just as young as you, Rana. There was one Brajlal in our friends’ circle. He lived with his parents in our town but his dada dadi were in their village, Mithunpura. One day, just before Holi, he told me, ‘My father wants me to go to the village and spend the festival days with my dada dadi. But I’m not in a mood to go. Tell me what charm will be there during Holi?’
‘At first, I didn’t say anything. See, in those days it was not a fashion to go for a holiday trip to Shimla or Kerala. I, myself, had visited my maternal uncle’s home only a couple of times. Either during Durga puja holidays or in summer vacation. So, I thought why he was not visiting his grandpa and gran. At least the old man and woman would be glad.
‘After a brief silence he suddenly asked me, ‘Well, my dear friend, would you come along?’
‘I?’ I was totally taken a back at the suddenness of the proposal.
‘‘Yes, why not? Babuji is quite insisting. I feel it’ll be impossible to escape. It’s very hard to ignore what he dictates. But if you accompany me, it’ll be a nice journey and a beautiful stay over there.’ Then he tried to tempt me, ‘And for your kind information my dadi is an excellent cook. If you ever taste the gujhiya made by her only once in your life, you can never forget it. Your mouth will be wet the moment you’ll think of it.’
‘But Rana and Chotku, as you’re aware, though I’m not a glutton, I’m very much fond of tasty things. Naturally I was in a dilemma. Finally, I said, ‘I must ask my mother. And I’ve to take my father’s permission too.’
“Oh, don’t worry yaar.’ he thumped on my back and declared, ‘I’ll come with you to ask for permission. I hope I can convince uncle.’
‘When father asked him how far the place was. He answered by bus it was a three-hour ride. He ended every sentence with a sweet ‘please’ while talking to your nana. Well, somehow father was moved and said he would let me go with him.
‘That day father gave me twenty-five rupees for bus fare and other expenses. Don’t laugh. Those days that was a big pocket money. Babuji said to me, ‘You’ll be staying in an unknown family. Should not mess around and should behave properly.’ Ma packed my things and -’
I was getting quite restless, so I protested, ‘Mama, you promised to tell a ghost story and not a travelogue. What’s this? Where is the ghost?’
‘Then let me stop here.’ mama was upset, ‘You fool, what do you know about the art of storytelling? Do you think you’re more knowledgeable than Valmiki or Vedvyasa? What happened in Ramayana? Ravana or his sister Surpanakha didn’t come to play a part unless Ram, Sita and Lakshmana were exiled to Chitrakoot. And in Mahabharata? Only when Pandavas were banished, Bhim could meet Hidimba in the forest. What do you think of a ghost? A cheap incarnation? After living a long and eventful life, they come to this existence. Understand?’
He stopped and shouted again, ‘Didi, where is my tea? Have the tea leaves yet started from Assam?’
Now we two brothers were scared more of mama than the ghost.
‘Okay, now let me finish. Brajlal and I rode on the bus. It was spring season and a gentle breeze was wafting all around. But gradually on the way the bus became so jam packed with the commuters that it became difficult for us to breathe even. And there was a total chaos. Someone talking politics, some child crying at the pitch of his voice, some lady talking loudly about her mother-in-law and sister-in-law and so on.
‘Ma had given me some coconut laddus for two of us as refreshments. We two were sitting, sandwiched between the back of the seat and the standing passengers falling on us off and on. Yet somehow, I managed to open my bag and took out the laddus.
‘Brajlal, eyeing all my efforts quite attentively, asked, ‘What treasure you’re getting your hands on?’
‘The moment he saw the laddus he exclaimed, ‘O my goodness! A real treasure they are!’
‘In less than a second eight laddus were gone. Four into his hands and four on my lap.
‘But the cruel fate had its own game plan. The moment I went for a bite, a child from the front row, sitting in his mother’s lap, looked back and shrieked his demand, ‘Mamma, those laddus! I want them.’
‘I was thunder struck. Whole of the commuters were looking at me. One gentleman even showed his benevolence, ‘See young man, he is but a child. Just like your younger brother. Don’t forget how much Ram loved Lakshman. So, shouldn’t you share with him?’
‘Quite unwillingly I gave one to that little devil. Immediately it was gone through his mouth to his belly. And he again let out a scream with his fingers directed towards me, ‘Mamma, those laddus. I want more!’
(Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. He was involved in various Artificial Intelligence and High-Performance Computing projects of national and international repute. He has got a long experience in the field of ‘Natural Language Processing’, especially, in the domain of Machine Translation. He has taken the mantle of translating the timeless beauties of Indian literature upon himself so that it reaches across the globe. He has also undertaken translation work for Shri Narendra Modi, the Hon’ble Prime Minister of India, which was highly appreciated by him. He is also a member of ‘Bombay Film Writer Association’.
We present an English Version of Shri Sanjay Bhardwaj’s Hindi short story “~ या क्रियावान..~”. We extend our heartiest thanks to the learned author Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi Ji (who is very well conversant with Hindi, Sanskrit, English and Urdu languages) for this beautiful translation and his artwork.)
श्री संजय भारद्वाज जी की मूल रचना
संजय दृष्टि – या क्रियावान..
बंजर भूमि में उत्पादकता विकसित करने पर सेमिनार हुए, चर्चाएँ हुईं। जिस भूमि पर खेती की जानी थी, तंबू लगाकर वहाँ कैम्प फायर और ‘अ नाइट इन टैंट’ का लुत्फ लिया गया। बड़ी राशि खर्च कर विशेषज्ञों से रिपोर्ट बनवायी गयी। फिर उसकी समीक्षा और नये साधन जुटाने के लिए समिति बनी। फिर उपसमितियों का दौर चलता रहा।
उधर केंचुओं का समूह, उसी भूमि के गर्भ में उतरकर एक हिस्से को उपजाऊ करने के प्रयासों में दिन-रात जुटा रहा। उस हिस्से पर आज लहलहाती फसल खड़ी है।
Seminars and discussions were held on developing productivity in barren land. Campfires and ‘A Night in a Tent’ were enjoyed by pitching tents on the land to be cultivated. A huge amount of money was spent and a report was made by the experts. Then a committee was formed to review it and collect the new resources. Then the cycle of sub-committees and the teams formation continued.
On the other hand, a group of earthworms, descending into the womb of the same land, engaged day and night in efforts to make that part fertile.
Today, that part of land has a flourishing crop on it..!
(Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi—an ex Naval Officer, possesses a multifaceted personality. He served as a Senior Advisor in prestigious Supercomputer organisation C-DAC, Pune. He was involved in various Artificial Intelligence and High-Performance Computing projects of national and international repute. He has got a long experience in the field of ‘Natural Language Processing’, especially, in the domain of Machine Translation. He has taken the mantle of translating the timeless beauties of Indian literature upon himself so that it reaches across the globe. He has also undertaken translation work for Shri Narendra Modi, the Hon’ble Prime Minister of India, which was highly appreciated by him. He is also a member of ‘Bombay Film Writer Association’.
We present an English Version of Shri Sanjay Bhardwaj’s Hindi short story “~ फीनिक्स ~”. We extend our heartiest thanks to the learned author Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi Ji (who is very well conversant with Hindi, Sanskrit, English and Urdu languages) for this beautiful translation and his artwork.)
श्री संजय भारद्वाज जी की मूल रचना
संजय दृष्टि – लघुकथा – फीनिक्स
भीषण अग्निकांड में सब कुछ जलकर खाक हो गया। अच्छी बात यह रही कि जान की हानि नहीं हुई पर इमारत में रहने वाला हरेक फूट-फूटकर बिलख रहा था। किसी ने राख हाथ में लेकर कहा, ‘सब कुछ खत्म हो गया!’ किसी ने राख उछालकर कहा, ‘उद्ध्वस्त, उद्ध्वस्त!’ किसी को राख के गुबार के आगे कुछ नहीं सूझ रहा था। कोई शून्य में घूर रहा था। कोई अर्द्धमूर्च्छा में था तो कोई पूरी तरह बेहोश था।
एक लड़के ने ठंडी पड़ चुकी राख के ढेर पर अपनी अंगुली से उड़ते फीनिक्स का चित्र बनाया। समय साक्षी है कि आगे चलकर उस लड़के ने इसी जगह पर एक आलीशान इमारत बनवाई।
Everything was burnt to ashes in a fierce fire. The good thing was that there was no loss of life, but everyone living in the building was crying uncontrollably. Someone took the ashes in hand and said, ‘Everything is over…!’ Someone tossed the ashes and said, ‘We’re destroyed, we’re destroyed…!’ No one could see anything beyond the massive cloud of ash. Someone was staring into the void. Some were in semi-consciousness state while some were completely unconscious.
A boy drew a flying phoenix with his finger on a pile of cooled ashes. Time is witness that later that boy built a state-of-the-art majestic building at that place.
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ Juvenile Fiction ☆ The Tide of will. ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
(We are pleased to share links of all Parts of the Juvenile Fiction – The Tide of Will on reader’s request. Please click on following links to read the fiction. – Editor)
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ Juvenile Fiction ☆ The Tide of will – Part-19 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
The Lost Medal
The mother of the child was thunder struck. She couldn’t even make a cry for help. Next she started hitting her chest and yelled, ‘O Krishna! O deva! Help. Please save my son. He’s drowning.’
The baby in her lap started crying too.
A pandemonium broke out on the deck. Everyone was shrieking in terror, ‘Nobody is here who can save the child?’
A passenger shouted to a fisherman on a dinghy, ‘Look, a boy is drowning there. Go and save him, please.’
By the time two of the dinghies rushed in that direction the child was gone away from them in the unruly waves.
Narayanan murmured to himself, ‘Oh god! What’s this you’ve done today to us?’
Suddenly there was a sound. A thud. Again a splash of water. Narayana turned with a start to find Gayatri was no more standing on his side.
‘Look, that girl is swimming. There, there. Can’t you see?’
‘Oh, just behind the waves.’
‘But she herself is a child. Will she be able to save him?’
‘A child she is. But such a daring girl.’
In the prevailing chaos Narayanan felt a bit dizzy in his head. He gripped the fence with both of his hands. ‘Yes, there is my kuchumol. Oh, the courage of an eagle in the bosom a sparrow!’
By the time Gayatri reached the spot the boy was already sinking. Gayatri was swimming crazily. Yes, what were Mr. Kumaran’s instructions for fast swimming? With the face down, stretched arms going up and down through the water. She was not able to flap her right leg properly. Actually it was struck by an oar when she dived from the deck. It was paining and bleeding too. Still Gayatri didn’t care for this. The only thing in her mind was how quickly she could reach the spot and save the hapless boy. All the worries for competition were washed off from her mind.
‘Bravo, she has arrived. Yes, there she is.’
Pulling her own hairs, the mother started yelling, ‘But where is my son? He’s no more visible.’
‘Oh, deva! Has he drowned already?’ A gentleman said nervously.
Only a few bubbles were seen on the spot.
Was Narayanan going to fall? A tremor of anxiety ran through his body. Oh, his fingers were aching from his tight grip on the railing.
Gayatri had arrived at the place. But was she doomed to be a failure? Where was the child? She took an immediate decision. She took a deep breath, filled her chest with air and plunged deep into the water. She was going down and down. All around her there was only green water and nothing else. Oh, she felt as if her chest was on the brink of bursting. It was crying for fresh oxygen. No, she couldn’t continue her journey downwards. She failed. Just to take a second breath she had to come up over the surface. Again she filled both of her lungs. The air, the oxygen, the nectar of life!
‘Could you? Could you reach that boy?’ People from the deck asked eagerly.
Just a few feet away again those bubbles appeared in the foams.
The mother seemed to have gone stark raving mad. She was crying and beating her chest. The other child was yelling and another woman tried to pacify him.
As the earth trembles before an earthquake Narayanan’s heart was throbbing wildly, ‘Couldn’t she? Oh, couldn’t she save that unfortunate boy?’
Deep down in the water Gayatri had reached again in that green walled space. Suddenly a little hand touched her body. She kicked her legs back and sprang to catch hold of that hand. Next she was rising up and up. There was light at the end of the green waters.
As if the whole world yelled in joyful excitement, ‘She has done it. She’s coming with the boy.’
Holding the boy with one hand and pushing him Gayatri was swimming towards the shore. Those fishermen rushed to pick up the boy and Gayatri in their dinghy.
Carrying their bags in both his hands when Narayanan got down from the launch a crowd was already collected around Gayatri and that boy. Gayatri was not able to breathe properly. She had drunk lots of water. Narayanan was alarmed to see the bleeding wound on her leg. That boy too had swallowed much of water. Her mother was continuously moaning.
‘We must take them to the hospital.’ said a man. Two more persons came forward to help. Two autos were called. Narayanan went inside one of them with his kuchumol. Those two men sat in the other with that lady and his sons. Narayanan, buried under all his worries couldn’t even think of asking, ‘Gayatri, how did you have this wound?’
The doctors were alarmed to see the child. Water had entered his lungs. He was gasping occasionally. Immediately oxygen was started. Along with necessary injections and all. His mother was seated on a bench nearby. His achcha had been informed and any time he would reach soon.
The wound on Gayatri’s leg was bandaged. Although she too had swallowed a lot of water she was out of danger. She was lying on another bed.
Misfortunes come sometime without giving any premonition. Narayanan looked at his wristwatch. It was past nine in the morning. Gayatri was supposed to be present there at the Veluthampi Stadium at eight o’clock sharp. He thought he must intimate Kuamaran about all these mishaps. Certainly he must be worried a lot. He went out of the ward and took out his mobile from his pocket.
As Kuamaran was waiting for them he became much worried. When they didn’t turn up even after the stipulated time, he went mad. His condition was just like the captain of a cricket team who finds his spinner of proven ability is absent because of some serious injury and the opposite team is catching up with runs without fall of a wicket. He was confident that Gayatri was his winning card. He had so much confidence on the girl. And he had laboured so much for her development. Gradually he got enraged with his beloved teacher, ‘Oh, why on earth they are not serious? He must be sick or something. So many times, I had asked him to come with me. What can I do now? Oh, where are they?’
When his phone rang in his pocket, like a dog searching its buried bone, he took it out, ‘Yes sir, what happened? Where is Gayatri? What are you saying? She is in hospital? Which one? Oh! Yes I can reach there, once the competition items are over.’
Whatever happens to a man the time never stops. It flies by. The earth continues with its revolution around its own axis. The departure bell for the day was ringing in the horizon. It was again the time for the birds to return to their nests chirping. Before setting in the west the sun was bidding a red coloured goodbye to all. The windowpanes of the hospital were tinged with this hue. Face of Gayatri was luminous with her satisfaction as a result of the feat she could achieve. That boy was now much better.
And then ……..
Running through the corridor of the hospital Kumaran rushed into the ward. He was breathless and sweating. He didn’t stop for a breath but said outright to Narayanan, ‘What a treachery of the fate, sir! How all this happened?’
Narayanan was quite sympathetic to this unfortunate trainer of his kuchumol. He stood there silently patting on Kumaran’s shoulder. He couldn’t utter a single word of consolation.
‘The moment I was relieved I rushed to come here. Where is that boy who was drowning?’
Narayanan waved his hand towards his bed. Kumaran just looked at the boy but didn’t go near. He was quite heart broken. He was pretty sure that Gayatri was going to win at least two golds. With his head down on his hand he sank into a chair. He said bitterly, ‘All gone waste. Our labours of so many months and years – all our efforts are but wasted.’
‘No. Don’t say that, young man.’ Narayanan said boldly. There was no sign of remorse on his face, ‘Not a second of the time that you and Gayatri have put to achieve all this has been wasted. Not a fraction of your hard labour is lost.’
‘Sir, I’m quite confident that Gayatri could’ve won two golds in hundred and two hundred metres. Two golds at least, besides the silver in other items.’
‘Kumaran, are you worrying for simple gold medals only? My kuchumol has won much more precious medal than your gold, you know?’
‘What do you mean, sir?’ Kumaran was very much perplexed.
‘Yes, don’t you know that she has won a medal made of pearls?’
‘Medal of pearls! What does that mean, sir? I fail to comprehend.’ Kumaran was now a bit annoyed.
‘Look at the eyes of the mother of that boy. Look.’ Narayanan turned his eyes in that direction.
Kumaran went near his bed and saw the boy was slowly opening his eyes, ‘Amme! Amme, oh!’
A tremor hovered on the mother’s lips. Her eyes welled up with the tears of joy. A tear dropped on her cheek. And it was shining brightly in the sun light through the pane…..
Just like a piece of some precious pearl from a rare oyster, lying on the bed of some deep sea.
He turned towards his disciple and found Gayatri all smiles.
The old appupan touched lightly the head of his kuchumol and said, ‘My dear Kumaran, probably I too can give you a lesson as far as the world of sports is concerned. The excellence in sports is not all about winning a medal only but one must try to win the heart of the people. It’s a real sportsmanship. And I think my Gayatri knows it far better than anybody.’
Kumaran looked at his former headmaster of school days. The room was illuminated by the rays from the setting sun. He felt as if the sun conveyed its salute of admiration to the old man and his granddaughter. Silently he nodded his head.
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ Juvenile Fiction ☆ The Tide of will – Part-18 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
Riding the Waves
The door clicked open and Kalyani’s son, Kunjiraman, shouted out excitedly, ‘Amme, just see who is here.’
Kalyani was at a loss. As if she couldn’t believe her own eyes, ‘Oh, is she Gayatri? The daughter of our Mani? When I got married Mani was just as little. Always looking at my face, in a bridal make up.’
‘Hey Krishna!’ Narayanan started joking with his much younger sister- in-law, ‘Won’t you let us in? Started all your Ramayana standing on the doorsteps only?’
Kalyani started running from this room to that. She called out her husband, ‘They’re already here. Why don’t you come?’ A joy full of excitement winged its way all through the house.’
Her husband and her children all were too happy. Kunjiraman said laughingly to Gayatri, ‘We enjoyed a lot at brother Mani’s wedding.’
‘You too can come some time to Haripadam and spend your holiday there.’ Narayanan said.
‘We must’ answered the young man.
At night, during their dinner Kalyani was pestering Gayatri much to take more of this or that item. She smiled and refused, ‘Tomorrow I’ve to participate in the competition. If I eat so much, I’ll certainly float my sweet granny, but won’t be able to swim.’
Everyone laughed.
Early in the next morning, they got readied. Gayatri checked her competition card, swimming costume, swimming goggles and all. Narayanan said to his sister – in – law, ‘Now we must start, Kalyani.’
She touched her forehead with folded hands and put an ornamental mark with sandalwood paste on Gayatri’s forehead affectionately, ‘Everything will be alright.’ Then she asked Narayanan, ‘I think by the time you’ll return it’ll be past six o’clock.’
‘I think so.’
Kunjuraman accompanied them to the ferry station. When they were seated in the launch he said, ‘Now let me go. In the evening if you feel I can come to fetch you.’
‘Oh, my boy, I’m not that old. This much I can manage myself.’
The steamer was sailing on the waves. The waves were striking it and it was shaking a bit from side to side. So many sea gulls were following it. Spreading their wings, they were flying and shrieking. A kingfisher ducked into the water. It had got its catch. Behind the steamer a garland of white foams was floating on the blue water.
‘Hold the railing tightly.’ Narayanan cautioned Gayatri and came closer to her.
The steamer was totally full of men and women. Some had their cycles or scooters with them. Everybody’s destination was Ernakulum. Some were students, some were office goers, and many were daily labourers.
The harbour city of Cochin consists of many islands. Hundreds of years ago Jews came here and settled. They offer their prayer in synagogue. After them so many people – Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese and Arabians – all came here to trade in the business of spices. A few of them even wanted to rule.
On the deck, near the fence, so many were standing. Probably they couldn’t find a seat or they were in much hurry to get down from the launch once it was anchored.
Just on the right of them was the Jews neighbourhood. The Chinese nets were hung near the seashore with the help of four or more sets of wooden poles and bamboos. This has become a trademark sign of the city.
Near the shore there were so many fishermen’s dinghies. The whole air was heavy with the fishy smell. The fishes were spread on the boats to dry up. The nets were hanging from the sides of the dinghies. The steamer was proceeding slowly. Everybody started rushing on the deck to reach the exit point first. Everyone was in a hurry to catch a bus or to attend his duty. Suddenly a dinghy came floating in front of the launch. The driver tried to move it in another direction. But by this skilful manoeuvre the launch was tilted on one side. Everybody on board screamed out in terror, ‘Oh, take care. What’s this happening?’
But by that fraction of a second …….
‘Amma -!’ A child’s helpless cry was heard from the sea. The child had slipped from the deck under the railing and fell into the water.
Were there a few bubbles in the waves? Could anybody see a little hand waving madly from them?
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ Juvenile Fiction ☆ The Tide of will – Part-17 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
Every Century Begins with A Zero.
While going upstairs if someone starts counting the steps and think, ‘O my god, I’ve to climb so many steps!’ then it becomes quite difficult for him to continue his upward journey. But if he makes up his mind that he has to fulfil the job, certainly he’ll be able to do it. Now Gayatri was standing on the verge of her final goal. Inter-state competition date was announced, as they were expecting. For the venue of the swimming event, the Veluthampi Stadium of Ernakulum (Kochi) on P.T. Usha Road was selected.
Veluthampi was the dewan of the Travancore kings. When the Britishers were bent upon occupying the kingdom and started playing all their nasty games, Veluthampi assembled the people and gave a call to fight, ‘The land of Travancore is yours. How can the English men dare to look upon it?’ So a fierce battle was waged. At first the English resident couldn’t face the tide of the people of Travancore. But ultimately, they started winning in the battle field. Veluthampi somehow escaped and flew into the jungle of Quilon. Trivandrum was occupied by British soldiers. Veluthampi breathed his last in the forest only. This stadium is dedicated to his memory.
Now everyone in that little house at Haripadam was quite excited. One evening when Manishankaran returned from his office and Ananthi brought him his coffee, he said to her, ‘See, our daughter has gone this far in her feat. Except achchan what did we do for her? Nothing practically. I think I must get a pair of swimming goggles for her. Then, while she swims her eyes would be protected from the irritation caused by the water.’
As for Ananthi, whenever she had free time in the afternoon or so, she would think, with her chin on her hand, about her daughter. Sometimes, just like the wandering white autumn clouds, her childhood memories would start wafting in her mind. She was probably in class three at that time and she madly wanted to get a fountain pen. She had seen her elder brother writing with one. She had been always trying to find a chance to lay her hands on that. One fine morning when her brother was not home, she picked the pen up from his table and rushed to write on a white paper. But the treacherous luck had planned something else for her. The big brother entered the room like Ravana, crossing the line drawn by Lachman, to take Sita away by force and the villain snatched the pen away from his innocent sister, ‘Never ever touch my pen. I’m warning you.’
Except weeping badly what else the poor girl could do that day? But the past story had its own silver lining. When her achcha came to know about this tragedy befallen on his daughter, he bought a pen for her. The pen was blue and that day Ananthi was all smiles again as the bright blue sky in the morning.
She had her savings from the household expenditures in a jewellery box. She took out her hidden treasure and handed it to Narayanan, ‘Achcha, can’t we buy a swimming costume for Gayatri with this money?’
‘Yes, of course. I too was thinking, she would need it.’ Narayanan took the money and bought one from Kottayam.
Even her grandmother Lalithambika was not lagged behind. She was fulfilling her role of a cheer leader quite religiously. Stretching her legs on the bed and rubbing some oil on them she reminisced, ‘God is my witness, otherwise who would believe my saying that I too used to swim in the village pond?’
‘Certainly, as you say. Actually your father sent you to Haripadam only, otherwise you could’ve gone to Olympics.’ Narayanan cracked a joke at her.
‘If I would’ve gone to Olympic who would’ve put the wedding garland around your neck?’ Lalitha was not ready to accept defeat in this sort of arguments.
Every night while sleeping beside Gayatri she would ask, ‘So my mermaid, how many seas you’ve crossed today?’
The competition date was declared. It was to be held in January. It coincided with the time when the pilgrims from different corners of South India throng here to make pilgrimage to the abode of Swami Ayyappan, on the hills of Sabarimala. The local mythology says Ayyappan was the son of Lord Shiva and Mohini, a feminine incarnation of the Lord Vishnu. Here on the hills, the different faiths of Shaivism and Vaishnavism make a grand confluence. Only men are allowed to undertake this pilgrimage. The road to the abode is quite steep and the journey is strenuous. One can see the men in black dresses all over South India. They can be seen washing themselves in river or sea, spreading their clothes and wears on the seashore sand, cooking or taking rest on the road side. And a few just sprawling on the edge.
‘In this festive season where should we stay in Ernakulum? Any hotel or lodging?’ Naturally Narayanan was a bit worried.
Kumaran had his suggestion to solve the problem, ‘Sir, you must reach there a day earlier. Gayatri must take full rest in the night before. Well, if you can manage to go with me two days earlier, I’ll make arrangements for your stay in the hostel they’re providing.’
‘Let me see what I can do. Let me talk to Mani.’ Narayanan had observed.
He knew the competition won’t be that easy. It was the Inter State Tournament between so many South Indian States. It was not a child’s play. Here no one was lesser or greater than the other. Gayatri needed a sound sleep and complete relaxation in the night. Only then she could engage hundred percent of her energy and ability in her efforts. He expressed his concerns during their dinner, ‘Can’t we find a nice place to stay in peace?’
It was granny who solved the problem with a click of the fingers, ‘Why you people are so worried? Just across the backwater canal lives Kalyani in Pottekkatt. You can reach Kochi from there by launch in half an hour, I think.’
‘That’s true.’
‘At least you should go there for once. After all she is your wife’s own sister. And so many time Kalyani has asked us for a visit. Gayatri will see for herself. She’ll become familiar with them too. And Kalyani will be pleased so much!’
‘Didn’t we go there after Kalyani’s wedding?’
‘Oh, that was years ago.’
From next day the whole the family was engaged in this or that preparation for Gayatri’s travelling. In the early morning itself Ammuma declared, ‘I’m going to prepare the coconut laddoos and the sweet ‘elayappam’ from rice. It’s my gift to my younger sis. Besides, her husband and her children too would like these. They must have become this big now.’
Narayanan tried to protest, ‘Look, we’ve to go to Kottayam first. From there again to Kochi. All through in bus. How can we carry all this?’
‘The journey succeeds if you carry sweets! By the grace of Padmanabhaswami Gayatri will be successful.’
And it was the final judgement by the Supreme Court! A letter was sent to Kalyani’s husband. The tide of joy rushed from Haripadam to touch the shore of that house in Pottekkatt.
On the day of journey, in the morning, Narayanan couldn’t concentrate in his meditation in the prayer room. As a boy feels on the first day of his important exam, his heart was full of inconceivable anxieties. After their morning coffee with two biscuits each Gayatri touched the feet of ammuma, amme and achcha and picked up their bags.
Lalitha handed the cotton bag containing laddus and the sweets to her, ‘Once you meet Kalyani tell her that I’ve made all these especially for her. When she was but a child she wouldn’t stay a second away from me. But now? So many years have passed and I’ve not seen her face!’ She wiped the corner of her eyes.
From her room Ananthi beckoned her daughter and put some notes in her hand, ‘You’re going to an unknown city, keep these. If you feel hungry buy something for you.’
‘Why amme? So much already you’ve given in the bag. Moreover appupan will be always with me. Why do you worry?’
‘Alright, just keep this with you. May god always stay with you!’ For the first time Gayatri would be away for a few days from her mother.
Manishankaran took up the bags and said, ‘Let’s go achcha. I’m coming with you up to the bus station. Let me see for myself you sit comfortably in the bus, then only I’ll be assured.’ Then he turned to Gayatri, ‘Be sure that you’ve taken all your cards and necessities.’
Gayatri ran into the house, kissed Rajan and said, ‘Be a good boy in my absence. Don’t harass amma.’
Rajan looked at her expectantly, ‘Chey-chi, what’ll you get for me from Kochi?’
‘Me?’ Gayatri was fumbling with the words. After all what she could buy from an unknown city? She asked, ‘Just you suggest. What should I get for you?’
‘A medal, chey-chi. And then I’ll show it to that Krish.’ His eyes were shining. Full of hope and confidence.
Ananthi asked her, ‘Did you bow before the deities?’
Mani held his daughter’s hand and the three went ahead.
The bus for Kottayam was there already. The grandfather and his granddaughter were seated. Mani passed the tickets to his father and said to Gayatri, ‘My daughter, the prestige of our village Haripadam now lies in your hands only. Try to give your best.’
Gayatri looked at his father’s face. Once it was her father who had said, ‘Gayatri is merely a girl. What she’ll do even if she’s quite good at swimming?’
On highway the bus picked up speed. The coconut trees, the banana trees on the edge of the road and everything was running in the opposite direction. The peasants were working in their fields. Small cows stood there, tied with a rope, in front of many huts. Gayatri was looking through the pane. The world outside had so many colours! The golden paddy and the blue sky and all. A man, his feet tied with a small rope, was clambering up a coconut tree.
Narayanan followed her eyes and said, ‘Now there are training schools to learn climbing on the coconut trees.’
‘Is it?’ Gayatri was astonished and as she looked back, she saw that the man had already cut and fell a bunch of green coconuts on the ground.
As the bus was nearing Kottayam the road became quite spiral. It was full of ups and downs with lots of bends. Although it was winter but sun was pretty hot even by eleven o’clock. The city is situated on the shores of Kuttanad Lake which is but a tributary of the Vembanad. The city roads were very much congested. It’s mainly inhabited by the Christians. The disciple of Jesus, St. Thomas had built a church here. Some people believe the old church had been transformed into today’s St. Mary’s Church.
Suddenly the bus gave a violent lurch and it skidded to a halt. Startled everyone was on his feet asking, ‘What happened?’ A few went to peep through the door. Narayanan leaned on the window to get a view through it.
A crowd had gathered in front of the bus. Four or five people were arguing. Anytime a fight could break out between the two quarrelling groups. Narayanan was at a loss. Enquiringly he glanced at a fellow passenger.
‘Nowadays it has become an everyday occurrence, sir.’ he said, ‘A bike collided with the car. Both the car driver and the bike rider are blaming each other for using mobile phone while driving but see the fun, both of them were using their mobiles. And now each is putting all the blame on the other.’
Their shrieking abuse and hot-tempered words were audible from the bus. Two traffic police rushed to clear the jam, ‘Oh, what are you people doing here? Can’t you obey the traffic rules? Now better get yourself moving and clear the road. People are already stranded here. Let the traffic move.’
But none listened to them. The policemen started shouting and threatening them with dire consequences. A crowd, assembled around them, was enjoying the high voltage drama.
Suddenly two bulls, with their horns locked in a fight, appeared there from the bazar on the side of the road. One was pushing the other, its hoofs screeching on the hard surface underneath. Everyone fled the spot. The other bull retaliated. Now it was the time for the victor to retreat. Within no time the road was cleared.
One by stander at the scene shouted out, ‘Get a bucket full of water and pour it on their heads. They’ll be cooled down.’
All the while the street cinematographers were busy videoing the highlights of the event with their mobiles! None came forward to pacify the fighting warriors or shoo away the bulls.
The bus driver treaded on the accelerator.
The bus jerked to a motion. The co-passenger laughed and said to Narayanan, ‘Ha, ha! The feat which could not be achieved by the men in uniform has been performed by the mount of Shiva.’
At Kottayam bus stand they bought coffee. Narayanan then asked Gayatri, ‘See, what Ananthi has packed for our lunch.’
Gayatri was very much pleased today. It was she who was serving her appupan that day, ‘Why don’t you take two more coconut laddus?’
‘Oh, enough. I’m full.’
They took the next bus to Cochin. It was a few hours’ journey. The Syrian Church and the famous pastry shops all were left behind and they were coming down from the hill. Just next there was the bridge on Periyar River. Alighting from the bus Narayanan called out an auto, ‘Will you take us to Pottekkatt?’
The Malayali names of the places have a peculiarity. Many literary figures of Malayalam have the names of their villages or cities attached to their names. Takashi Shivsankar Pillai belonged to the village of Takashi. Vaikom Muhammad Bashir was from Vaikom Taluka. The Jnanpith Award winner famous poet and novelist S. K. Pottekkat was born in Calucut but this place, somehow, bears his name.
When they were enquiring about the address of Kalyani the sun was already sinking in the blue water of Arabian Sea and the birds were returning to their nests.
Publications – 4 books (2 in Hindi, 1 each in English and Bengali) and two are yet to come.
Translations – Books and articles are translated in English, Odiya, Marathi and Gujarati.
Awards – CBT awarded stories and novel, “Kamaleshwar Smriti Katha Award (2013, 2017 and 2019)” by Kathabimb.
Honour – “Hindi Sevi Samman” by Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwa Vidyalaya, Wardha (December 2016).
☆ Juvenile Fiction ☆ The Tide of will – Part-16 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆
On the Threshold.
The date for the inter college tournament was announced. Everybody was quite excited about it. In the stadium, Kumaran was taking special care for Gayatri, ‘Do it, do that. Don’t over burden yourself. Stay as fresh as a spring breeze.’
And in the home Lalithambika would get a flower, offered to the deity, every day from the prayer room and touch it to Gayatri’s forehead and whisper, ‘O deva, she has been struggling so hard for months. You must have seen it. Don’t do injustice to my kuchumol, Krishna!’
For Ananthi, it was a matter of silent prayer, daily for her makale, the daughter, whenever she would get a time for herself.
Little Rajan had already become a school going child. One day he returned home with marks of bruise and cut on his face and hand. Ananthi stood aghast at the sight of her son, ‘What happened to your face mone (my dear son)?’
‘Oh, it’s but nothing.’ Rajan spoke like a soldier posted at battle front.
‘But who did this to you? And why?’
‘Don’t worry amme. He just hit me with his scale, and I was not prepared for it.’
‘Who? Who hit you? And why?’ Ananthi stretched her arms and pulled him towards her.
The grandma too came out asking, ‘What’s going on? Oh my deva! How he is hurt so badly?’
‘Why don’t you say everything? Otherwise I’ll report tomorrow to the headmistress.’
‘Oh, it was Krish who hit me.’
‘But why on earth he would hit you?’
‘He started it first. When I said in the class that my sister will be participating in the swimming competition at Trivandrum and she is going to be a winner, he said, ‘Don’t talk nonsense. There will so many better swimmers. She can’t get an earthen medal even.’ I was so enraged that I threw his lunch box on the floor. His dosa was spoiled. He became furious and hit on my face with his scale. That’s all.’ He reported the incident with such an indifference and bravery as if he was the great grandson of Sardar Bhagat Singh, the great martyr of our freedom struggle.
By that time Gayatri too was home. ‘Oh, what happened to him, amme?’ She got alarmed and quickly brought some ice cubes from the refrigerator and put them on Rajan’s wounds. When the cause of this incident came to her knowledge she said affectionately, ‘Let them say whatever they like. Why do you take all this to your heart? Why do you protest?’
‘Why should I tolerate? You can’t understand chey-chi. After all you’re a girl.’
‘And you? Oh, of course you’re a man, with a big moustache, ha, ha.’ A smile hovering on her lips the elder sister caressed the hairs of her little brother lovingly.
Kumaran started three days earlier for Trivandrum. He had to take other participants like tennis players, hockey players and gymnasts etc. with him to the venue of the competition. He would settle them first at their respective hostels. Narayanan and Gayatri would start later. Kumaran had already explained the road map and all that to his old teacher.
Thiru – Anantha – Puram means the city of the holy snake Ananta naga that is Thiruvananthapuram. Two years after independence the ancient states of Travancore or Tribankur and Cochin were joined to form the new state of Kerala. After seven years of this amalgamation Malabar too was joined with them. Such is the story of the land of coconuts. The God’s Own Country.
When the grandfather and his granddaughter had settled themselves on their seats in the train, the engine honked its horn repeatedly to announce, ‘Fellow passengers, I must start now.’ The persons roaming on the platform in a carefree style till then, suddenly became quite anxious. They started running and peeping from this to that compartment. The chaiwala and other hawkers on the platform started their final bid of advertisement in a chorus, ‘Coffee, Special Muannar tea!’ The whole length of the train gave a sudden jerk and it was ready to depart. Just at that very moment an old man got into the train with his wife. He was breathless because of his exertion and tension. They came and occupied the seats in front of Narayanan.
‘Oh Hasankutti! How come you two are here?’ Narayanan recognized them, ‘Going to Thiruvananthapuram?’ They too were from Haripadam.
‘Yes masterji, salaam!’ Hasankutti gave a toothless grin.
‘And Kunjapattumma, how is your life? And your business?’
‘By mercy of Allah, everything is going on smoothly. But there may be some trouble in days to come. So we’re going to offer a chador to the mausoleum of Saiyad Habibullah there.’
Narayanan looked at them questioningly.
Hasankutti explained, ‘The catch from the sea is not sufficient nowadays. We the fishermen folks just live from hand to mouth. Moreover, many of the shanties of our men were washed away by the recent cyclone. Let’s see if our prayer is conveyed to Allah by Habib, the friend of people.’
Gayatri was sitting quietly beside. Narayanan smiled and started telling her the story of the confluence of different religions in Kerala, ‘Do you know the beautiful history of Kerala? Fifty two years after the death of Jesus Christ his disciple the Apostle Saint Thomas landed on the shore of Cranganore. He was the first to preach Christianity here. The first church of Asia was built by him here only. And a preacher of Islam, Malik Ibn Dinar, came here in Cranganore first. The first mosque, Cheraman Juma Masjid, was built on the land donated by the Jamorin Kings in Cranganore. And when the Jews came to this land of ours it was the king of Kochi, Raja Ravi Verma, who donated the land near Mattancherry, adjacent to Cochin, to them for their settlement. Some say that even long before that they had come to this land from Jerusalem.’
When all the four got down from the train, Hasankutti and Kunjapatumma bade them farewell and went ahead with a big green cloth in their hands for offering. They joined a group of people all of whom were carrying similar offerings. Narayanan looked at them and thought, ‘By this only the restless souls of the poor try to find some hope in their lives.’
The very next morning Gayatri was standing near the swimming pool of the Thiruvananthapuram stadium. The intercollegiate swimming competition was started soon. Kumaran was anxiously waiting for this day and Narayanan was seated in the pavilion. He was watching everything keenly. His whole attention was centred on Gayatri and her performance.
As the day progressed the fruits of Gayatri’s labour were there for everyone to see.
Kumaran was very much happy. He was a real well-wisher of the girl. He worked selflessly for her. Whenever she was tired after the strenuous work out and practice, he would sit beside the pool and massage her legs with his own hands. Today his dreams had got their wings. And they were flying high.
For Narayanan it was a remarkable feat at this age. His heart was filled with a pleasing sense of achievement. He murmured to himself, ‘Yes, all my hard work three to four days a week, all these years, has been rewarded by my kuchumol.’
Gyatri stood first in both the hundred and two hundred metre races. Kumaran was not quite sure about the result of diving. Still she held the second position in that event. No one gets a gold or silver or bronze in these competitions. Only steel cups and medals are handed over to the achievers. Nevertheless, Gayatri always dreamt of getting a gold someday. But for that dream come true she would have to participate in the interstate competitions. And for them, in South India, these interstate tournaments were truly a sort of Olympic game.
And Kumaran had already started seeing a rainbow of seven colours in the sky of his mind. As the guru Dronacharya was elated when he witnessed the success of his disciple Arjun, Kumaran’s face was illuminated like a fully grown paddy field in an autumn morning. When all the events were finished and the prizes were distributed, he came to them and patted Gayatri on her back with a hearty laughter, ‘Now just tell me how you are feeling? You fool, how could you have accepted the defeat even before the race was begun? Now what’s there in your mind? Happy? And see, you can do everything. I’ve a great faith on your capability.’
Gayatri bent her head and touched his feet. She didn’t look up but she was all smiles today.
‘Now go and first touch your appupan’s feet. I must salute the energy and enthusiasm of our headmaster sir. And tell him he must give us a treat. There is a superb sweet shop in front of the Ganapati temple at Pazhawangadi. We’ll buy the sweets from the shop and savour them sitting on the stairs of the Padmatirtham Lake. Ha, ha.’
When their little party was over and they were coming out from the temple premises Kumaran rubbed his hands out of excitement and said, ‘Now our next destination is Inter State Championship! After that our ultimate goal won’t be far away, sir.’
At last the sun was sinking in the Arabian Sea. It was the time to bid goodbye to Kumaran and the city of Anant Naga, Thiruvananthapuram. Traffic on the road was quite dense and erratic. Everybody was in a hurry to reach home. In the chaos of the city life two unknown soldiers of the sports world were marching to the station hurriedly.
संजय दृष्टि – लघुकथा – शाश्वत 
