Tag: #Short Stories

Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

Brief Introduction

• Birth – January 18, 1955
• Education – MBBS (IMS/BHU)
• 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-5 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆

The First Step.

A sea of people was already there on the bank of Pampa. A lot of loud noise. Everybody was talking in a high pitch. A perfect hullabaloo. Everyone was out to enjoy the festival. Whole of the Haripadam village had assembled on the bank of the river.

The boat race was just about to begin. Each boat was a pretty long one, decorated with bright orange to dark green and other colours. A perfect riot of colours! There were thirty to forty boatmen sitting in each, holding tightly his oar, a long wooden pole with flat blade at one end. Their sitting arrangement was such that if one was on right side, the next one would sit on left. A man standing in the middle of the boat was playing a drum. Just to fill the participants with enthusiasm. The rhythm of rowing was maintained by the music.

Battling his way, pushing and shoving the crowd someone came near them and touched Narayanan from behind, ‘‘Namaskar sir.’  

This made the headmaster start and he turned around, ‘You Itukettu? Didn’t participate in the boat race?’

‘No sir. I’m old now. Always feeling a bit of pain in the shoulder. This year my son is there to row the oar.’ He smiled and turned to Gayatri, ‘Do you know what these boats are called?’

Gayatri didn’t know. She was silent.

‘They are ‘chundan vallans’ or snake boats, you know? And see those ornamental umbrellas in the centre. Are not they किते magnificient?’

The boatmen wound white turbans tightly around their heads and they were wearing white ‘mundu’ dhotis. With beating of drums and full throated singing the race was started. The crowd standing on the shore just burst out into a roar of shouting. Everyone was quite excited and exalted. Everyone playing the role of a cheerleader for the team of their village.

The boatmen, waiting for the race to begin, were singing ‘vanchipattu, the boat song’ loudly in chorus.

‘I’ve left the home days back, I’m far away.

The waves touch the sailing boat, what they want to say?

The sun has burnt our skin black all through the day.

Our pain to you in home, the breeze will convey!

Thi thi thara, thi thi thai

Thi thai thaka, thai thai thom!’

Full of enthusiasm, people from different villages were talking among themselves.

‘Hey, see that boat hoisting white flag with golden lace! That belongs to our village, Kalpetta.’

‘The cup was ours last two years! The boat from Thalpatti won it.’

‘Don’t say it’ll be yours this year too. We too have worked hard. Practised a lot.’

Itukettu was standing just beside. He whispered into Narayanan’s ear, ‘Sir, there will be a swimming competition too. Won’t your granddaughter participate in it? At least she can try. Just take a chance.’

An air of excitement was hovering all over the place. From the bank to the boats. Touching the waves on the water and reaching the opposite shore. Winging its way even to the sky.  

Gayatri complained, ‘I’m not able to see anything, appupan.’

As more and more people were thronging, everyone was shoving and pushing through the crowd for a better view.

‘Don’t worry baby. I will take you on my shoulder.’ Itukettu picked her up. But for Gayatri it was quite embarrassing. ‘Am I a little child?’ she thought in her mind, ‘If one of my friends see me what she will think?’ Just after a while she struggled to get down.

Narayanan held her hands tightly and waded through the crowd.

‘Where to, appupan?’

‘You’ll see for yourself.’ Narayanan was careful not to let the hold go loose.

And suddenly Gayatri found herself standing in front of a table. A few sitting on the chairs on the other side. Every one of them was busy writing something on a paper, placed before him on the table.

By then the boat race was over. They were announcing the result in the loud speaker. But for the noise all around, it was not easily audible. There was a confusion among the public. Who was the actual winner? Kalpetta team or Thalpatti? Because of the commotion no one could hear the announcement properly. Each of the group was very much confident of their win. Naturally a war of words ensued.       

Before Gayatri could gather anything, a man sitting on the other side of the table asked her, ‘Name?’

Gayatri became nervous. When asked again, somehow she could answer. Still she failed to understand what was going on.

After writing her name, that gentleman told Narayanan, ‘Sir, please take her to that side, over there. The competition will begin from that point only.’

Competition! What competition? Gayatri was really confused.

Sasidharan Narayanan pulled his granddaughter by hand, ‘Come on, you too will participate in the competition today.’

‘Appupan, I’m getting nervous.’

‘First you swim and then you’ll have ample of time for your nervousness.’

Anyway, because of the noise all around Gayatri was unable to think anything. She was walking simply guided by her grandfather. Someone, separated from his friend in the crowd, was calling him, ‘Hey Sajitha! Sajitha -!’ And a child, lost in the crowd, was crying for his mother. Another woman, trying to console him, shouted out, ‘Hey Karutamma! Where are you? Oh, see what has happened to your son! Poor boy! Don’t cry my child, I’m with you. ’

In this commotion Narayanan was moving ahead with his kuchumol beside him. As they reached the shore of the river, at one place he stopped and asked Gayatri to change her dress, ‘Get ready.’ And then he tied a thin cotton Indian towel around her waist.

‘Appupan -! Gayatri probably wanted to say something. But her mouth felt as dry as a bone.

‘Let me take you there first. We can talk afterwards.’ He took her by hand and led her to a place in the water where some twenty or more girls were standing in a queue. Hardly anyone was in a proper swimming costume. Somehow they all had managed to dress up and get ready for the sports. At a distance of twenty metres from the shore two bamboo poles were floating on the river. They were tied with ropes to two boats on either side. And that was the finishing line for the competitors. The swimmers would go swimming up to the finishing line and then come back.

Gayatri felt a sort of weakness in her legs. Oh, can I do it?

Before she could mentally prepare herself, the referee blew his whistle. Whole of the crowd burst out in a cheerful roar, ‘Ho, ho! Hooray! Go, go!’

Splash ……..

All the girls jumped into the water. Their little hands, alternately, rising above the water and then going down into it. Again and again. Off and on their heads would be covered by the waves. Just like the fins of the fishes their legs were pushing the water behind. The family members of each girl were present there to cheer them up, ‘Oh, Panchami, you can do it. Go on.’

‘Patumma, you’ve almost reached. Just a few metres. Cheer up!’

Everyone was exited. Everyone was yelling.

None of these girls ever practised under the eyes of any expert or trainer. As it happens all over our country they learnt swimming only with the help of their father or any other relative. Courage and enthusiasm were all they had to go ahead in this field. Everyone watched the swimmers splashing through the water.

Gayatri too was swimming recklessly. Lying on her front moving one arm over her head and then the other, while kicking the water continuously with her feet. Doing ‘the crawl’ just under the water surface. 

‘Well done, Gayatri. Go ahead. Quick.’ Narayanan called out in excitement. Who can say whether Gayatri heard it or not?

The people standing on the shore were waving their hands and shouting. The words of rapturous applause were flying like sparrows all around.

And the two bamboo poles of the finishing line were dancing on the waves. Sometime going up and then again coming down on the water surface. Generally in the morning when people spread grains on the shore for the birds, the sparrows fly away from the bank, sit on the bamboo poles which float for them on the river. They drink water there and come back. In the same way these girls touched the finishing line and started returning. Now Gayatri too was swimming towards the shore. As fast as she could.

Yes, there on the bank, my appupan is standing on the steps. He is waving to me. Oh, god! What’s he saying?

And before she could understand anything she was snuggled up to her appupan’s chest. And the old headmaster of Haripadam, out of sheer ecstasy, was dancing with her in his lap, ‘Oh, oh, you’ve come first my baby! You’re the first!’ 

They announced the result of the swimming competition in the loud speaker. After a while they called the winners, ‘Gayatri, Patumma and Kamala, come on the stage.’

But Gayatri was simply looking at the loud speaker dumb-founded. How could she move even a single step?  As if a heavy stone was tied to her legs. She was feeling a heavy burden in them. Oh, why doesn’t appupan go there and collect the prize?

The grandpa pulled her by hairs, ‘Why don’t you go there?’

‘Achchan, please, can’t you collect the prize?’

‘Why should I? Just go and take it.’

They had put up a small make shift stage over there. Gayatri climbed up the wooden steps. She was standing there silently at a corner. She couldn’t realize who took her to the person who was distributing the prizes. Neither could she understand how a packet came to her hand. She didn’t even dare to open it. The prize remained unseen by the winner herself.

The moment she alighted from the stage, Narayanan came and took her in his arms, ‘Let’s go home. Everybody will be so pleased.’

And just then a man came forward and bowed before Narayanan. Both of them were surprised, ‘Oh, he is the referee of the competition. But why is he here?’

The man said, ‘Sir, I’m Kumaran Naynar. Passed 10^th in 2001. I was the goal keeper of the school football team. Can you recognize me, sir?’

‘Oh, I see. That’s very nice.’ Narayanan was shaking his head appreciatively. Then he asked, ‘So, how are you? And what do you do now?’

‘I live in Aleppy, sir. I’m the swimming pool coach of the university over there.’

Gayatri was standing silently beside them. She was little irritated. Why appupan is not going home? Oh, today evening there will be fireworks on the field. Achchan has promised that he would take us to the show.    

Naryanan was talking to his old student. Enquiring about his parents and all that. Suddenly that man Kumaran took hold of his teacher’s hands, ‘Sir, I just want to ask a thing from you.’

‘From me! And what’s that?’ Narayanan was taken a back.

‘Will you give your kuchumol to me, please?’

Contd…      

© Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

C0ntact: Care Dr. Alok Kumar Mukherjee, 104/93, Vijay Path, Mansarovar, Jaipur, Rajasthan 302020

Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

Brief Introduction

• Birth – January 18, 1955
• Education – MBBS (IMS/BHU)
• 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-4 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆

Welcome Onam!

Our little bird was out of her nest. The vast blue sky was beckoning her, ‘Come, try to fly. Just spread your wings.’

Frankly speaking Narayanan didn’t make an elaborate plan. At first it was his idea simply to make Gayatri interested in sports. After all how far a man can think? But Gayatri was now crazy. Before the roosters crowed early in the morning, she would become ready and come to her grandfather, ‘Appupan, are you not ready yet? When will we go?’

Past three years or so now she was swimming pretty well. Itukettu, while sewing his broken net or transferring the catch of fish to the baskets, had been watching them all these years. One morning he said, ‘Sir, now she is quite a good swimmer.’

Naryanan was pleased to hear this.         

Every household was getting ready for the Onam festival. The farmers harvested the paddy. Ananthi had so much to do. She would decorate the front of their house and the courtyard with ‘pukkalam’ or the designs made with grains and pulses of different colours. Next, various preparations of rice and coconut, ‘kalan’ prepared from curd and banana, ‘olan’ made of vegetables and curd and ‘kallappam’ made of toddy juice and ‘elayappam’ sweet – so many things to be cooked and prepared.

A long time ago in the past, people would celebrate Onam for ten days in a row. But nowadays it ends in just four days. Around this time the harvest is safely gathered in by the peasants. Therefore Onam is the beginning of life anew. In cities like Kochi and Kottayam boat races are organized during this.

In general, particularly Lord Vishnu is worshipped in Kearala. Padmanabhaswamy at Thiruvananthapuram is one of His incarnations. The family of the king of Travancore worshipped Him as His priest. As an appointed representative of the god they used to look after the kingdom.    

In our mythology, it is said that the Lord Vishnu had appeared on earth in many incarnations. Right from The Fish, The Tortoise, The Boar and The Lion Man Narasimha to Ram and all. The story of Kerala says it was the sage Parasuram, one of the incarnations, who had dug the shore near the sea with his axe. Thus the land of Kerala was dug out and gifted to the people to start living on it. The sage had established five temples, dedicated to lord Vishnu, around Kerala Tamil Nadu border.                           

It is said that the great king Mahavali, who once ruled over this land, come here to pay his yearly visit, on the eve of Oman, to meet his people. Even today the Malayali people praise his rule of justice. By defeating the gods of heaven he established his kingdom over the heaven, the earth and the undersea world of ‘Patala’.

Now, as had always happened, the gods went to Lord Vishnu and prayed with folded hands, ‘O’ the power supreme, please save us. Do something so that we can regain our lost kingdom.’

The king of the gods, Indra, bowed his head respectfully and said, ‘We don’t have any place to live in. Where should we go?’

Mahavali had a great reputation for his munificence. So Vishnu decided to take advantage of his generosity. He appeared before the king in the incarnation of Vamana, The Dwarf, with a little umbrella overhead.

‘What do you want, sir?’ asked the king.

The Dwarf said, ‘Give me just as much of land as will be covered by my three steps.’

‘Alright O’ venerable. Your wish is granted.’ the king assured him.

Vishnu was waiting for this opportunity. Craftily. The Dwarf made his body so big that his head touched the sky. He put forward his right foot and occupied the heaven. By his second step whole of the earth was under it. Now he roared, ‘Tell me king, where I can tread my third step?’

Mahavali knew everything. He bowed his head in reverence and said, ‘God, it is here on my head, please put your foot.’

‘Then go away and remember your kingdom is limited only to Patala, under the sea.’

Such is the story how Indra and other gods could get back their lost kingdom.

Next Mahavali too, made a request to Vishnu, ‘Grant me permission please, so that I might come to visit my people every year on the day of Onam.’

‘So be it.’ smilingly said Vishnu.

Since then Mahavali would visit his people every year to enquire their wellbeing. So all these decorations and festivities are just to welcome their king.

Haripadam, the name of the village, has its origin in this mythological story. The old folks of the village would say that it’s here, on this land, the dwarf incarnation of Vishnu had set his foot to acquire the right of the earth.

A shrill sound drifted all over from every house in the village. It was ‘kuruwava’, the whistling of the women folks. ‘Come, O’ King and accept our offerings. We have spread the petals all along the road. So your feet won’t get hurt.’

At Gayatri’s house, they had finished their lunch. Ananthi had served them food on the banana leaves. Narayan was very much fond of ‘kalappam’. He asked Manishankaran to distribute the home-made foods to everyone, ‘Let them enjoy today.’

After a little nap he got up and called for Gayatri, ‘Let’s go to Pompa. They have organized different competitions and sports. Must not we see them?’

Gayatri clapped her hands in delight, ‘Sure, appupan. We must.’ And she put her new dress on. A new cute frock. She peeped into the room where Ananthi was sleeping with little Rajan, ‘Amma, I’m going to Pampa with achchan.’

Both of them walked away from the home. By then the sun had come down on the top of the trees. But dusk was still far away.

Contd…      

© Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

C0ntact: Care Dr. Alok Kumar Mukherjee, 104/93, Vijay Path, Mansarovar, Jaipur, Rajasthan 302020

Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

Brief Introduction

• Birth – January 18, 1955
• Education – MBBS (IMS/BHU)
• 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-3 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆

Fear and Dare

From the kitchen Ananthi called out, ‘Gayatri, come here and listen to me please.’

Gayatri, sitting in the bedroom, was learning her lessons. As she was reading, her whole body was swaying. Her swaying stopped and she asked, ‘What happened amma?’

‘Just wash these coffee cups and the pot for me. I need them again.’

Gayatri left her book on the bed and came out in the courtyard. As she was washing the utensils, suddenly her hands were just paralysed. She shrieked in fright, ‘Amma, ach-chamma (granny), look at that -!’

Followed by a clattering sound of utensils dropping in the courtyard. Next, a thud too. And Gayatri was on the floor, both of her legs stretched in front.

‘Ananthi, just see what happened to Gayatri.’ Lalithambika was moving the beads of prayer in her hand. Next, rubbing her ailing knees, she got up herself.

Ananthi, immediately, came out of the kitchen, ‘What happened? Why are you so scared?’

And the third spectator, Narayanan, appeared on the spot, too. And as soon as he had seen the real reason behind Gayatri’s shriek, he burst out into a laughter, ‘So, is this the reason of your getting scared? O my god!’

Gayatri could not say a single word. The utensils were all scattered in the courtyard and she was looking at something open mouthed.

And there was a big yellow frog sitting just in front of her. Its bulging eyes were looking all around. It puffed itself up. The whitish skin just below its chin was bellowing with its breathing in and out. Once or twice it croaked. As if it was asking,

‘Why are you afraid babe, I am a yellow frog

Do you want to see me, how can I jump and jog?’  

And it jumped like the legendary frog of folk tales who was a prince and who was turned into a frog by the curse of a witch. After waiting for years when a princess kissed the frog he regained his human form. He became a prince again.

Covering her mouth with the corner of her saree Ananthi just giggled, ‘So this is the villain of the whole drama?’

A kingfisher bird was perching on a branch of the banana tree in the courtyard. It looked around in confusion. Just thinking whether it could find a piece of fish in front of any house. Startled it got and flew away.

Narayanan went to his kuchumol and patted her head. Suddenly he remembered the dialogue of Duryodhana, the character of a prince in Mahabharata. He had once seen this in a Yakshagaan performance. Which is a very popular dance drama form in Kerala. There, in the show, the prince Duryodhana had said,

‘O fear

Tell me where

You made your abode?

In the heart of a coward

Or in airy dreams

Down the fancy road?              

During his service period Sasidhar Narayanan taught math in his school. He remembered that if zero is multiplied by any number the result is always zero. Similarly if fear is deep rooted in someone’s heart how can he or she go ahead in life? He was worried for his granddaughter. He said to Ananthi, ‘We must not leave Gayatri like this. If she lives in the cocoon of a caring family and stays confined within the safety of this house only, how can she face the world when she grows up?’              

He stopped for a few minutes and announced at last, ‘From tomorrow onwards she is going to Pampa with me.’

‘And what would she do there in the river?’ asked Lalithambika anxiously.

‘She would learn swimming. And that’s final.’ Narayanan didn’t let anybody say anything. He simply made a theatrical exit.

Next morning, when it was still dawn, he woke her up, ‘Get up Gayatri. Wash your face and get ready. Let’s go.’

Naturally at the beginning everyone happens to be quite enthusiastic while doing something new. Gayatri readied herself quickly.

‘Did you take a separate towel? We’ll need this.’ He himself took a frock of her, other clothes and a thin Indian towel made of cloth. Everything in a bag.

Vishu, the festivities of new-year had passed. In Thiruvananthapuram, at the Sree Padmanabha Swamy temple the ceremony of Arattu, that is the Holy Bath of the idols were observed with elegance and grandeur.

And the clouds in the sky were waiting for this opportunity probably. By the end of May they started sailing from the horizon in the Arabian Sea. Like some black fairies, the black clouds were floating in the bright blue sky. It had been raining for last couple of days. This morning, it gave a little respite to all.    

After the overnight drizzle, the road in the village was shimmering in the early morning soft light. Two shadows were moving ahead. Scattered on the way, there were some puddles. Eyeing them how little Gayatri could control herself? Silently, she just lagged behind a few steps and jumped on a puddle. Why couldn’t she be up to a little mischief, such as this? The water splashed and Narayanan turned back.

‘Oh, be careful.’ He came up to her and held her hand tightly.

 In that wee hour of the day, there were some people already on the road. Coming from the opposite direction, one of them bowed his head and said, ‘Pranam, masterji.’

Narayanan responded with a smile and raised his hand.

They worked in the rubber plantations, in some other villages. It is here in Kerala the ninety percent of rubber in India is produced. ‘Kera’ is a word for coconut and ‘alayam’ is for abode, so Kerala is also called the place of coconut. But rubber plantations are there in many villages. It’s a big earner for them.

On the bank of Pampa, they met a few more. Haripadam was a small village. Naturally everyone knew every other person by face.

The famous scholar of the place, pundit Anantamurthi was coming from their neighbourhood, called Agrahar. He had decorated his forehead with the paste of sandal. He smiled and placed his hand on Gayatri’s head affectionately, ‘So, today morning the little kuchumol has come up with her appupan to take a bath in the Pampa? Very good, you must come regularly. Understand?’

Standing on the bank Narayanan just for once said to her, ‘Now take off your puntu and get ready for a dip.’

He didn’t press any further. Being a teacher he knew it pretty well that it would be better to give her some time to become mentally prepared. He changed and dived into the water. Within minutes he was swimming away from the shore.

Now, Gayatri, sitting alone there on the stone-steps, became very much thoughtful. Just like Shakespeare’s Hamlet she was counting, ‘To swim or not to swim, today?’ She had a sickly feeling in her gut. She decided in her mind, ‘Well, not today but it’ll be better to try tomorrow.’

Narayanan had finished his job. Still standing in the water he was praying to the sun, ‘I bow my head in reverence to you, O’ glorious and ultimate source of light! It’s you who enlighten the whole world. Please motivate us to our worldly duties!’

With folded hands he had finished his prayers. A few boats were sailing on the river. The boatmen were pushing their long bamboo poles deep into the water and moving their boats ahead. Some were rowing too. They were talking among themselves quite loudly, ‘Hey, Kariattu, did you get a catch this morning?’

‘Yes of course, Athiya. However I won’t be able to attend the market. This afternoon I must go to my maternal uncle’s place. My grandma, the poor old woman, is very sick.’

 Standing near the shore, some people were worshipping and others were taking dips very cautiously. Most probably they were quite afraid of drowning. A few had put forth some pulses and grains on the steps and above, for the birds. Five or six pigeons swooped down and started pecking at them. Happily they were cooing. A few sparrows and other birds came down and joined them. But seeing them the pigeons were probably not so happy. They probably said in their voice, ‘Hey, let us first!’

‘Gayatri, come down over here.’ her grandfather called her.

But she was scared, ‘Oh, grandpa, not today.’ She thought in her heart if only she could fly away from the place.

‘If you really want to do something, start it immediately. Only fools wait for the tomorrows.’ Narayanan was already standing near his kuchumol. He took her in his lap. Holding her tightly in his arms, came down near the water and then threw her into the river.

His philosophy of life was quite simple. No one can walk the roads of his life holding someone else’s fingers. If one is afraid of the tides, how can he swim in the sea of life? With a do or die attitude he was witnessing everything. He murmured, ‘Gayatri must learn swimming. Must!’

And there, just a few metres away, Gayatri was sinking into the water. Again she was throwing her limbs madly to float above the water level. She had already swallowed some water. Quite hopefully she called out. Her feeble voice was heard, ‘Oh appupan! Please -!’ 

One moment Gayatri could see everything around her. The men and women bathing near the ghat, the trees standing on the shore, the boats swaying on the waves – everything. Next moment, everything was vanished. Oh! Trying recklessly to arrive at the bank she was using her hands and legs.

Next, the tide of the waves covered the poor girl. She had already swallowed much of water. But still she was pushing ahead. Raising her hands and throwing them into the water. She must reach the bank.

Amusingly, the boatman Itukettu was watching the whole episode. He cried out, ‘Oh, Guruji, catch her hand. Your granddaughter is exhausted.’

Unknowingly Narayanan himself went ahead a few steps. His stretched fingers touched Gayatri’s hand. She called out, ‘Oh, appupan, oh! Help!’

Narayanan leant forward upon the water and gathered her in his arms close to his chest. Gayatri started coughing. She could no more hold her tears. She sobbed her heart out, ‘Grandfather, you didn’t come for my rescue.’

‘My silly kuchumol! I was standing there in the water keeping an eye upon you.’ he patted her head, ‘Just see, you can do it? What’s there in swimming? Then?’

They took off their wet clothes and changed. On their way back to home, he stopped at the sweet shop of Nilamperu. He asked his granddaughter, ‘What would you like to have? Idli? Veg cutlet?’

Gayatri was all smiles again. 

Now this became their daily routine. Gayatri would get up early in the morning. She would go to Pampa with her achchan for swimming. Gradually, with Naryanan’s help she learnt it. And day by day the distance, she could cover, was increasing. And every day a treat for her was waiting at Nilamperu’s shop.

This was her first reward. Full of affection. Given by her appupan.

Contd…      

© Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

C0ntact: Care Dr. Alok Kumar Mukherjee, 104/93, Vijay Path, Mansarovar, Jaipur, Rajasthan 302020

Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

Brief Introduction

• Birth – January 18, 1955
• Education – MBBS (IMS/BHU)
• 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-2 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆

The Nest

It’s said that the land of Kerala is God’s own country. The lush green fields are there everywhere to see. And Haripadam is a non-descript village on the bank of the river Pampa. Quite unseen by most of the people.

There are a few important festivals widely celebrated in Kerala. In April when it’s the time to sow the paddy in the field, it’s Vishu. Mostly observed by the Malayalis and the Tuluvas communities. In August September, when it’s time to harvest the paddy from the fields, they celebrate Onam. Then there is Thrissur Pooram, but Onam is the most important among all.        

By his habit Sasidharan Narayanan was an early riser. Everyone in the village respected him deeply. It was his daily schedule to walk up to the bank of Pampa for a dip in the river. After having a bath there, he usually came home for his morning meditation and worship.

One morning Gayatri was already awake while he was getting ready for his early morning rendezvous. She came out rubbing her eyes, ‘Appupan, I want to go with you.’

‘Is it? Will you swim in the river?’ he patted her head.

‘But I don’t know how to swim. How can I?’ she was a bit scared probably.

‘Oh, certainly your appupan will be with you. Then why do you worry? Well, get ready soon. Otherwise we’ll be late and the sun will start glaring. It’ll be pretty hot then.’

A few met him on the way. They exchanged the usual pleasantries. He reached the stony platform from where the steps were leading down to the river. Next, he took off his full sleeve shirt, readied himself and dived into the water.    

Little Gayattri decided to see everything only from above. She thought, ‘It’s better to stay here at a safe distance. Well, I’m not going to dive into the water. Oh, god, it scares me!’

Narayanan was swimming. He called out from the deep water, ‘Come on Gayatri. You too can do it. Come and join me. At least you take a dip today.’

Gayatri became quite nervous, ‘Oh no, appupan, not today. But some other day I’ll try.’

‘My dear kuchumol, always remember, fear is not a friend but it’s our foe. So….’ Narayanan came out from the water and climbed up the steps, ‘be brave. If you don’t dare how can you go ahead in your life?’

However Narayanan ultimately decided that it was better not to press much. He thought, let her take her own time. He had patience and he knew lessons could never be imparted like bullets. One must wait whole night for a sunrise. Both of them returned home and merrily he roared with laughter, ‘Look, Gayatri didn’t take a dip even in Pampa. O my god! You being my kuchumol, how could you get so much scared?’

Gayatri’s father Manishankaran was sipping his morning coffee, sitting in the courtyard. He said to his father, ‘Achchan (dad), every day you go to Pampa. Why don’t you take Gayatri with you daily? She could then learn swimming at least. Won’t it be good for her?’

Mani had a busy schedule. Every day he had to leave home a bit early. He would catch a ferry to cross the river. Only then he would be able attend his office in Kottayam. By the time he returned home every evening, darkness dawned upon the place. So he didn’t have much time.

Narayanan smiled back to his son and went to the room of worship. It was his daily morning ritual.          

By the time everybody went in, something unforeseen happened. And Gayatri had to run to protect her little brother, Rajan, who had just learnt to walk lately. He was sitting there on the floor picking up the puffed rice with his small hands and eating them one by one. He was quite busy in his job. Unmindful of an uninvited guest who had appeared on the scene. It was a crow, sitting on a tree, wobbling its head and eyeing everything. It was an easy opportunity for the bird. It flew from the tree and swooped down near the child. Full with confidence, the crow was marching ahead.   

After washing her legs in a corner Gayatri was hanging his grandfather’s wet clothes on the washing line. The moment she saw the crow nearing her brother she shrieked in fright, ‘Hey, go away. Amma, there’s a crow.’ 

In the meanwhile, rubbing her both the knees, Gayatri’s granny, Lalithambika came out too. Because of her knee pain it was quite difficult for her to walk properly. She called out to Gayatri’s mother, ‘Oh, Ananti, just see for yourself what’s going on. Hey, you black bird shoo, shoo! How dare you come near my grandson?’ waving her hand she tried to shoo the crow away.

But the crow didn’t bother a bit. It knew pretty well that the old lady was not capable of doing any harm to it.

‘Oh Gayatri, where were you? Why don’t you take care of Rajan?’ her mother, Ananthi, dashed out from the kitchen.

But Gayatri was already there. The saviour of her brother. With stretched arms she took Rajan in her lap and started pampering him,

‘Go away O’ black crow, come not to my brother!

 A fairy comes to kiss the little emperor!’                           

Ananthi was the engine of the whole family. It was she only who would look after every household affair. Not only the cooking but she had got loads of stuff in hand to do every day. From early morning, just after Narayanan, she would get up and start her daily routine in the kitchen. Next she would make the prayer room ready for her father-in-law. Besides, she would buy the vegetables and remember the due dates of various bills and all. It was she to remind Narayanan, ‘Achchan, today you’ve to deposit the money for the electricity bill.’         

Moreover, Lalithambika, her mother-in-law, was not keeping well lately. Ananthi would send her for a medical checkup. Although she had been suffering from knee pain, nevertheless, she was a great helping hand to Ananthi in her household chores.

Many a time Mani had suggested his mother, ‘Amma, let me take you to Thiruvananthapuram. I’ve heard the Ayurvedic centre over there treats this type of cases successfully.

 But Lalitha denied out right, ‘No no, I don’t need all those treatments. If only the god Padmanabhaswamy would wish, I’ll be alright and reach his holy abode of Vaikuntha.’

Hearing this Narayanan would laugh and say, ‘Of course. The god Vishnu would get up from his bed of Anantanaga, the snake god, and welcome you himself, ‘Come Mrs. Lalitha Narayanan, well, did you have any problem reaching here to my abode, Vaikuntha?’

Everyone would laugh at this type of verbal exchanges.

It was in this kind of nest Gayatri was being brought up.

Her grandparents were very much fond of her. And now it was she, around whom the retired headmaster Narayanan had been weaving his hopes. He would dream of her future and quite often ask himself, ‘But how -?’ 

Contd…      

© Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

C0ntact: Care Dr. Alok Kumar Mukherjee, 104/93, Vijay Path, मानसरोवर, जयपुर, Rajasthan 302020

Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

Brief Introduction

• Birth –  January 18, 1955
• Education – MBBS (IMS/BHU)
• 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-1 ☆ Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury ☆

The Headmaster Reads His News Paper

In a faraway corner of Kerala is a small scenic village, named Haripadam. Five little girls were playing there, in a courtyard. They had drawn a few squares on the soil with a piece of stone. Each girl was leaping, when it was her turn, on one of her legs only, from one square to the other. Gayatri, a girl of seven, pulled her ‘puntu’, a ghagra or skirt type dress worn by the girls in Kerala, up a little and giggled, ‘Look Savitha, here I score four points!’

‘No ma’am, you couldn’t reach the next square.’ Her friend Savitha protested.

They started running one after the other.

‘Huh! You couldn’t touch me.’ One girl said to other.

Their giggles floated in the morning air and drifted like a breeze all over the village.

 Gayatri’s grandpa Mr. Haripadam Sasidharan Narayanan had built this house. He was the headmaster of the boys’ school over there. After spending his whole life teaching over there, he was retired. He was an administrator of repute as well. However, he was not a stickler for rules. After retirement, he had been spending his days in complete peace. Busy in his daily rituals.

‘Gayatri, come and take the coffee to your appupan (grandpa).’ called out her mother Ananthi, from the house. Gayatri came running. The mother cautioned her, ‘Hold it with care. Don’t spill it. It’s hot.’

Sitting in an easy chair, Narayanan was waiting there in the courtyard.

‘Appupan, here’s your coffee.’Gayatri handed the glass over to her grandpa and ran immediately back to join her friends.

Narayanan blew off the spiralling smoke from the glass to cool it a bit and sipped the coffee. ‘Ah, the tonic of my life!’ pleasurably he exclaimed. Nearby, the banana trees were waving their long green leaves in the breeze. Suddenly he was startled by a thud.

The morning newspaper came flying and crashed near his feet. In his mind he praised the aim of the newspaper boy. The boy was not visible. He had already sailed away riding on his cycle. Narayanan smiled and picked up the paper. As he was turning the pages and browsing through them his brows were knitted. He frowned to himself, ‘Oh, every day the same old news! Accidents, theft, corruption, A kills B and C kills A, and what not!’ He stopped at the editorial page. He was much more interested to know about the birds, the tigers, the colourful insects and the newly discovered species of animals or flowers or something like that. He would think why we can’t protect our precious flora and fauna? Why our holy rivers are dying?  Suddenly his eyes were struck by a piece of news on the sports page. His face started glowing in eagerness.

The heading read – ‘Super Beti from Chandannagar!’ It was the story of a twenty-eight-year-old school teacher from West Bengal. She was Piyali Basak. The daughter of a poor man. But her dreams were not poor at all. Since her teen age she had been fascinated by the stories of the snow-covered peaks of Everest. From her very childhood she had been nurturing the dream of going to the village of Khumbu in Nepal, the birthplace of Tenzing Norgay. He was the Sherpa who accompanied Edmund Hillary in his climb to Mount Everest. They were the first in the world to reach the summit.       

The report said that Piyali had undergone intensive training in different mountaineering courses at Darjeeling. The latest feather to her cap was to scale the eighth highest peak in the world, Manasalu, at 8163 metres height, with other girls. Once she had even flew her home and went to Nepal. Worked there as a porter but because of political turmoil in that country she couldn’t fulfil her dream of visiting Khumbu.

The headmaster’s chest was full of pride when he came to know that it was Piyali’s teacher, some Apoorva Chakraborty, who helped her a lot financially. The dare devil girl was in Kedarnath with others when that infamous cloud burst took place there. They had to spend five days in a cave during that torrential rain and snow fall without any food or anything. Even with a tumour in her abdomen she was doing all these. Her next aim was to scale the Mount Everest. For which she needed a big amount of money. Narayanan thought of contributing to her cause.

In spite of this, a cloud of sadness started hovering in his mind. He pushed his glasses above his forehead and leant back in the chair. Looking at the distant mountain peaks he was lost in his thoughts. After the span of the paddy fields, the line of tall toddy trees were forever trying to touch the blue sky in the horizon.

He thought – ours is such a vast country. But except for cricket who is interested in other sports? Who knows the name of the sports persons in other fields? Cricket is the queen of all sports but what about the rest? Are they simply back benchers of the class? Of course, P.V.Sindhu and Saina Nehwal are famous in badminton but who else?

Suddenly his eyes fell upon his kuchumol (granddaughter).

One…..two…..three….four….. Jumping from one square to other they were counting their points.

Eyeing her, Narayanan was lost in his thoughts, ‘What’s stored there in the future of this girl? Will she too remain confined to the four walls of kitchen? What does the future keep in store for the girls of this country? Can’t we have one more produnova girl like Dipa Karmakar, the famous gymnast from Tripura?’  

Narayanan went on thinking, ‘Can’t Gayatri become an athlete or something? But what -? How to help her grow into a sportswoman?’

Contd…      

© Dr. Amitabh Shanker Roy Choudhury

Contact: C, 26/35-40. Ramkatora. Varanasi. 221001. Mo. (0) 9455168359, (0) 9140214489 Tel. (0542) 2204504.

Email: [email protected]

© डॉ. अमिताभ शंकर राय चौधरी

C0ntact: Care Dr. Alok Kumar Mukherjee, 104/93, Vijay Path, मानसरोवर, जयपुर, Rajasthan 302020

Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM

(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 “~प्रश्नपत्र ~”.  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 – प्रश्नपत्र 

मोबाइल– 9890122603, संजयउवाच@डाटामेल.भारत, [email protected]

☆☆☆☆☆

English Version by – Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi

~ Question Paper ~ 

The rain is torrential. …. There may be a power failure in the area. …. It is also possible that by morning there may be a deluge as water will be filled to the brim on every road… May be tomorrow’s exam will get cancelled… Apprehension and possibility kept running parallel.

The next morning the sky was clear and the atmosphere pleasant. After seeing the question paper, the nib of those who worked on apprehensions, had dried up, but the pens of those who lived the possibilities was running at full speed.

~Pravin

The truck had left with the last trunk of the belongings. The children were in a hurry to leave with the loaded truck. They had left in their car, without even waving, as they left. I kept standing for some time, staring at the lonely path, waving my hand, unknowingly. As I came back to my senses, I looked around, shyly, if any of the neighbour was looking at me. On entering the house, I was surrounded by the same silence, which I had imprisoned inside me, while leaving my old house. I started thinking about the time when I had shifted to this new house and left my beloved old house. The same house, in which I had spent the best twelve years of my life. I remember my mother’s words that, a lot of change comes in the period of twelve years. I was not able to figure out, whose time has changed, mine or the house’s. As far as I am concerned, my time was very good in that house. Perhaps, that was the reason why I had shifted to a new place, so that the house may feel a change. The new residents of the house may understand it better than me.

I had taken extreme care in decorating the house. The walls of all the rooms, were adorned by my handmade paintings. The light of every bulb and chandelier had been selected by me. The furniture of the house gave the impression of a five-star hotel. I had showered great love on my home, and it had reciprocated in the same manner. While living there, I had earned everything; name, fame and wealth. After getting everything, what went wrong that I decided to leave it. Perhaps, my family’s dreams were too big to fit into the small house. Although, it had a big heart, so big that it had absorbed all of us. The list of necessities kept on increasing and the walls of the house seemed to be shrinking. Suddenly, everything seemed to be ’small’ so small that my heart was unable to hold my extreme love for that house, it slipped from my hand, like sand.

Dr. Hansa Deep

I still remember the day we had shifted to that house. How enthusiastically I used to explain its chief characteristics to the guests! “Look, the C.N. Tower is clearly visible from here; the beauty of autumn is beyond description. The clumps of trees, loaded with multicoloured leaves are adorable. The sunrise of this place is more beautiful than any hill station. When the sun comes out from the crimson clouds, its rays fall on the glass skyscrapers; get reflected and impart a golden hue to these buildings. They give the impression that they are made of gold. “Poor guests! They must have felt that I am a guide, showing off my museum. To say truly, that small house had really become a museum of my memories. A beautiful, lovable, and comfortable house, where I had invested my complete energy, in my writings. I created many stories and novels, lost in the flash of glittering lights, before me. Took many classes for my online students. Even in the Covid time, the city bathed in light never seemed sad to me, which I could see from here.

Gradually, I became aware of every nook and corner, every problem of that house. My keen eyes would see some part even before it fell apart and got it repaired. Perhaps, it even sensed my tiredness. It didn’t used to look soiled, and I was able to take rest, with a sigh of relief. We had become so used to each other! Even then, I left it and shifted to this new, big house. Although, it is quite big but, is located on the ground ,not standing with its head held high up in the air, like that small house. I have always liked people with a big heart, though small in stature. The chief characteristic of that house was its big heart.

Every morning, watching the rising sun, I have locked its beauty somewhere deep inside me. When I used to paint in words, every minute detail of the house, my family said, “you love the bricks which are inanimate and talk to the floor, which is silent.” But, frankly speaking, I have heard them. Every bit of the house knew my touch. Whenever I cleaned it, I felt the house was talking to me happily.

Leaving such a dear house, I was so worried to load my belongings in the truck, that I couldn’t even bid farewell, properly. I didn’t feel bad, handing over the keys of that house, rather, I was happy and felt like attaining freedom from some kind of imprisonment. I had left silently. The house watched me leaving, sadly. It hoped that I will have tears in my eyes, while leaving. But I was very busy in other things, like completing the paperwork, locking the door and many others. Moving towards a new horizon, I forgot everything. These walls had absorbed all my feelings. They were sad, watching me leave in this manner. Every corner of the house was trying to attract my attention. I had decorated it, sometimes with flowers and sometimes with colourful show pieces of fall. As I stepped out of the house, a piece of cement fell into my hand. I was not able to understand that embrace. On the contrary, the thought which came to my mind was, “the house is falling apart. It’s good we have left it. Old technique, outdated!” I threw that piece into the garbage bin and left in haste with the truck.

Today, when my children left, indifferently, ignoring my teary eyes, I am feeling as if my own body has hardened like cement and bricks. The bricks, which are baked in furnace and silently hold the burden on their shoulders. I feel, every part of my body is frozen in that silence. My children, who never used to leave me and kept the house alive with their laughter. At times, I would be their father too, as mother was always with them, in every breath. Today, I saw a different form of my children. When they were kids, I could feel the pain of separation in their eyes, even when they were leaving for school, kept waving their hands again and again. They were able to understand my mood, even before me. When I sat down to read something, they used to hand me, my spectacles. Today, both of them, did not look at me even once, while leaving for their separate homes.

I had left that house for my children’s convenience. Now they left me for their own. Suddenly, this large house seemed small to them or perhaps, I became small, and they grew in stature. They were free, after handing the extra keys of the house to me. A feeling of freedom from oldness and smallness! They were also in a hurry to leave me, perhaps. I was as strong as steel, and emotionless, like the house for them. They must have felt, I am losing my sheen.

Though my eyes were hurting with dried tears, I felt my body has become stronger than before, as if made of hard walls, free of all emotions. Cement and concrete were not a part of this or that house but had crept deep inside me. I was nothing more than a house for my children. The silent house was resounding with my own words, ‘Old technique, outdated. ‘Even, I have accepted the truth that in the new technique, the house speaks, not human beings.

I am hearing some sounds, perhaps the new house is laughing at me, or the laughter of the old house is also included in it. My heart, which was covered with the plaster of maternal love for all these years, has now broken.

********

Hindi Short fiction – टूक-टूक कलेजा  by – Dr. Hansa Deep

Translated by – Mrs. Rajni Mishra

© Mrs. Rajni Mishra 

Pari is eight years old. She is very fond of growing up and wants to grow up fast. Her baby teeth have fallen out recently, and she has stored them carefully in a small box. She has started mingling among the elders, showing off her small, growing adult teeth. Every day after school, she wants to behave like the adults, which will help her grow up. She wants to do all the things they do, which she watches and likes.

She likes her teacher very much, who looks like a Japanese doll. Pari and all the other children like her. Her name is Miss Wang. So her first wish would be to become Miss Wang: to teach, dress and smile like her; to explain the words written on the board, holding a scale in her hand, to talk about science. She knows everything. The whole class was awestruck when she had told them how rain came down from the clouds.

When she got home, she tried to explain the same thing, in the same manner, to her younger brother, Nick (whom she sometimes called Chotu), but he did not pay attention. Pari couldn’t understand that when the same thing was said by Miss Wang in the class, the whole class had exclaimed, ‘Wow!’ But Chotu had not cared about such an amazing thing. Actually, Chotu is a fool, always busy playing. Then she went to her parents and explained the same thing, enthusiastically, but they also just nodded. This made Pari realize that, for some reason, she is not able to explain like Miss Wang. She explains wonderfully. That’s why everybody says, ‘Wow!’

She told her mother that now she will have to work very hard, practice to read, write, and–especially–to explain, as she wanted to become the class teacher of Class II, like Miss Wang. But Mummy didn’t like her idea and said, “How can you become a primary school teacher, Pari? You have to become a doctor.”

“No, Mummy, I don’t want to be a doctor. I would never like to give an injection to anybody or give them bitter medicines. Doctors are bad. Children cry when they see the doctor.” She remembered that they had to wait for a long time when they went for shots to the doctor. When it was their turn, she used to get an injection. Oh! It was so painful. How can anybody pierce a small child for injection. She will never do such a job.

Whenever Pari or Chotu had a fever, they used to go to the doctor’s clinic. Chotu used to start crying as soon as they entered the room and continue crying until they came out. She doesn’t like people who make children cry. That’s why she will never become a doctor, never.

Neither doctor, nor teacher, so then what? Can she start a salon? Everybody visits the salon. She also goes there for a haircut. Father goes every week. Mummy also goes to get her eyebrows done. So today she opened her salon and asked her mother and grandma to come. She offered them tea and coffee; she even tried to do their hair. She pretended to put nail polish on them, and do their eyebrows too, with a thread. She just touched and removed the thread, but her mother started saying, ‘Ooh! Ah!’ She took their real credit card and pretended to swipe it. She was very happy and excited.

Then Papa arrived. She called him into her salon, too, to put in some gel and do his hair. Papa refused and said, ‘What is this, Pari? You can’t do this work. My princess will do everyone’s hair and eyebrows? No, never.”

This work has also been dropped from my list, she thought sadly. Now, what? She had an idea! She could open a nice shop. There are so many old toys at home which are lying unused. Neither of them plays with these toys. So, she set up a shop with their old toys and started selling them. Her younger brother also helped her. Anyone who liked the toys could purchase them from the collection. She would earn a handsome amount if she sold each toy for one dollar, like the dollar shop. Such inexpensive toys will never be available in the market.

But her grandma didn’t like this job. She said, “If you want to open a shop, you need some brand-name products, Pari, not second-hand and used things.”

What to do now? She had another idea! She thought of doing something which Grandma had suggested. Since it was summer, she could sell fresh lemonade outside her house. Even if she takes one dollar for one glass, the people who will pass by would surely buy some. It’s so easy to prepare lemonade: take lots of water, squeeze lemons in it, and add some sugar. Our class had done this in school, and we had the highest sales.

As she was about to arrange the table, glasses and other things, Grandpa interrupted. Apparently, it was his turn to say no. He said, “Don’t think of such a meagre job, Pari. We have a big five-star hotel, the largest in the town. Think of something big.”

Pari knew that Grandpa is the eldest of all. He only likes big things. But she was trying to figure out if all these jobs are done by people in real life, why didn’t their mothers, fathers, grandmas, and grandpas stop them? Nobody likes my work when I want to do anything. This is injustice, so depressing!

Continued….2  

Hindi Short fiction – बड़ों की दुनिया में  by – Dr. Hansa Deep

Translated by – Mrs. Rajni Mishra

© Mrs. Rajni Mishra 

Pooja Archana…🙏🌷🌹

This is the famous temple situated at Kaithi the confluence of Ganga and Gomati rivers in Varanasi, India… where even the Death God Yamaraj had to go back empty-handed…

Story goes like this…

Sage Mrikandu and his wife Marudvati dedicated their life to the worship of the lord, and their only regret was that they had no child to pass on their piety to.

One day, Lord Shiva himself appeared before Mrikandu in response to his prayers, and said, “Mrikandu, I am very happy with you and your wife. I have decided to grant you your dearest wish – a child. However, you have a choice. Do you want a son who will be smart and intelligent, but will only live for 11 years, or do you want a long-lived, but foolish son?”

Mrikandu Rishi Chose the first Option and lord Shiva Granted their wish.

So Markendey Rishi was born and within 10 years of age he became highly educated knowing all the Vedas, Purana and Shastras.

As his eleventh birthday drew near, Sage Mrikandu and Marudvati started becoming apprehensive, remembering Shiva’s wordings and fearing that they would soon lose the son whom they loved so much.

Markandeya noticed his parents’ sadness and asked them the reason for their sadness. Sage Mrikandu explained to him the circumstances of his birth, the conditions laid down by Lord Shiva, and his approaching death.

Markandeya went to the river bank, and, making a Shivling with sand, started praying to it with all his heart and created Maha Mritunnjay mantra.

Om Trayambakam Yajamahe,

Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam,

Urva Rukamiva Bandhanan,

Mrityor Mokshiye Maamritat

Meaning :- We worship the three-eyed one who is fragrant, and who sustains all living beings. May he liberate us from death. May he lead us to immortality, just as the cucumber is released from its bondage.

Days passed, and Markandeya was immersed in his prayers, when Yamraj, the lord of Death, arrived to take his soul from his body. Seeing the fearful form of yamraj, Markandeya hugged the Shivling, tightly.

Yamaraj said “ Nothing and no one can save you now.” Saying this, he threw his noose over the boy, but he was so close to the Shivling that the noose encircled the Shivling along with Markandeya.

As soon as the noose touched the Shivling, Shiva was enraged, and burst out of the Shivling, and kicked Yamraj. “How dare you throw your noose on me!” he shouted . Caught off-guard, Yamraj tried to explain that it was his duty, but Shiva was furious . He said, “This boy has come to me for protection, and he shall have it. Yamraj, you can never touch him. He will be immortal.”

Yamraj was disappointed, but had no choice and thus chastised, left for his abode. Shiva blessed Markandeya not just with a long life, but also with immense knowledge.

Maha Mrituyunjay Mantra is recited to have a long life and to become fearless about death. This mantra  helps in escaping from very bad diseases.

Photos  courtesy: Facebook Page – Markandey Mahadev Temple Kaithi Varanasi – UP / Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi

© Captain Pravin Raghuvanshi, NM