Today
evening I saw my last sunset. I am inside my cage now. I know I had nowhere to
go. Outside and inside the campus, my fate is the same. Hence, I preferred my
cage.
I
know, a short while from now, my owner will come. Today, his childhood friend
is coming. There will be a feast. A party. Choiciest liquor will be served. It
will be topped up with delicious snacks. Served hot. Veg and Non-Veg both.
I
have performed my duty, done my dues in my life. Now, a short while from now, I
will do the same even when I am no more. They will serve me, piping hot,
garnishing me with some rare spices, exotically flavored. May be they will boil
me boneless. I don’t have much fat on me, so that part has no hassles.
Not
that my muscles are sagging. Not that I am not looking ugly. I am the same
cute-looking Ketty which I was when I came here freshly procured from the
market around a year earlier.
My
seller warned my owner during my purchase…”Brother Joe…look…the primary purpose
why you were paying so much for Ketty and why I have bargained so hard from you
do have a limit…once that gets fulfilled and exhausted…then??”
Brother
Joe smiled wickedly and winked…”Ketty will serve me…in life as well as death…”
I
was so happy to have some hope of getting a fresh lease of open air and a slice
of blue sky coming out of smelly, congested, blood and feacus infested
commercial enclosure that I did not take note of that exchange then.
On
hindsight, what could have I done had I even heard of it?? My fate would have
been the same…after all.
**
The
first six months were the golden period of my life. And I made the life golden
for my owner and his family.
I
was served the best of fodder, the tastiest of meal. I grew fluffy. I grew
cute. Joe’s tiny daughter Mary adored me. I caressed my beak against her soft
skin. She got tickled and giggled.
In
time, I used to get pressure in my ovary. In due time, I used to lay the eggs.
And the whole cage used to glow in a golden aura. Brother Joe, his security
guards used to guard the cage with their AK-47s fully loaded from the first
night when my spontaneous calls first rose. After I lay the eggs, Joe used to
be the first to enter. With eyes glittering in envy, greed, lust he used to
literally pounce on the wonders glowing at the corners of the nest.
“Jessusss….Holy Jessuss…the bas**ds were right…all pure 24 karats…and so
solid….and so clean…it’s a heavenly geese”
The
eggs used to vanish in his bag even before I can get some relief from my pain.
I blinked from the corner of my eye as I saw Joe, the guards, Joe’s wife and
his kids celebrated in joy. Sometimes so ecstatic they used to be that they
used to forget to feed me next morning. By noon when Mary used to venture with
my fodder, I used to be half-dead in hunger.
7th
month onward, the glow of the eggs started fading. It followed by a reduction
on the width of Joe’s smile. “It’ll be max 22 carats now…but still hard…22
should be harder than 24 anyhow….let me see how much it fetches in market…but
why it’s fading…??” He used to mumble and grumble. Still happy he was as after
all money was pouring in.
At
10th month, the glow almost completely faded. A strange silvery
color laced the eggs. Quality of my fodder also got deteriorated. Joe’s visit
in my cage became less frequent. Smile on his face vanished. Mary is no longer
visible.
And
in a sultry night of my 11th month here, I heard Joe’s wife
conversing with her hubby just outside the cage-enclosure while they took a leisurely
post-supper walk….
“How
long need we engage the cage-space with a non-productive, worthless geese?? Why
not go to the shop again and bring a new one, you old fool?? Why not get rid of
this dirty, useless, old, haggard worthless white chick, which has now got
exhausted of her golden stock?””
“Ohh…what
do ya think…?? Me a fool…?? Naahh..I already talked with Tom a week back…he
gave me a time for tomorrow night..actually this golden-egg laying variety
comes very rare and are in horrendous demand…people kill each other for them
when they are laying gold…so one or two he smuggles up here at the dead of
night…only for his trusted customers, beloved buddies..I being one of them….and
one such goldmine will land up right here tomorrow night…!!! Heh..!!!”
…”That’s’
why you called him up t’morrow for dinner..??”
“Yeah
my sweetie…got it bang on…at last something’s working inside your goddamned
skull..”
“Then
what shall we do with this dirty little bitch..???”
“What
do’u think of me..I’m not an asshole out here…she will be served as deliciously
aromatic kebabs drowned by our home-grown local brew..will chop & finish
her sometimes in early evening and clean up the cage. When Tom comes in late
evening, will put the new one in it. Will rear it again for next one year till
it lays the golden eggs. Once her quota finishes, will chop her to pieces.
Sweetie, in life they lay gold for us. In death, they will light up our belly.
How’s that…??”
“Honey…u’r
really a cruel li’ll a**hole…like u r in bed with me…I luv it..!!!”
**
An
ugly, screeching noise of the door of my kennel jolted me back to my present. A
slice of setting sun glanced thru’ beside the looming shadow with a chopper in
hand. I took a deep breath and for the last time, filled my lungs with the
sweet smell of moist earth wafting from outside. Hope this aroma remains in my
blood and flavors my slayers’ meal tonight.
Happy
supper to you all..!! With my golden eggs you had your wealth. With my meat
you’ll have your dinner..!!!
4th August came
and went. So busy are we with our daily petty bickering and humdrums that we
might have hardly cared that this was the birthday of one of our times’ finest
entertainers: Kishore Kumar.
Now don’t get alarmed and
aghast. I am not going to upload another of those run-of-the-mills “golden
collections” or “10 best ever songs of Kishore Kumar” or “Evergreen Kishore”.
You visit every jhoparpatti and get a CD shop there which will stock at least 5
of them. And most of these will have those same sets of “Pal pal dil ke paas”,
“Pyaar manga hai tumhi se”, “Chalte Chalte”, “Mere mehboob kayamat hogi”, “Dil
key kare jab kisiko”, “Yeh sham mastani”, “Pyaar diwana hota hai mastaana hota
hai”, “Anewala Pal” etc etc. It drives at least me crazy and at times I feel
like pulling out my own hair (of course from my scalp) as well that of the poor
shopkeeper’s. The music companies create an impression that a versatile ocean
of talent like Kishore Kumar’s talent was reflected in only a limited numbers. This
is awfully wrong.
That’s why albeit belatedly
I am putting up a collection of my favorite rare gems of Kishore which you may
find only in personal collections. Due to some mysterious reasons, no single CD
collection of a single music company will ever collate them (God knows why).
Now thanks to internet, that too youtube, and that too there is an intrepid,
resourceful Pakistani fan of Kishore (Mr Khurram Imtiyaz), all golden numbers
of Kishore are sharable with the best audio quality.
And this is a revelation.
Music really crosses borders, knows no bounds, spreads love, unites
everyone. What we the Indians could not achieve
for our own Indian maestro, a Pakistani fan has done that in youtube; the
collections of Kishore, Lata, Asha, Rafi, Mukesh uploaded by him in youtube
should put our saregama/ t-series or what not to gutters of shame.
Lets’ stop plunging again to
bickering, I think Kishore himself (had he been alive) would have never liked
this. Instead, I will be happy if you find even one of these below-mentioned
numbers close to your hearts or do like at least one-or-two of them. As days of
my own life are getting numbered, like a drowning man, my innocent childhood often
floats past my eyes. I recall listening some of these numbers during Puja
holidays when they wafted from the puja pandel speakers / mikes. Like Kishore
Kumar, those days are never going to come back. Anyway, here goes the
collection:
1.0>Yeh
Naina Yeh Kajal;
Movie
: Dil Se Mile Dil,
Music
: Bappi Lahiri (long
before he became mobile tanshiq boutique shop)
Wonderfully soft hummable tune,
beautiful lyrics. Sad I couldn’t find out who the lyricist was.
Those who loves “yeh jeevan hai, is
jeevan ka” will immediately recognize some similarity in class and tune though
that was composed by Laxmikant-Payrelal. Anyhow, this is also soulful.
Along
with “Swapno ke Sahar” (listed next), I find the most telling lyrics in this
number. And of course very much relevant and prophetic for many lives. The song became brilliant sung by
Kishore. Wonder what would have happened if it would have landed with Kr Sanu.
A
classic, sensuous rendition that shows what a golden voice like the one the
late maestro was capable of. And that unmistakable, romantic tune. And the
lyrics. At that time they used to write poetry, not just mere songs. It was the
age of sensuous innocence and honesty.
Again
a rare, forgotten, all-round gem, unmistakable RD-flavored, and terrific
rendition by Kishore. When he sung, you can visualize a song. He easily
overshadows the hero on whose lip the song is filmed. That’s why you see many
of the films to which the songs are listed here you might not ever heard of.
And you’ll never heard of many heroes. Kishore was the hero.
Contains
the typical RDB flavor, that typical RDB-Kishore touch, racy numbers, you can
listen, drive, enjoy. No worry. Also, the movie had a terrific story (albeit
inspired by Hollywood).
I am
intentionally listing the racy, happy, rhythmic numbers of Kishore composed by
RDB. Kishore’s was predominantly a happy, carefree soul. Like a genuine
kalakaar, he distributed the jewels of happiness in our dimmed out minds.
Enough had been talked about his soulful, dard-bhara-afsaana, dukhi-man-mere numbers,
and they are easily available in any CDs in the name of vintage collections.
But for me, Kishore was an angel of happiness, who could raise even ordinary
peppy numbers to ethereal height through his “mast” renditions. This one is an
example. No collection will ever list them, include them. But for this you have
to be movie buff also.
I
know many will quiver that this trash of a number is in this list..!!! Trash or
not, as I already explained, I listened Kishore whenever feeling low. Kishore
numbers can act as natural ecstasy for trouble souls. And just listen what
RDB-KK can do with simple rhythm and orchestration. For me it’s a classic.
The
same RDB-KK combination, what they are capable of when they change their
mood.!!! Reportedly Kishore’s rendition of this brought tears in many eyes. And
the lyrics so nicely jelled with the song. Movie had a terrific story.
The
same movie has “Tujh sa haseen”, “Khairishu Waarishu” which all falls in same
category like the song nos 10, 11 and 12, but each one a gem. But this one is a
classic, in terms of lyrics, composition and rendition. How Kishore moved from
one extreme of emotions to another showed his extreme versatility. And of
course the versatility of RDB and the lyricists as well.
I am
listing it here be’coz songs of this genre is becoming rare and will soon may
vanish (if not already vanished). Kishore’s voice has lifted the otherwise
pedestrian song to another level.
Exactly at 12:30 am at
night, a group of policemen at a check-post located around 2 km away from the international
airport intercepted a taxi carrying 2 men and a woman. As the young driver
pulled the car aside, an old weather-beaten constable peeped inside the cab’s front-window
and smiled…”zara dickey checkkaraoge..??”
“Sirji..kagazz”..the
driver mumbled before he got a rude nudge at his arm…”dickey khul..!!” this
time a commanding tone. Nobody is interested in his papers.
“What happened?” one of
the back-seaters asked. The driver, though a seasoned late-nighter at this
route, felt slightly perplexed. Why only this car while the others rushed
through? Anyhow, deeming the thinking useless at that moment, he got down and
moved towards the boot, opened it.
The LED in the
constable’s hand beamed. The driver froze. Horrified.
Inside the boot, he
could clearly see a ghastly smile pasted in the mouth of a girl. The body is
bundled up like a sack. The hands are tied. Dried blood streamed down like a
thin black thread near the edge of lips. Eyes bulging out of socket of the
corpse, hairs flying out giving it a ghoulish appearance inside the dark of the
boot. There’s a hint of tongue protruding out through the teeth and a bluish
tinge already setting in the color of her fair skin. The teeth seemed to have come
out due to last-moment struggle for breath. There’s smell of death lurking
heavy in the air. Before the driver could feel himself nauseating, unbalanced
and tending to fall down, a pair of strong, gruff grips steadied him, grabbing
his neck.
There’s a terrified shriek
as one of the lady passenger from the back-seat came down along with her male counterpart
to see what had transpired. She followed the policeman’s torch-beam inside the
boot.
“Saala..Bhos..**ke…Mad**od”…the
driver could feel a merciless punch of a heavy boot at his back and he moaned
and fell to ground. Before he could muster strength to ask what he had to do
with all these, he was handcuffed, pulled up by the neck of his collar, pulled
forward with the help of his tied hand and literally kicked inside the backseat
of a waiting highway patrol jeep near the post.
Before he was kicked
once more inside the jeep, this time at the back of his head, leaving him
unconscious, he could catch a glimpse of what he perceived then as some close
interaction with the head constable who was still near the cab and one of the
male passengers in the cab’s backseat. He thought he could see something exchanged
hands between the two, some papers – note?? He thought he could see them both
happy and smiling. He couldn’t think anymore. He blacked out in pain.
**
Coming Back…
10 years
later:
Mozammel is in his
mid-forties, a strong burly muslim, who fought out in the mean streets to reach
a stable position today. Currently the elected secretary of airport
taxi-drivers association, he is having five cabs running under his possession.
He enjoys popular support of nearly fifty odd drivers at the airport stand. And
he does have connections at places that matter.
Leaving alone in his
two-roomed house inside the colony near airport, he felt slightly alarmed and
grabbed a sturdy metal rod as he anxiously looked forward at the front-door of
his house.
There are some genuine
reasons for his reaction. Its already midnight and there’s incessant rain from
evening. The colony was already desolate and silent. Mozammel had his dinner at
his friend’s residence nearby and just came back. Preparing to retire, he heard
this loud, harsh banging on his door.
The nature of this
banging startled him. Being very close to a mean world infested with fringe
elements of the society frequented also by so-called social-protectors who
often turns oppressors, he could very well make-out there was something mean in
this banging. But why police at this hours at his doors? And with his contacts,
he expected at least a prior tip-off if there’s any impending raids or any such
royal visits. Confused, he armed himself and tiptoed towards the door.
“Kaun?” he barked
ominously. “Main hoon, chachajaan”, a voice wafted from outside over pattering
of raindrops.
Mozammael had to lower
his arm. There’s something in the voice which forced him to do it. It’s a
familiar tone, there are a limited number of people who could call him in that
way, and somehow he thought there’s a soft, vulnerable tinge to the voice,
which may be deceptive also. Curious, he took a chance and opened the door,
ready to strike back if necessary. Then he stared at the stranger in
half-belief.
Water dripping from his
weather-borne dirty-white clothe, a man of equal height and built as his, with
longish unkempt hair, unshaven peppered beard, broken cheek-boned face, dark-circled
eyes – it seemed a sailor of long-haul is standing at his door. However, what
chilled him to the interiors is a sudden, cursory look at the fingers of both
hands of his guest. More than half of the nails are gone. What came out in its
place is an ugly mound of distorted hard remnants. He started feeling
uncomfortable.
“They pulled them out
during third degree”…smiled the stranger who followed his gaze…”chacha, plz
don’t get scared, I won’t embarrass you, I’ll leave within an hr b’fore anybody
sees. I just dropped for a while as you are my only known one left living
now….can I have a glass of water..?....Can I come inside…or will you also….??”
“Plz come
inside”…Mozammel let the stranger in, having a strange mixed feeling of
sympathy and uneasiness. He’s a man of sharp memory – already the clock of his mind
running back fast.
“When did you cameout…released at last, you, Sikander miyaan??”
He opened the fridge and poured a glass of water. “Have a seat, bhaijan…why
should I feel embarrassed?? You know, I bitterly fought for you…in fact, we all
fought for you….you knew very well. You should know.”
“I know…I do remember…”
the stranger replied very calmly. “The association involved three lawyers…they
tried hard…you all tried very hard….I know”
“..but you also know…these
media….there was a big, ugly story on it…I still think the police intentionally
leaked it…thus we all failed…”
Sikander finished the
water in a single sip and sighed…”anyhow…may be I was supposed to be hung…but
b’coz of all your efforts….they gave me a very light 10 years
sentence….effectively 6 years….as it took them 4 years to decide whether I was
guilty or not….”
The next question
Mozammel was not willing to ask as he knew the answer very well, but somehow
this is turning to be a queer night. “Where will you go now…?? Your
house……family……”
“I have no house now,
neither any family….” A chilling element came to Sikander’s voice which froze
Mozammel to heart. “Rokeya…?? Rokeya bibi…??” He couldn’t help himself
fumbling.
“They raped her in
front of me…in fact, gangraped her…..” the same chilling, cryogenic voice
rolled on. “I had to finally sign on the false confession note…I had to…I
confessed that I raped the girl and hid her body in the boot of my cab…they
extracted that confession…before that they extracted some of my nails as
well….poured acid on my bruise…when I gained consciousness…then also they raped
Rokeya in front of me…then…”
“Your wife indeed came
back home….but next afternoon we found both her and your daughter….”
“I know…you need not
elaborate….if you already knew, then why
on the earth did you ask ‘bout my family??”
The last part of his
uttering carried such an innate fire yet uttered with such calm that it put the
listener again back to uneasiness.
Mozammel wanted this
chapter to be over as soon as possible. He moved forward and put his arms
around Sikander’s shoulder. There’s an emotional trembling all over Sikander,
as if there’s a nerve-wracking sob. But when he looked up, his eyes are
bone-dry. “Chacha…little bit more water please….”
“Shall I serve you
some….” He cut him short abruptly….”only water”, Sikander urged.
“Where’s Ismayel now…?”
a sudden, brusque query from Sikander jerked Mozammel back to reality.
“Ismayel…Ismayel who…??”
The stranger’s eyes
narrowed….”Mohd Ismayel…miyaan…head constable of airport thana who nabbed me
that night…and picked up Rokeya later on”…he continued inquisitively…”why
chachajan…you don’t know?..he was quite known to you once…quite close you were…”
Mozammel weighed his
options now. A man of sharp common sense, he started sensing trouble. He cursed
himself for his foolishness, but its too late now. The easiest option now is to
buy time and wait for sunrise tomorrow. He took a diversion….”look, after that
ugly incident…Ismayel was abruptly transferred…that was around 6 years back…may
be nearly the same time you were sentenced…I heard he’s now an SI..or an
inspector somewhere not far…but none of us kept contact with him. But if you
want…I can get him for you….” He lowered his voice as he is enticing Sikander
for a delicious target.
“Chacha…as of now, I am
feeling broken and dead tired…can I lie down here on the floor for an hr or so
and will leave before sunrise….?”
“Sure…arre miyaan why
on floor…there’s a cot here itself…have comfort…and why leave before
sunrise…you’ve never done any wrong and have come back now honorably…I’m having
five cabs under me….if I can’t manage something for you, who else??More of that tomorrow….now let both of us
have some rest…”
“Sukriya chacha…I’ll be
grateful to you forever….” Sikander lied down quietly.
Mozammel left the room,
waited patiently in the inner bedroom for an hr, pondering over his next course
of action. When he heard snoring sounds, he silently bolted the bedroom-door,
lifted the phone and dialed a cell-no. He needed to call urgently. A
half-sleepy voice replied from other end.
“Ismayel bhai…o
bhaijaan…are you in night shift…plz bhaijan listen…” he half-whispered….”we’ve
trouble here..that s**of a b**ch dirty asshole bety**od is now out of
jail….arrre myaan Ismayel bhai…Sikander…Sikander for….**’s sake!! Yes Sir….my
dear Sir…..remember…you, we, all had a great time with that bloody sexy tribal
whore inside the cargo room…..you, me, Shahidul the thikadar…even the CISF
jawan…otherwise how did I manage the cargo room and the sack……?? All forgotten
now..??”
“….then, you opened the
boot of my car with the duplicate key I kept with you, trusting you as my
senior partner when I went down to get the parking ticket….”
Mozammel whirled back.
He cursed his luck again. For the sake of closing the door silently, he forgot
to bolt it properly. Sikander stood like a menace inside, eyes steely calm.
Sikander moved forward,
softly took the receiver out of Mozammel’s clutch, kept it back on the cradle
and continued calmly, relaxed….”and then you dumped the sack beside my
passenger’s luggage in the boot and closed it while I came back from the
parking booth…but it was not a proper job you’ve done…the sack was loose..the
corpse came out bundled inside the boot….but your plan with Ismayel was
perfect…you took away 10 years of my life…and got me and my wife savaged….”
He slowly moved
forward. There’s an absolute calm and relaxed undertone in his eyes and voice
now. He’s sure of his task and target now.
Mozammel took a quick
back-step, sensing for his table-drawer that contained his loaded protection.
Alas, it’s still too far behind. His eyes could now catch the steely glitter of
something long, sharp and vicious clasped in the hand of Sikander. He
immediately knew he had run out of options. The final call has come.
**
Flowers
Somewhere
in between….
Saleha had dreams. Dreams that are now confined
to the world of music, melody & fragrance.
Beyond that, there lies a world of dark abyss
for her.
She was born normal. Like all normal human
beings, she breathed in a world full of all sensory pleasures. Then slowly, her
creator dimmed the lights in her eyes. She suffered a rare optical nerve
malfunctioning. Gradually she got immersed in darkness. Her country, her family
was too backward and impoverished to take care of this debilitating disease.
However, she herself was a gutsy human being.
Instead of breaking down, she rose from the ashes. Fortunately she got a pair
of supportive parents, so uncommon in her country for a daughter, that too
blind. May be the background and blood of both her parents, who were
freedom-fighters, university-educated, fought shoulder-to-shoulder in bunkers,
and fell in love with each other in trenches, shaped her as an unusually brave
girl, resilient in life. Together, all three of them faced the struggle of
post-war life head-on. Her father managed a small job and received some
freedom-fighter’s pension, which her mother also received. With that, they got
Saleha educated in a special school. She stunned everyone by learning and then
mastering the software meant for computer-operations for blind. She was also
egged on by the fact that govt has reserved some quota of jobs for visually
handicapped. The day she landed up a clerical job in special category in the
office of the same university which was once the alma-matter of her parents, it
was a battle-won hard for her and brought tears of joy and pride in her
parent’s eyes.
Her job posted her in the outskirts of
state-capital, close to the university, away from her parents. Rahima, the
two-decades old maid, and close confidant of her parents, accompanied her to
the city from her idyllic small countryside hometown. It was an uphill struggle
for them to find a suitable home. However, helped by her father’s
ex-comrades-in-arms in the city, a small house could finally be located for her.
Even Rahima found it too small, but Saleha adored it. It’s because of the
flowers, the fragrances, a piece of small garden adjoining the house. For
someone who is devoid of sights; smell and fragrance became her best companion.
So also were the sounds, chirping of birds, pattering of raindrops on leaves.
The small house had a matching small courtyard.
There were some plants with fragrant flowers planted nicely along its
periphery. It appeared that the garden, once affectionately nurtured, was in
need of tendering for long. However, the place being never short of rain,
somehow, the flowers survived so as the fragrances, the chirping of birds, the
buzz of bees. Somehow, Saleha found peace here and goaded Rahima to take due
care of the garden.
As
of now, however, she was feeling a bit disturbed.
**
“Apa…I’m
going to market..will come back within half an hr..keep the front door closed”.
Rahima left a while before.
Sitting in the drawing room, Saleha was
listening a haunting, favorite number dated back to her parents’ period of
struggle. She was feeling nostalgic and home-sick, which she feels every Sunday
afternoon. She was feeling the warm glow of setting sun caressing her cheek.
And then she could pick-up a soft rustle of the curtain which slowly shaded the
sun from her face. She could hear soft, tip-toed steps in the same room; soft
cautious steps which could well cheat a normal ear. And alongside the fragrance
of white Bellies wafting from the garden, she could smell something pretty old,
a bit stale. She was no longer sanguine of her solitude. Feeling a bit uneasy,
still a braveheart as she was, she raised her voice….”who’s there…?? Tell me,
who’s here…?? What’do you want?? Want me to shout?? Want yourself to get
lynched??”
The softness and warmth of the voice that
replied her back took her by surprise…”Saleha, if you shout, I’ll immediately
jump out of the varendah and by the time people arrive here, they will find you
alone. So what’ll be the use of all these hue and cry??”
That means he’s here..!! “Who the hell are
you…?? What do you want?? How did you manage to sneak in, you petty thief…??
Don’t you feel ashamed to move in the house of a lone woman?? Or you want to
loot me, you dirty…*!@!!!” A gradual anger was surging within her and her voice
was ringing harsher without much effort.She is no longer afraid and prepared to face it head-on.
“Saleha dear…first of all let me make it clear
that I am not a trespasser here.” The voice turned very serious and grave,
leaving her unprepared. “Secondly, you are the daughter of my friends who
fought the same war with me in the same bunker, so I may also treat you as my
daughter. Thirdly, I am here to set some destinies straight, to take account of
my own destiny, to check a thing or two with you precisely, and then will leave
immediately. And kindly be aware that I no longer need any loot, nor do I need
to loot my daughter’s modesty. If I wanted I could have done all these much
earlier. I was here for last 10 minutes, as soon as the great Rahima Bibi left.
And you had no idea’bout it. So plz relax.”
Saleha had a wave of mixed feelings. Terrified
as she came to know she was in noble company of a stranger all alone for last
10 minutes without any hint to her, quite stunned as well to know that the
person maybe known to her parents, she also felt curious about this man’s
intentions. She also tactically thought of passing some time and engaging this
unknown entity till Rahima returns and planning something drastic together
thereafter.
“Are you a ghost who can move through closed
door?” This time, the stranger laughed aloud..”the front door is still lying
ajar…Rahima might have told you to close it…but you might be unmindful..its not
only me…but a hundred men could have entered here by now.”
Saleha felt like kicking herself. She changed
topic : “And how do you know my parents, by the way?”
A sighed, wistful reply came…”because we were
bonded with our blood. We shed blood, sweat and tear in the same bunkers and
trenches to gift you a free nation. Your father Farhaad Hussain was a hero. He
risked his own life and saved your mother Naazneen from the clutches of
enemies. There were so many names, so many faces…Nazeem, Barkat, Ansar, Abdul,
Raqeeb, Nazmul, Farhaad, Nazneen, Rokeya, Mukta, Babul..” his voice faded…”all
belonging to the same group, same regiment, same formations…only a few of us
could come back…the rest all are memories now, buried in dust..somewhere..”
The names he rattled are quite familiar to
Saleha as she heard some of them when her father told stories of war to her.
Either this person is genuine, or he may be an exceptionally well-informed
cunning crook. Why Rahima is delaying today, she cursed her under her breath.
“Don’t worry Madam..Rahima won’t be back within
another hour..” she got startled. “How come you know that..? You know crystal
gazing as well?”
This time came another hearty laugh…”I was
following your Rahima bibi’s movement for last few days…and she seemed to have
developed more than a bit of soft corner for the young man working in a
grocery-shop nearby…she always have a good-time…..of course only
chatting…whenever she goes out marketing. So I still have some time in hand and
request you to relax as well.” The confident assurance in his voice made Saleha
feel absolutely helpless now. Showing a brave face though, she continued her
grilling…”and now may I know what are your queries, please?”
“First, accept my admiration for maintaining
the garden, the flowers, the Bellies, Juins; I am bowled over by their
fragrance and transported back to the time when we had planted our dreams in
this garden with the young saplings, which my wife so lovingly reared,
tendered, cared, loved like her own child. Even my daughter also loved their
fragrance. Each one of those saplings still carry the warmth of love and memory
of a long-lost happy family. My request to you is kindly look after them as
long as you are in this house.”
“Are you a crook?? Or a professional
storyteller?? You want money for telling me all these??” Saleha was feeling a
bit incredulous, though her mind is now running fast backwards in time. She was
recalling something.
The stranger didn’t mind the nudge and
continued as if he’s in a trance..”And I know that at one corner of the
backyard within the inner boundary, there’s now a growing mango tree which
gives cool shadow on your house, a sweet guava tree now just risen above the
boundary wall…and at one corner there is a small Tulsi. Every evening, my wife,
and I also joined her when home, used to light up a candle under the plant in
memory of all our unnamed, unsung fresh-faced blood-mates whom we could not
carry back alive from the trenches. That was our worship. They were our God.
That place was a memorial for us. We imagined their presence there every
evening for a quite moment and could offer only a candle lit up in their honor.
Do you still maintain that Bontulsi sapling?? Please light up a candle every
evening there. They all carry memory of a once-happy family.”
“Who’re you, whats’ your name??” Saleha is
remembering something. “Did you stay here once?” There’s no way one can know
the intimate details inside the backyard. She also remembered that this house
was rented quite cheap as someone told about an unfortunate past. Being
strong-minded and knowing she had no other alternatives, she refused to listen
the episode then. “What happened to you? Why did you leave this house? Where do
you stay now? What do you do now?”
“I’m leaving now.” Came a quite, choked reply
in a trembling voice. “Its not important who we were, what happened here. Only
remember this much that we earned for all of you a free country, free earth,
free air to breathe, but our country could not give us a work, a dignified
life, neither could…..”
The voice stopped abruptly. Saleha waited for a
moment or two. Probably she could hear soft steps moving towards the door.
“What happened? Where are you?” There was a soft sound of the door opening
inwards.
“Apa…..apa….offf..sorry I was a bit late….”
Rahima entered panting a moment later…”it was so crowded out there and the
shops don’t listen to women..its so dirty, so horrible, so hot..offfs..…apa
what happened?? What happened to you??”
Saleha was silently staring with a blank gaze,
her blind eyes may not portray it, but her expression says she has moved far
away past Rahima in a nowhereland. When she spoke, it seemed the voice came
from deep inside her heart..”Rahima Bibi, there’s a Bantulsi plant at the
corner of our courtyard? Isn’t it??”
Rahima was looking at her strangely “yes it
is…whats wrong with you Apa?”
“Nothing, just make it a point that every
evening, just after sunset, light up a small candle below the plant. Do it even
if I am not back home. Call me also there when you light it up, provided I am
back home. Got it or not?”
“But Apa…how can….we are…”
Rahima was firmly interrupted…”Do what I say.
And please don’t make me repeat this.”
Rahima felt indignant
inside, but fell silent. She knew her malkin. It will be of no use arguing here
and now.
**
It started raining late
evening and rained whole night. Next morning, Rahima again went to market, but
instead of one hour, this time, she came back within fifteen minutes with ashen
face …”Apa…its really horrible. Someone broke-in Mozammel chacha’s house last
night and brutally murdered him. Its gruesome, merciless, he was stabbed at
least thirty times all over. Apa…I am dead scared…they’re saying a convict is
moving around free…I won’t leave you alone for long. Sorry Apa….I’ll never be
late again…” Rahima’s voice turned moist as she clasped Saleha’s palms in hers.
“Don’t worry Rahima” she replied calmly. “If
something would have happened here, it would have happened already. But its’
not got to be our destiny. Someone’s out there to take account of his own
destiny. You need not worry. The path of your destiny never happened to cross
his. We are safe and secure.”
Rahima stared at her apa silently, without understanding
a single word of hers. She was a rustic simpleton. She really felt dead-scared.
She had a glance of the dead-body this morning. She shivered recalling the
sight of it and clasped her apa’s hand firmly.
The birds chirped on, the flowery fragrance
wafted in gentle breeze. Did it also carry a distinct smell today? Saleha
recalled her father talking of a strange feeling of scent of blood persisting
long after their coming back from the battle. She felt as if she could also get
the same whiff now, fragrance of Bellie and Juin getting mixed with the smell
of blood. The battle is still raging within.
