Do you know Ashok Chaturvedi?

While the battle still rages at the Taj, and we all watch in horror, while TV cameras from across the world zoom in and news channels at home and abroad broadcast the enormous human tragedy, I find no other way to vent my feelings than through the keyboard. I know it’s impotent and futile, but at least its better than keeping the anger locked inside.

We have all reacted in our different ways - from calling up friends and relatives, being glued in front of the television, starting communities or blogs on the Internet, changing our IM status messages, to just shrugging it off and changing to another channel. So has our government, typically by blaming Pakistan and shifting the attention from the real issues.

As a nation under attack, we have no clue how to react, whom to trust and whom to scrutinize. We are like this pack of wild dogs sleeping under the brush, who when bitten by some wasps, get up snarling and in their confusion end up biting one another and whoever else they see in front.

Before we shift the focus to Pakistan, before we start the mindless jingoism, let’s take a step back and analyze this episode. We are talking about a group of roughly 50 young men, armed with some of the deadliest and most advanced weapons and ordnance, funded with ATM and credit cards from almost every top Indian bank, well-versed with all possible details of some of our most prestigious establishments landing on the shores of Mumbai, going unnoticed until the first casualties’ breakout.

For the sake of our current dialog, let’s neglect the role of the Coast Guard, Customs and Navy. Let’s even discount the local police for the moment. But think about it, that kind of equipment gathering, recce, information, resources can’t be whipped up in a week. It can’t be done even in 6 weeks. This is obviously the result of meticulous planning spread over several years. An act of war against the Republic of India planned well in advance, probably around the same time two years back.
And it’s precisely to find out and prevent these kinds of planned acts of war and terrorism that our elaborate intelligence department is paid and maintained.

Unfortunately, they have failed and are failing miserably. We should consider ourselves lucky that this number was just 50 and not 500 men, that their target was just the Taj and not Chatrapati International airport and that Mumbai doesn’t have a nuclear power plant in the vicinity. Shouldn’t we thank these men that they didn’t get some nuclear missiles instead of just AK 47s? I think they did us a favor with that.

Because, while our intelligence network was either sleeping, or bribed to keep their mouth shut, our financial capital could well have been run over or decimated right under our noses. Before we blame our neighbors’ for the dirt in their homes, its time we found out how dirty and stinking our own closets are. It’s that stink that’s encouraging the rats to come ashore and screw us (apologies for the language) in our own beds.

Just when I got frustrated at the 54+ hours of battle at the Taj, I googled up some interesting information about RAW (our countries top intelligence division). I will let you do your own research, but do Google about Ashok Chaturvedi, who thanks to our Prime Minister, heads the RAW right now. I found this (http://www.telegraphindia.com/1070119/asp/frontpage/story_7282285.asp) and this (http://www.zoominfo.com/people/Chaturvedi_Ashok_1162892301.aspx).

Read these and do your own thinking. And please don’t blame anyone but your own self. In a democracy, you get what you vote for. We have developed a mechanism to live with and acquiesce corruption, sleaze, bribery. We have perfect the "chalta hai" attitude till its become second nature and is on its way to school textbooks. Now we can’t complain if it’s all blowing up in our faces.

I could continue this rhetoric for another half hour but I won’t. All I want to do before I wind up is drive home a point. Mumbai and India don’t let this go by like the earlier times. Please don’t forget and forgive. If need be, get up each morning and prick your wounds until they are raw and hurt.

And while they are raw, come lets go out on the streets and ask our own selves, our government, and our intelligence department whether they have been doing their jobs. Let’s not just keep talking on orkut and MSN. Its time we got up in the morning, looked in the mirror and asked ourselves - is the Indian in me doing his part of the job.

Bikes bikes everywhere, not an inch to move...

If they wanted to make another "Deep Impact", they could just come to Pune for the shooting. No hassles with creating artificial traffic jam or road block sets.

And this was 10 AM on saturday - on Fergusson square. So you dont even have to wait for a weekday for the shooting. :)

Come here, have a cofee at savera, pan camera once or twice - and bingo, you have shot that would look like the whole city is in panic and is trying to escape an impending meteorite strike. :D

Pune probably holds the record for the highest density of vehicles per squarefeet of metalled road, in the country. A zillion bikes and still counting...Way to go Pune!

The Stallion and the Standard Bearer

In the beginning of the end, the kings, princes and the five brothers laid their blood soaked arms to rest. Eighteen long days and eighteen dark nights the battle had raged. Finally, they had prevailed over the enemy. They were victorious. Therefore they were the righteous lot. The vanquished were evil. Since in the end good always prevails over evil. So they had to be good. Their hands would write history. And they could choose to write it as they wished.

The eldest one - he who was the lord of them all, the keeper of their truth, and the leader of their righteous path - sat in his lofty chamber within the palace. Surrounding him were the princes, kings and his brothers. Also present was He who was more than mortal, first among equals, source of all things in this world, the thousand-named, black-skinned one.

At length the thousand-named one spoke. "The kingdoms of the north still resist us. They chose to wait and watch the results of the battle. They did not join nor oppose us. Now they choose to ignore us and refuse allegiance. If they shall not come to the truth - the truth shall be brought unto them. O great king, vanquisher of the hundred brothers, eldest among the elders, rightful heir to the throne of this land, tis time you performed the ashwamedha"

At this the chamber of lords and princes became abuzz with murmurs of surprise and astonishment. Mindful of the position of he who had spoken, none dared raise an objection aloud, yet many objected silently. The great king, however, rose from his seat, and kneeling before the mighty one spoke,

"O lord of the universe, our source of power and glory, forgive me for this. But my armies are depleted after the battle. My men are tired and my resources are gone. I cannot afford the ashwamedha - for if any king should oppose me, I have not the strength to meet him in open battle. I beg for time my lord."

"King, do not be afraid. When you say I am the lord of the universe and the source of all power, do you not mean it? And if you do, then do you mock me by telling me that you do not have the strength to fight? Have faith in me and do as I say. It is the will of God. Act and leave the consequences of your action for me."

On the third day after this, the ashwamedha yagna - the horse sacrifice - was performed. A white stallion - flawless, magnificent and powerful - was brought forth from the royal stables. For five days the yagna went on. The yagna fire burnt - assimilating the sacrificial offerings. The gods were invoked - Indra, Agni, vayu, and all others - and all came for none other than the black-skinned one had summoned them.

And then the great king set the stallion free - with a long red tilak marking its white forehead. And behind it followed the standard of his house - borne by none other than the Almighty One himself.

On his many horsed chariot - that none other than he could ride, he followed the stallion - a knowing smile on his face, a glitter in his eyes and the standard in his hands.

The horse set forth to the northern lands. With it went the standard of the house of five brothers. It went over hills and vales, across rivers and around lakes, Onwards into the northern mountains. It crossed kingdom after kingdom - and all kings, seeing who bore that standard, swore allegiance to the five brothers, and let the horse pass. For who could stand up to the Almighty himself? Who would dare to challenge the very source of all power? And would that not be a futile effort?

Thus the white stallion conquered realm after realm and rode farther and farther ahead. And thus the mighty one - with a knowing smile and glimmer in his eyes - made kings and sovereigns accept fealty to the one he had chosen.

Then one day, they arrived at a realm in the mountains. One so remote that none had heard of it. Tucked between the Himalayas - in a fairytale world of its own. And when they reached there - the stallion and the standard - the king of the realm rode out to meet them.

But behold! What scene was this? This was not the march of a monarch out to welcome a royal guest. This king rode in military order - and behind him rode his army. They stopped the stallion on the border of their land. And waited for the standard bearer to appear on the horizon.

Soon the many-horsed chariot - with the standard high above - and the thousand-named mighty one standing across it - rode up to them. Face impassive, the king dismounted his horse, walked to the chariot and touched the feet of the standard bearer.

"O king. What folly is this? You come and touch my feet while your army holds my stallion captive? Obviously you know who I am? And knowing this you stop me - committing two follies. Do you not know that your army means naught to me? I am the source of your army. I am the source of all power you have. Oppose me not for you cannot stand a chance. Let my stallion roam thy land. And accept fealty to the standard that I hold."

"O lord almighty", spoke the monarch of the mountains, “it is true that you own every bit of everything that forms this universe. It is true that from you not only my men and I, but even the sun and moon draw energy and exist. But it is also true that, the land whose borders you now stand on is my motherland. Being named monarch, it is my dharma to defend it against all aggressors. O almighty, when you chose to enter it as an aggressor, it becomes my bounden duty to oppose you. Knowing fully well that you can destroy me with a mere wish. "

"Lord of the universe, he who touches your feet is a mere mortal who worships and has faith in you. Who knows not how to exist but because of you. But he who holds the stallion back, and challenges your right to enter, is a son of the land and the guardian of her sovereignty. Lord, leave your stallion and your standard at my gates and you are welcome on this land. This servant of yours shall willfully do any bidding thee ask me for"

Visibly angered by this, the standard bearer shouted back "king, big words you speak. You claim to be my servant yet you dare to insult me. If I wish I can kill you this very moment, and also annihilate each one of your kind. But that is not my way. You claim to be my servant do you? And you claim to be a true monarch? Then I ask thee to give a test and prove thyself. If you pass that test, my stallion and I shall retrace our steps - and your land shall remain sovereign unto eternity."

The mighty monarch trembled at these words, yet stood his ground. Silently he waited for the terrible words - for he knew that when it came, it will be no simple test.

"Long years ago I blessed your queen with two fine sons. The two have grown into fine princes as I have heard. Now I claim them back as mine. On the morrow, bring me their heads on a platter at the first hour of dawn. You and yours shall then be spared. Go now."

Late in the night, from within the palace came a high pitched wail. It rose high into the sky and tore apart the hearts of even the gods in heaven. It was joined by many others - women who joined the queen mother - as she lamented the cold blooded murder of her two young sons.

In the palace courtyard, in the last hour of the night, the two princes stood. Bare bodied, with a white loincloth and a tilak on their foreheads. Faces impassive yet resolute and proud. Brave martyrs, true sons of he land. Sentries, ministers, courtiers and people - all watched - tears streaming down their eyes. Then came into view the king himself. Dressed similarly as his sons. Expressionless face, hollowed eyes, martial bearing.


The sons knelt at the altar. And their father stood over them. And then his sword was brought to him. That mighty length of steel that had shed the blood of enemies countless number of times. Little had he known that one day it would taste his own blood and be the destroyer of his own line. A deathly hush fell over the courtyard, and then the palace and then all over the land. And in that moment, with single stroke of his blade, the two princely heads were severed from the body.

On the morrow, at the light of dawn, the monarch appeared before the standard bearer - two heads on a plate and his heart in his mouth. Tears were streaming down his proud regal face.

" A sacrifice so grudgingly made, makes it useless o king. Do you not know this?" said the thousand-named one, anger written all over his face.


"Yes my lord I verily know that", murmured the king.

"Then why do you cry over the death of your sons? Why do you grudge me what is truly mine? Why should I accept this sacrifice? Explain?"

"My lord, I cry not because you asked from me my sons. I do not shed my tears at having to make this sacrifice. You can read my heart and you will know that I have gladly given unto thee what is rightfully thine. And I am happy for my sons for I know that they shall now reside with thee - a place much better than what their earthly father could give them. No my lord. I cry because you did not deem it fit to accept my own head as sacrifice. That I am still not a good enough servant to appease thee and find union with thee."

And then the chariot rider broke into an easy smile - a smile that seemed to spread light into the world around. And he came down from the chariot and embraced the kneeling monarch.

"Rise o great king. You have passed your test and I have done what was to be done. I restore what I took from thee. And I return to where I came from. The age of truth has now truly come and this story is its first lesson."

Teacher, Rabbi

Teacher, Rabbi, you, who initiated me
led my weak fingers, held my unsteady hands
walked with me while i took those first few steps, wobbling, unsure

You who coached me
taught me the trade and the tricks
and waited patiently while i took my time unlearning and learning

Teacher, Rabbi, I rememember
your discipline when i erred
your encouragement while i tried

I remember
those first lessons, first tests
your stories and your riddles

Teacher, Rabbi, with time I grew
you passed your strength, your wisdom, your energy
and your seed became a tree, your spark a fire

With time I grew
stronger, higher, better
while you grew weak, and your light waxed low

Teacher, Rabbi, today you are dead
your voice silenced by time
your masterly gaze turned leaden

Today you are dead
but no you are not, a part of thee
lives in me, strong and vibrant

Teacher, Rabbi, you are immortal
for your legacy lives within us
and we shall in turn pass it on

thanks teacher, thanks rabbi
you who initiated us, you who coached us
you, becuase of who we are

for Shastriji (and my other teachers) and jesus - immortal mortals all

I Am 5000 Years Old - A Rant

I Am 5000 Years Old - A Rant
thoughts that came to me as i watched Amu

I perpetrate the most inhuman atrocities on my own.
I try to kill myself, I plunder my own house, I burn one part of it,
and in the other part I throw a party.
My left hand tries to cut my right,
the right meanwhile is busy fighting with my legs.
My eyes dont trust my ears and my mouth I use only to bite.

I rape my own women,
and deny my daughters and sisters even basic rights
then go out and talk about how evil my neighbour is.
My children roam on the streets, naked, hungry,
while I spend millions on lifeless stones, and inarticulate wooden objects.
And for these again, I fight tooth and nail. I call these mother and father,
while the mother earth I plunder, strip her naked and spit on her.

My house is full of grain, that rots while my brothers and sisters starve.
I am careful not to feed them for I do not trust them to be my own.
I rather let the grain rot.
My tanks are full of water, and my neighbour dies with thirst
I take precaution lest even a drop escape my tanks, and he live by that.

I betray my brother and sell my sister
I stand by and watch as they come and beat my father
As long as my skin is untouched I bother not.
I scheme with them for my neighbours downfall. Or standby and watch
And then one day they come to enslave me and I am helpless.

I realise my mistake. But it is too late.
I have no ears, no eyes, no arms and no legs to fight.
No kith and kin alive, no neighbour around
the earth has abandoned me. And I am alone.

I see that 5000 years of history has repeated once again
and its time I died to be reborn, like a phoenix.
But as I die, a question haunts me.
Why do i have to be a phoenix?
Why cant I remember the lessons?
Even though I am 5000 years old.

Revenge of the Goddess

For baba, because he told me the legend when I was a kid
And for Anila Di, because she asked WHY


The Legend

In the medieval fort of Amer, home to ten generations of Kacchwaha rulers of Jaipur, stands the temple of Goddess Kali – known here as Sila Devi. The statue is carved out of a single rock of marble, jet black in color. From generations, the priests of the temple of Sila Devi are Bengalis, an absurdity, in the heart of Rajputana, hundreds of miles away from Bengal. Legend has it that the statue itself belonged to the Bara Bhuiyas (Bara – 12; Bhu –land; iya –owner) of Bengal.

There are many myths about how the statue of Sila Devi came to Amer from Bengal. The most popular one runs thus. After his successful campaigns in Deccan and Afghanistan, Raja Man Singh was commissioned by Akbar to expand the Mughal Empire eastwards. After overrunning Bihar and Orissa, the Mughal advance was halted at Bengal.

Bengal at that time was split into small fiefdoms, which were ruled by 12 Bhuiyas. These 12 Bhuiyas were not ordinary landowners, but small kings with armies of their own. Under the leadership of Isa Khan, the routed general of Orissa, they united and challenged the might of the Mughal Empire. 17 battles were fought, and the Moguls lost each time.

Then one day, the goddess Sila Devi, appeared in the dreams of Raja Man Singh and told him that as long as she sits in Bengal, he would never conquer it. According to the story, the goddess asked Man Singh to steal her statue from the temple in Bengal and install it in Amer.

The 17th attack of the Mughal army on Bengal, which happened after Man Singh, had stolen the statue, led to the fall of the Bhuiyas and Isa Khan. Mughal rule was extended over the entire East. After the conquest of Bengal, Man Singh had the statue of the goddess transported to Amer, where it sits till date, a silent witness to the turbulent events of history.

____________________________________________________________________________


The Fiction

Man Singh watched the sun disappear behind the fort on the hill. The pale red walls of the fort seemed to glow mysteriously, the sun’s red light adding color to them. From the small window of his tent, he could see the river, meandering on its course, disappearing into the distant horizon. Thick mango and bamboo jungles covered the opposite bank and stretched up to the hill. And he could see the fort of Bikramgarh on top of that hill. Impregnable, unconquered and defiant.

The greenery of the place hurt his senses, which were used to the dry, arid, brown lands of Rajputana. Bengal defied his martial understanding in more ways than one. Man Singh was puzzled and worried.

Inside the tent, Man Singh’s council of war stood in a semi-circle, waiting for their leader to speak, or command them to speak. Bound by the ropes of respect and tradition, they would not breathe if their leader willed them not to. Five men, brave warriors, able generals, mighty soldiers, each of them, stood like school children in front of Raja Man Singh, Commander in chief of the Mughal forces attacking Bengal.

Outside could be heard the myriad noises that are part of an army 50,000 strong. Neighing of horses, trumpeting of elephants, distant shouts of men on the watch, horses’ hoofs – messengers leaving and returning to the camp, clinking of metal as men removed their armors, an occasional laugh, a retort, a shout, groans, whispers – distinct yet miscellaneous. But this noise, combined in strength found itself weak and incapable of intruding upon the ominous silence within the tent. It just hung around at the edge of the tent, like a playful child that wants to make its elders aware of its presence and yet is afraid of the consequences.

Finally Man Singh spoke, his voice heavier than the sword he held, more powerful than his arms. “Twelve times Zorawar Singh. Twelve times we have been defeated by Isa khan and the Bhuiyas. The Mughal name is being laughed at across the world. Rajput valour is being doubted. In Delhi, the Jahanpanah grows impatient. The morale of our men is broken. We have more men, we have more cavalry and yet victory remains elusive to us. What magic or witchcraft is this? What erroneous strategy of war makes us fall every time?”

Zorawar Singh, trusted lieutenant, veteran of many battles, with more wound marks on his body than hair on his head, chose to remain silent. He had no answer to his master’s questions. No one in the room had any answer.

Six months ago, Emperor Akbar had decided to expand the Mughal Empire into the East. Mughal rule was at the height of glory, extending far into Afghanistan in the west and up to Sri Lanka in the south. The east however still remained out of reach and the province of Bengal, queen of the east, a land rich and fertile would be a key conquest. Man Singh was put in charge of the army, with some of the bravest Mughal and Rajput generals under his command.

But the campaign had proved to be an ill-fated one till now. The fort of Bikramgarh, which stood at the gate of the road to Bengal, proved to be impregnable. Battle after battle was lost to the united forces of Bengal’s 12 Bhuiyas and Isa Khan the Afghan general. The Mughal army, though battle hardened, was unused to the ruthless, wily, guerrilla tactics of the Afghans and Bhuiyas.

Man Singh recalled the last battle that they fought. Where victory had eluded them so narrowly and he had lost his son Durjansingh. The Mughal army, under Durjan’s command, had crossed the river and was attacking in full strength. They encountered the Afghans at the base of the hill. Durjan’s strategies allowed the Mughals to out-maneuver the Afghans. They fought with skill and bravery, avoiding previous mistakes.

The Mughals had managed to break the enemy formation, destroy its right and left flanks and were driving the center back to the gates of Bikramgarh. The battle had been pitched and fierce. The ground had become slippery with blood, and men were stepping on the bodies of their fallen comrades, killing, stabbing, and cutting without mercy. The Afghan army was bound to fall that day, and the Mughal flag would have flown on the fort. Durjan, the brave general was standing in the middle of the bloodbath, where the fighting was thickest, directing his men, cutting down the enemy like grass.

And then suddenly, an arrow, perhaps in a fluke, pierced straight through Durjan's left eye and passed into his brain. Durjan Singh died on the spot. Seeing their commander fall, the Mughals lost nerve and in an instant the tide of the battle was turned. The Afghan’s seized the moment, and attacked the Mughals with a renewed vigour. And now the victor became the victim, the slayers were being slain; the pushers were being pushed back. By evening, the last of the Mughal soldiers had scurried back across the river and the twelfth battle for Bikramgarh was lost.

“Something must be done to break the alliance of the Bhuiyas and Afghans. Bikramgarh must fall at all cost. Mughal prestige and Rajput honor is at stake” Man Singh’s voice, tempered with the turbulence within, shook the entire tent. He now had a personal agenda. The death of his son must be avenged. Rajput blood could not go vain. How would he return to his subjects in Jaipur if he could not win the fort for which their beloved prince had laid his life?

“Hukum, the goddess protects Bikramgarh. The fort will not fall as long as the goddess Sila Devi remains on her seat in the temple. That is the legend.” It was Himmatsingh, the younger brother of Durjan.

“Then we will fulfill the legend. The goddess will leave her abode. Bikramgarh must fall to us at any cost.” Man Singh was talking to himself. Then he fell abruptly silent. His generals, used to read their leader’s every move and motion, understood that he wanted solitude. They bowed and left his tent quietly.

Alone in his tent, he went and stood near his window, watching the silhouette of Bikramgarh with wishful eyes. “We must fulfill the legend. But how?”, and Raja Man Singh, farzand-i-akbari, lord of Amer fort, leader of the bravest warriors of Hindustan, had no answer to his own question.

Meanwhile, inside the fort of Bikramgarh, beyond the heavily guarded gates, past the massive watch towers, far from the encampments of the Bengal and Afghan armies, and the palaces of Isa khan and the 12 Bhuiyas, at the farthest corner of the fort, where the walls overlooked the sheer precipice of the hill, in an area so desolate and unapproachable that it was left unmanned, two figures could be seen silently approaching in the darkness from two different directions.

In the dark it was difficult to see their faces, but from their figures and their gait it was evident that one was a woman and the other a man.

“Good evening my Princess. How are you doing today?” as they met, the man bowed and said, his tone respectful yet amorous. And then with a suddenness of one used to it, he pulled her closer, removed her veil and kissed her on her cheeks.

At that moment, a pale light from the moon revealed her face. It was truly the face of a princess, strikingly fair, with large blue lotus eyes, jet black hair, curved eyelashes, a shapely neck and a graceful figure.

The man was tall, with broad well-developed shoulders and muscular arms, which were more used to handle swords and spears than princely damsels. An Afghan beard on his sun-burnt, martial face hid the numerous cuts, mementos of the battles he had fought.

“Tell me princess, why have you asked me to come now? These are dangerous times for all of us. We must not be seen together at this time.” The man said in a hushed voice, without releasing the woman from his embrace.

Princess Sheela laughed a slow, mocking laugh, which made a sound like crystal pieces falling on rocks. They echoed over the hills and died. The man was much disturbed at this, and tried to silence her.

“I am sorry my lord. But it is hilarious to see the brave and mighty Isa Khan, leader of the ferocious Afghans being scared of what what the world would think or say to him. Where are the promises that you made to me in our first meeting, that you will love me and come to me always, that you will protect me from everyone and everything and give me whatever I want? Has the Afghan blood lost its thickness? Have the heirs of Sher Shah Suri lost their prowess and become wimps with bangles in their hand?”

“Princess, do not make false accusations. Isa Khan will be dead before he breaks his word. I have not yet done anything that you speak thus. And it is not for anything else but for the sake of the Afghan-Bhuiya unity that I advise caution at this time. The Mughal’s sit at our doorstep, baying for our blood, and it is just our unity that stands between us and death.”

“This is not the time to indulge in personal matters. Allah knows I love you but I do not want to confront your brother right now. You are a princess yourself. Do you not understand the political implications of this relationship?” the Afghan urged her, his voice soft yet authoritative and impatient.

“My brother! I hate my brother!” the princess spoke with a sudden vehemence, and their was sheer hate in her eyes. “The blood of our beloved father is on his head. He should be hanging from the fort walls instead of sitting on the throne of Bikramgarh.”

Memories of her slain father flooded to her mind and brought tears in her eyes. Bikram Bhuiya, mighty king, able ruler and a beloved father of his own children and his subjects, had fallen prey to the ambitions of his son Rajan. Having treacherously slain his father, with the help of his henchmen, Rajan Bhuiya had ascended the throne of Bikramgarh and now ruled with an iron hand. He was powerful, yet shrewd and loathsome. He was hated as much as his father was loved, by the subjects. But he sat on the throne of Bikramgarh and ruled through treachery and sheer reign of terror.

Bikramgarh lay at the entrance of Bengal, near the river Ganges. It was the guardian of both the water and road routes into Bengal and farther east. Legend has it, that goddess Kali had appeared in a dream to Raja Bikram Bhuiya and directed him to the location where Bikramgarh stands today. Here the king had dug, and unearthed a black statue of the goddess. Here he had built a fort impregnable and strong, blessed by the black goddess – Sila Devi. The Bhuiyas and all people in the land believed that as long as the goddess sat in her abode in Bikramgarh, the fort would remain unconquered.

When the news of the Mughal campaign reached his ears, Rajan Bhuiya had called a counsel of the 11 other Bhuiyas, local kings, of Bengal. The other Bhuias knew of Rajan’s treacherous rise to power. They had no faith in him. But the defense of Bikramgarh was important for entire Bengal. And they had faith in the legend. So it was more to protect their own fiefdoms, and to uphold the legend, than to help Rajan Bhuiya, that the 12 Bhuiyas had united under one banner to resist the Mughals.

Then Rajan Bhuiya made another move. He invited the Afghan general of Orissa, Isa Khan to protect Bikramgarh for a fee. There was a huge uproar at the council of the Bhuiyas. The Afghans were an equal enemy as the Mughals. They were not to be trusted. They had no respect for Hindu women, desecrated temples and tried to ruthlessly convert Hindus to Islam. The other Bhuiyas had almost decided to overthrow Rajan Bhuiya and the alliance was threatened.

But Rajan Bhuiya was a smooth talker. In the council he argued forcefully and with the sly logic that was his forte. The Mughal army was strong and the Bhuiyas alone would not hold. The Afghans were hired mercenaries. They knew how to kill. Why not let them die, why not let them shed blood, for money. He was just trying to safeguard the interest of Bengal’s armies, even if his coffers were emptied. Let the Bengal armies be a second line of defense. They should trust him. He had the best interest of everyone at heart.

No one trusted Rajan Bhuiya, but the prompt arrival of Isa and his Afghan regiment resolved matters on their own. The Afghans would not have taken it nicely if their assignment had been cancelled. So Isa Khan stayed. And Rajan Bhuiya’s judgment, at least for the moment, proved good. The Mughal approach was halted by the combined strength of the Afghan bravery and Bhuiya strategy.

Isa Khan had his hands full, both on and off, the battlefield. He was not only an able and brave general, but also a pious Muslim and a gentleman at heart. His chief concern was winning over the trust of the local Hindu population within the fort. And for this he made strict rules for his regiment, ensuring that they never ventured outside their tenements and followed a strict code of conduct. But his efforts were treated with suspicion and the only hospitality that the Afghans received in the fort was a cold shoulder from the locals, and silent acceptance of their presence.

But where he made strict rules for his men and dared them to transgress these, he personally erred. He fell in love with a Hindu damsel. It would be unfair to blame Isa for this; if at all love is a crime for which some one is to be blamed. He had not taken any initiative. In the grounds behind the palace where he was staying, Isa used to exercise alone. Here he often found, a certain pair of blue eyes watching him. At first he paid no attention, but when this continued without fail, he became curious. The upshot of this entire affair was that Isa Khan found himself in the perilous position of being in love with his employer’s sister, the beautiful princess Sheela. The lady claimed that she had heard many lores of Isa’s bravery and wanted to see him in person. In her first meeting, she had given her heart to the handsome Afghan, irreverent of the consequences.

Isa was young and had a noble heart. His love and enchantment for the blue-eyed maiden was complete. And the princess made him promise everything that a young man of Isa disposition could and would promise. This was many weeks ago. In a short span their love blossomed and as it did, it troubled Isa more and more.

That evening, Isa had barely returned to his tent from the battlefield when a messenger had come with a note from the princess. His battle hardened instincts, on which he had trusted his life on numerous occasions, screamed at him not to go. But Isa was bound by his honor to come at the princess’s call. And so he went.

“Tell me princess, why have you called me here? It is late and I am tired after the battle. I have not yet washed my wounds.” Isa said uncomfortably.

“My lord, my life. I wish to ask something from you. Will you give it to me?”

“Princess this Afghan has promised you his life. Command and you shall have it.”

“No my lord, all I ask is for a token of your love. As long as this battle continues my heart is at unrest. I cannot see you, I cannot meet you. I need something that will give me company when you are gone. Your ring my lord, with your seal on it. Give it to me.” Sheela looked at Isa with water in her eyes and an expression of utmost helplessness in her face.

A loud voice inside him shouted NO. But Isa heard himself saying “Of course princess, what is the value of this ring, compared to the turbulence of your lovely heart. It is luckier than I for it shall forever be near you.” And as in a dream, he saw himself remove his ring, with his seal on it, and hand it to her.

The temple of the goddess Sila Devi was at the summit of a small hillock inside Bikramgarh. It was as if from her high seat, the goddess kept a vigil on all her subjects below. Activities at Bikramgarh revolved around the temple. People marked time by the huge bell of the temple.

Every morning at 4 AM, the auspicious brahmamuhurta, the king would bathe and then walk up the hill to start the morning pooja of the goddess. Bikramgarh’s day started after that. And it ended when high on the hill the chief priest sounded the gong signifying that the goddess was now going to bed.

The rulers of Bikramgarh were forbidden to touch their swords before performing the pooja each morning. Rajan Bhuiya understood the political implications of this ritual. Unlike his father, his subjects had a strong dislike for him. But they were deeply religious and superstitious. They would dare not rise against him as long as they thought that he was blessed by the goddess. And therefore he followed this ritual assiduously each morning, with twice the pomp and show than his father would have approved.

On the night that princess Sheela met Isa Khan, below in the Mughal camp Raja Man Singh lay awake, looking out into the black night. He was tired yet restless. Sleep refused to obey his orders. His mind worked actively, formulating and rejecting plan after plan of breaking into Bikramgarh. Without, all was silent and he could hear the measured footsteps of his guards. The faint glow of the fire that burnt outside his tent, threw an orange light which made his weapons gleam ominously. He could hear the logs break and make snapping noises as they burnt.

Hark! What was that? Did he hear a footstep out of measure? An extra movement close by? Battle hardened reflexes made him sit upright, one hand at his dagger.

But the sound was gone. Perhaps a figment of his imagination. But he still got up to check. And his feet hit an object on the ground. It was a wooden casket, evidently of royal origin, intricately carved, very feminine. Inside was a note:

“The goddess shall leave her abode tomorrow at the first stroke of the morning. She commands you to attack at the second stroke. Bring few but brave men. Move swiftly. The enemy shall be unprepared. Victory will be yours. This is the divine will, ignore this and lose your chance to win the fort forever”

Man Singh read it twice. And then he shouted for his council of war. The Mughal camp was thrown into a frenzy of hushed activity in the dead of the night.

Early in the morning, in the fort of Bikramgarh, everyone, including the Afghan soldiers, knew that something was seriously amiss. Instead of the sound of the conch and the bell, there was an ominous silence at the hill. And then suddenly, they could see a horde of Bengal soldiers ride down towards the palace of Isa khan, with Rajan Bhuiya and the 11 others at there head.

“Isa Khan, you traitor, you unfaithful bastard come out.” Rajan Bhuiya was in a fit of rage. Behind him there were 50 men in Isa’s courtyard and more were gathering. The news was spreading like wildfire across the fort. The goddess had been stolen from the temple. The unspeakable had happened. The mother had abandoned her children.

People whispered in each others’ ears in horror and sadness. And then, another news spread, with equal rapidity. Isa Khan’s ring, with his official seal had been discovered in the chamber of the goddess. Their worst fear had come true. They should never have trusted the Afghans. They should never have let these treacherous snakes inside. Temple desecration was their habit, it was in there blood.

The Mughals were forgotten. A bigger enemy was within the gates and he must be thrown out first. And the goddess must be recovered from him. Oh what shame had visited Bikramgarh. It was all Rajan Bhuiya’s doing.

Rajan Bhuiya realized he was in a very precarious position. He knew this, the instant he saw the statue missing and the ring on the temple floor. He could not believe that Isa Khan would do such a dastardly act. But right now there was nothing he could do. If he didn’t act fast enough, there would be an uprising against him.

Isa appeared on the verandah, “Why do you call me names, my lord. I am in your employment but I am not your subject.” He said in a dignified yet alarmed tone. He could not understand the reason for the chaos.

“You traitor, you eat our salt, share our bread and then you desecrate our temples. Now you ask me in cold blood why I speak to you thus? Isa Khan, you have challenged the dignity of our house. Return to us the statue and leave now. You are our guest and your life shall be spared.” Rajan Bhuiya glared at him, with affected anger.

“What statue. I know nothing of the matter.” Said Isa, completely perplexed at the sudden turn of events. He could not understand how they could even think that his soldiers would do such a thing. He was enraged by Rajan’s threat, “And do not threaten me my lord. You know that your threats do not hold against the strength of my Afghans. I pray I am innocent.”

“He is a liar. He is a thief. Kill him kill him”, the mob was becoming increasingly ferocious. Rajan held them at bay.

“You say you are innocent. Then explains this ring to us” and he held up Isa’s ring in the air for him to see.

Isa Khan recognized his ring from afar. The same ring that he had parted from last night. But how did it land up in the temple? Ya Allah, What treachery was this? The truth dawned on Isa khan with a sudden blow, as if a spear had passed through his heart. The many mortal wounds that he had faced in battle felt incomparable to the stab that he felt that moment. Nothing had prepared him for this searing pain of treachery.

‘He is a thief. The Afghan. Kill him kill him “The mob was growing bigger. The general resentment against Muslim presence, held in check for so many months, suddenly overflowed. There was chaos in the streets, mayhem ruled. Bengal soldiers and peasants surrounded the Afghan tenement. All memories of blood shed on the battlefield, of lives saved and battles won, were forgotten in one single act, unperformed.

And at that very hour, when the walls of Bikramgarh were unmanned because the men were fighting each other on the streets, when the roads to it were unwatched because the watchers were baying for Afghan blood and the gates were unguarded because the Afghan regiment was busy defending itself, at that moment, a small band of Mughals and Rajputs, crept silently up the hill. They had been moving slowly, for the better half of the past hour. Finally they made a dash for the walls of the fort. Mughal warriors scaled the walls silently, and threw the gates of Bikramgarh open.

It was an easy task for Man Singh and his men. He attacked with force and speed, and the enemy taken by surprise, unprepared, entangled in its own web was dead even before they realized what was happening. Mughal forces poured into the streets of Bikramgarh, and before noon, Bikramgarh had fallen.

In the courtyard of Isa khan’s palace, lay slain, soaked in each others blood, Rajan Bhuiya and Isa khan, the former succumbing to his own game of murder, the latter a mere victim of fate.

When Man Singh reached the palace, he found Isa khan’s eyes open. He thought he noticed a question in those dead eyes. As if they were asking “why?”. Rajamansingh, having heard much about the bravery and valour of this man, pitied that he died thus, and shut those eyes forever with his hand.

Below the hill of Bikramgarh, a little inside the woods, two young women stood watching. When they saw the Mughal flag on the fort, they started moving again, towards the river. One of them was carrying a bundle wrapped in clothes, apparently heavy and bulky.

When they reached the river, a boat was waiting. Princess Sheela turned around and told the woman carrying the bundle, as one used to giving commands “You have your instructions. Now go and leave me alone. My job is done. My father’s blood avenged. Today Rajan Bhuiya lies soaked in his own blood, like he once did to my father” and her eyes shone with a strange faraway look. There was an absurd mixture of victory and sadness in them. The lotus eyes that had enchanted Isa Khan looked like looked like black holes, absorbing light and not letting out any expression of the turbulence within...

When Man Singh returned to his tent that night, he was far from happy. They had won but it had not been through valour or bravery, which was what a Rajput’s definition of victory was. There were no wounds on his men’s bodies. It had been a massacre. And he was puzzled by the entire affair. Questions, hundreds of them, arose in his mind, ricocheted on the walls and then died.

As he entered, he again knew that something was amiss. And then he saw the bundle. Wrapped in white cloth. And without opening it he knew what it was. He knelt before it, the mighty general, in all humility, and prayed.

“Zorawar Singh” he called sometime later.

“Hukum,” Zorawaar entered and bowed.

“This is the statue of Sila Devi. Take it to Amer and install it there in a temple. She shall rule from there henceforth. “

“Yes, hukum” and Zorawar left with the statue.

“It is the will of the goddess. We are mere pawns on her chessboard. We must not ask questions. We must keep doing as we are told” he said aloud, perhaps to his sword and shield, or perhaps to his conscience. And Raja Man Singh closed his eyes. Bikramgarh had fallen. Sleep finally came to him.

____________________________________________________________________________
The Facts

This story has no historical authenticity. I have borrowed from history and legend these characters, incidents and events, to stitch this tale. There is no fort in the province of Bengal by the name of Bikramgarh. The number of battles that Man Singh fought before he won Bengal is unconfirmed. Elementary research showed the following events/incidents are true and have historical records.

Under the command of Raja Man Singh, the Mughal army attacked various provinces of Bengal, between the period of 1556 and 1560. Most of these ended in a fiasco for the Mughals. The 12 bhuiyas became famous in the history of Bengal for there ability to withhold Mughal expansion into Bengal for a long period of time.

Eventually, the Bhuiyas fell to the Mughals. In one of these struggles, Man Singh lost his son Durjan Singh. Also involved in these series of battles was the Afghan General Isa Khan Masnad-i-Ala. Isa Khan fought Man Singh a number of times, sometimes alone and sometimes alongside the Bhuiyas.

The statue of Goddess Sila Devi originally belonged to the Pala kings of Bengal. The most likely reason of its transport from Bengal to Rajasthan is the large-scale temple desecration that Afghan chieftains were indulging in, across entire eastern India, during this period. Historians believe that the Hindu priests of the temple of Sila Devi had singled out Man Singh for sanctuary, because of his unique religious and political combination.

There are records which show that there existed, during this same time, a very beautiful damsel, princess Sheela. She was the eldest daughter of one of the Bhuiyas. Not many details are known about her, except that she was a lady of exceptional beauty and intelligence. Princess Sheela committed suicide by jumping into the Ganga.

Far From The Ones We Love

All you who sleep tonight,
Far from the ones you love.
No hands to the left or right,
And emptiness above.

Know that you are not alone,
The whole world share your tears.
Some for a day or two,
And some for all their years.

 Vikram Seth

Part I

“It’s not about the name, Nafisa. It’s about being practical.”

“ Ah yes of course. How could I forget? The practical, down-to-earth Mr. Nakul Sood. Bull shit Nakul. It’s just about your male ego and your vain family pride. It was alright to marry a Muslim girl, but when it comes to your daughter, having even a non-Hindu name is unthinkable. How utterly hypocritical.”

“There. There you go again. Why do you have to bring the family into every thing? This has got nothing to do with it. Why don’t you realize Nafisa that I want a Hindu name for the baby because 20 years later it can make or break her life?”

“And why don’t you realize Nakul that 20 years later she won’t care a fig for any goddamn name, if she has anything of me in her. Nakul, I didn’t want to have the baby right now. But you forced me. Now, it’s my baby, and I will name her what I want. Bye.”

Nafisa banged the receiver with the force of her emotions. As if Nakul would be able to feel that force. She was determined not to relent this time. She had already given up a lot for this marriage and she refused to lose further ground. It was her baby and she had every right to name it. Nakul could go to hell.

If he forced her too much she would walk out on him. This would prove the straw that broke the camel's back. There was a lot on the camel's back already. It had just been a year into their marriage and all she could remember was intense disagreements, bickering and fighting. She found it hard to understand how one could have so many differences with someone whom you had known closely for two years before marriage. What does marriage change in people?

Aroha's cries broke her musings. She looked at the watch. It was time to feed the baby and put her to sleep. "Wonder what Nakul is doing right now", she thought, by habit, as she picked Aroha from her cradle. She realized that this was the first time in the past 1 year that they had been away from each other for such a long time.

1500 Miles away, at their plush residence in suburban Pune, Nakul Sood, CEO Sood Venture Capitals, sat in his drawing room staring blankly at the 29" TV screen and mindlessly changing channels. He could never understand Nafisa. Why did she have to be so stubborn about such small things?

"Damn that Woman!" he thought and flung the remote on the couch. He got up to fix himself a drink.

Without Nafisa, the house seemed empty. True they kept fighting all the time, but they always patched up. And he liked to pick fights with her and dominate her. She was a woman worth conquering.

He smiled at the thought. But their disagreements over little things had increased over the months and now they didn’t see eye to eye on anything. Nafisa had become increasingly difficult to handle and he had been glad when she had gone to his parents’ place in Jaipur, for the childbirth. That had been 3 months ago. Now he missed her and felt bored and lonely.

As Nafisa gently pushed the baby towards her breast, she felt a warm affection and sense of bonding which she had never felt before. She had not wanted to have the baby initially. But when she held Aroha in her hands the first time, she felt no other emotion except sheer joy and elation. Almost instinctively she named her Aroha - unconditional love.

"Nakul lets not have the baby right now. It’s too early and I don’t want a child to arrive in a home like this", that was her reaction when she first discovered she was pregnant, three months into there marriage.

"Don’t be stupid Nafisa. This child is a proof of the love that we have between us. And it’s perfect for it to arrive right now. I don’t understand how you can even think of such a thing.”

"I can think of it because I can think of the consequences. What kind of an environment do you think you will provide the baby? She will hear the sound of arguments in her cradle. She will go to sleep listening to her mother and father abusing each other. Her first memories will be of broken china and slamming doors. And what about the responsibilities Nakul? I am sure Mr. Sood will still maintain his 14 hour work schedule, party late into Saturday night and golf on Sunday afternoons. I will be the one stuck up at home, giving up job and social life. No way.”

Nakul had been surprisingly calm and collected. That had been an unexpected move on his part. She had wanted him to throw a huge fit, shout at her, maybe even physically handle her, the way he usually did. But his behavior came as an anti-climax. He held her hand, kissed her forehead, and made her sit on the sofa in the verandah. He sat near her on the ground and looked into her eyes. And she lost the battle.

Today when she thought about it, she was glad to have lost that battle, though she would never accept that to Nakul. For him, she had always made a big sacrifice in life. She could not let Nakul win this psychological battle. After all, he hadn’t been through anything in all this. It was she who had to take a break from work, it was she who had to sit at home in the evenings (although even Nakul sat with her), and it was she who had to undergo labor pains.

And after all this, instead of being grateful to her, Nakul was promptly demanding more. Men are such ungrateful hypocrites.

The memory her recent argument with Nakul embittered her sweet thoughts with a suddenness that made her wince. Next week Nakul would be coming to take them back to Pune. She resolved that she would settle things with him first. She knew that if she let the matter dangle till they reached Pune, she would lose the battle once again. And she also wanted to see which way the wind blew. 'I won’t let you grow up in a turbulent environment", she looked at Aroha and thought.
Ignorant of all this, Aroha slept the way that only infants can sleep. Pure and unadulterated, perhaps dreaming of heaven, from where they have just arrived.

"Ok if you are being so stubborn about it Nafisa, then I have just one thing to say. You can call her Aroha if you want to. But for me she will be Manasi. And since she will grow up in my house and you will also live in my house, I will choose what name to call the child by. Is that clear to you?"

Nakul gave her a saucy look and walked out of the house. She could hear the car roar in the compound as it left.

The sound of the leaving car helped her take the decision. She realized that Nakul wouldn’t change a bit. That her child would no longer be hers in Nakul's house. She would lose Aroha forever. She panicked at thought of losing another bit of her ground, and a precious one at that. A sense of urgency rose in her and she knew she had to act quickly. Do something before Nakul returned with the air tickets. She could not go to Pune. Not right now at least. She got up and went to pack her bags. It reminded her of the last time that she had packed her bags in a hurry. A year ago. But things were so different then.


Part II


Nakul and Nafisa refused to accept that they were in love with each other, until the last day of graduation. During their college days they were always together, both on and off the campus. But they always told each other and everybody else that they were best friends.

It was on the farewell night of the class of 2002 when they realized that something was just not right. Nakul was going to Pune, to manage his father's new VC funding business. Nafisa had got a placement in Hyderabad itself. They realized that there partnership was coming to an end. They would have to move there separate ways in life, and possibly never meet again. Things would no longer be the same for either of them.

The evening was coming to an end. People were strolling around in groups, taking contact details, congratulating each other for the placements, reminiscing about the day when they had just landed in college and nodding there heads on how fast time had gone by. On the dais someone was singing a song. "Chalte chalte, mere yeh geet yaad rakhna, kabhi alwida naa kahna,..."

Nakul and Nafisa were sitting in one corner of the lawn. As the lyrics floated to them from the dais, Nafisa got choked with a strange sense of loss and sadness. She had been expecting Nakul to say something about there parting since evening. But Nakul had been avoiding eye contact and kept cracking one or another silly joke. He didn’t really seem affected.

"I don’t think he feels for me the same way as I do. So why should I bother. It’s just a matter of few days and then it will be over. This stupid infatuation", thought Nafisa.

"I wish she would say something. I can see it in her eyes, but why doesn’t she speak. Why should I have to take the initiative. Isn’t it important for her to swallow the stupid ego of hers. I am not even going to show that I care." and Nakul realized what a superhuman effort this resolve had taken since evening. Suddenly he felt drained.

“Beech raah mein dilbar, bichad jaaye kahi hum agar, aur sooni si lage tumhey, jeevan ki ye dagar...” the singer continued, in a warm baritone. His choice of song had drawn people closer to the dais, and everyone realized the import of the lyrics. Eyes were moist, hearts were heavy and people tapped feet to accompany the singer.

"I will go get a drink", said Nakul. He needed a break from her. His mask was breaking away and he could not allow that to happen.

Suddenly Nafisa could take it no longer. The party, the song, Nakul's non-chalant, devil may care, I don’t give a damn attitude, the plastic smile that she had been wearing since evening, it all made her feel exhausted. She felt she would break down any moment. She looked around. No one was paying any attention to her. The singer on the stage had just finished singing and people were demanding an encore. Nakul had been caught by one their professors on his way back from the bar and they were talking something.

Looking at him from this distance, his profile outlined against the backdrop of the party, put a lump in her throat. Without saying anything to anyone, she picked her car keys and quietly left. She knew her batch mates would ask for an explanation the next day, but at that moment she didn’t care for anything.

The distance from Secunderabad to Banjara Hills is approximately 15 kilometers. When Nakul returned with the drink and found Nafisa gone, he looked at his watch; it was 11:45 PM. He was at her doorstep at exactly 11:53 PM. Later he would recall that this was the only time he had driven that fast, and try as he would to cover the distance in the same time, he never could repeat that feat. That night was different though. He was a man on a mission and he had realized that his entire life depended on the success of that mission.

Nafisa opened the door on the fifth knock. Her eyes were swollen and she refused to look at him. Nakul entered the room, with the familiarity of a person who has been used to coming and going at all hours on his own. "Why did you leave like that?" His voice was irritated and strained.

"I guess I was tired. I needed to get out of there." Nafisa's voice came almost in whisper.

"Yeah right. You feel tired suddenly. And you leave us all in the middle just like that. Like we are fools to be looking around where Miss Nafisa Siddiqui might be" Nakul was shouting now.

"Nakul, I want you to go now. Please"

"Ok. Right. I am leaving. I just came to tell you one thing. I am madly in love with you. I cant think of living without you. I thought for once you cared enough for me to say that, but I guess I was wrong. Anyways, I love you. And if you love me too, then say it now. Otherwise I will go and never show you my face again."

Nafisa looked up. Teas swelled in her eyes, but she smiled. "You could not have been more rude. You egotistic bastard! Is this the way you ask for a lady's hand?"

They made love that night. It happened naturally, without there even realizing it. And it had the pent up energy, passion and emotions of two years. It was as if there bodies had melted into one and there spirits were connecting at a spiritual level.
Nafisa felt herself melting in Nakuls arms, and she reached a height where the world seemed not to matter and she felt dizzy. She clung to Nakul tightly. Nakul wanted to give Nafisa everything he had. He wanted his soul to melt into Nafisa's and become one. He touched her body passionately yet gently. Finally, exhausted but enriched, they snuggled into each others arms and went off to sleep. An innocent smile on both there faces. Two tired children who had had a long and adventurous journey and whom Mother Nature had finally put to bed.

Hindu-Muslim marriages in India are few and far between. People like to recall them only as examples of communal harmony and hope it happens to the next door girl or boy. We like to cite the marriage of Akbar and Jodhabai, as an example of our greatness and our feeling of brotherhood and oneness. But if our own son or daughter tries to follow that path, we try to break their legs and set an example for the younger siblings at home. Hypocrisy is the psyche of Indians.

Mr. Mushtaq Siddiqui, Honorable Chief Justice, High Court of Raipur, promised to destroy Nakul and his family, if Nafisa married him. He told that in so many words to his daughter. He realized he was powerless to stop her. She was legally of age, independent, lived in urban society, and was correct in what she was saying.


"Abba, Nakul is smart, intelligent, and rich. He has everything you would want in a prospective son-in-law. And you know that too. You like him don’t you? Just because he is a Hindu and I am Muslim, a fact about which neither of us had any choice, I am not going to let you destroy my life." She had said this to him when he had met Nakul the first time. Nafisa had asked her to come down to Hyderabad immediately.

Mr. Siddiqui's worst night mare was coming true. Her daughter was getting married on her own. That in itself was a very bold step in their community. And on top of that a Hindu boy. He would be excommunicated. The Siddiquis were an old family of Raipur, much respected and honored in the community. Now his daughter was going to ruin it all, and he was feeing helpless.

"You are a whore. I curse never to be happy. Breaking you parent’s hearts and walking over family pride like this." That’s all her mother had said. And she had slapped her. Nafisa had never met her mother again. She didn’t wish to either. Her mother would never understand.

They got married at the office of the registrar of marriages in Jaipur, where the Soods originally belonged to. A small wedding party was hosted by Nakul's parents in the evening at there ancestral bungalow outside Jaipur. Nakul's parents had been easy. "They couldn’t care less", Nakul had said. The fact was that Mr. Anil Sood, having spent all his life in London, and having recently arrived in India, was completely disconnected from the issues that Mr. Mushtaq Siddiqui was dealing with.

In the first month of their marriage they realized the difference between a friend and a spouse. As friends they were willing to excuse a lot of things in each other. As spouses, they were doubly impatient, arguing about all little things. But unlike most couples who would rather sulk and crib to their parents or friends, they fought it out between themselves in the open and then patched up.

Then Nafisa discovered that she was pregnant. And it changed the world for her. Things went out of control from there. She became irritable, unhappy, and impatient. And Nakul ran out of patience, not being able to balance the pressures of work life with the constant bickering and quarrelling at home. He began to spend more time out of home. He had managed to talk Nafisa into having the baby, but now he felt wasn’t as sure as before.

Three months before her expected date, Nakul's mother took her to Jaipur. With the motherly instinct she knew what was happening between her son and daughter-in-law and she did not want it to affect the baby. Nafisa's parents had disowned her from the day of her wedding. To them she was dead. So Nafisa Nakul Sood, went to live in the ancestral Sood Niwas, where 4 generations of Soods had been born and grown up in royal luxury and splendor. For Nakul and Nafisa, life was never ever the same.


Part III

It was 10 AM, Monday morning and Nakul was busy preparing for the client meeting, due in 2 hours. He had barely slept for 5 hours in the past two days. They were on the verge of closing a very important deal. It could make or break the company's future and he was going through the details one last time. He simply couldn’t afford to make a mistake this time.

When his cell phone rang, he kept staring at it for three minutes. He had almost forgotten that he had that ring tone. It was the Nescafe ring tone and he had assigned it to only one person. That person hadn’t called in the past two years even once. He thought he was hallucinating. Drowsiness made his reaction slow. He missed the first call. Two minutes later the cell rang again. this time he jumped for it.

"Nafisa..." he couldn’t say anything else. His tongue felt like lead. He waited.

"Nakul", Nafisa was in tears, "Aroha is very sick Nakul. She is in the hospital. I am feeling very helpless. I don’t know what to do."

Cold sweat ran from Nakul's temples. He felt that his knees were failing. "Aroha was sick. Sick enough for Nafisa to swallow her ego and call him. What could be so wrong."

"Nakul I need you..." Nafisa cried.

"Yes, Nafisa. I am taking the first flight out of here. Which Hospital? Apollo. Ok, I will be there in 4 hours. I want you to get a hold on yourself. Yes meet me at the reception desk. Yes I am starting now."

Nakul disconnected the cell and dialed his secretary. "Jennifer, cancel all my appointments and get me the next flight to Hyderabad. Get a car ready at both ends. And please ask Rishi to handle the Leroy presentation and meeting. No, I cant talk to him right now. Yes he knows everything, and I will leave my laptop here. No don’t call me on my cell. I am not to be disturbed till I call back. Now hurry."

He didn’t let his mind relax until he was on the flight to Hyderabad. Thank god his name had enough clout to get last minute tickets on any flight to anywhere. He hadn’t been to Hyderabad since his graduation. He knew Nafisa was there. When she had left Jaipur that evening, without telling anyone, she had gone straight to Hyderabad. That was Nafisa. Running away from situations.
This time he hadn’t followed her. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. But his pride had stopped him. He had kept track of her without letting her know. But he had been waiting for her to call this time. Even if it took a whole lifetime, he wanted Nafisa to take the initiative. But he had never thought it would come this way.

Set in the lush, green surroundings of Hyderabad's Jubilee Hills, surrounded by sprawling bungalows of ministers, film stars and businessmen, lies the huge Apollo campus. For a hospital of its name and size, the road that leads to it is a disappointment. Branching off the main road, a small lane winds up into the hills. On both sides are architectural marvels, which some people have the fortune of calling their homes. This lane winds higher and gets narrower and suddenly takes a left turn. You find yourself surrounded by auto rickshaws, snack bars, STD Booths, medical shops. Here the posh ultra rich
neighbourhood of Jubilee hills, have yielded way to the common man's everyday needs when he comes to hospital.

As Nakul walked into the huge, crowded reception hall, his eyes searched for Nafisa. He couldn’t see her anywhere. It was dark inside and his eyes were dazed by the bright sunlight outside. Someone tapped from behind. He turned around and saw her. She hadn’t changed a bit from the last time he had seen her two years ago.

There eyes met and the next instant they embraced each other. "She is going to die Nakul, my baby's going to die. Please save her."

"Nafisa, control yourself. I am here, don’t worry. And tell me what’s wrong."

"Spina bifida, or the leaking of the spinal cord, is a birth condition characterized by an incomplete closure of the spine. It happens to two in every 1000 children. It can be very severe, but luckily in Aroha’s case it is a minor affliction, known as the Spina Bifida occulta. This means that by performing an operation on her spine, we can ensure that Aroha has a normal happy life in the future. The operation involves a incision at the lower back..." Nakul wasn’t paying anymore attention to what the doctor was saying. He felt tired and drained and he just wanted to know one thing, would Aroha be alright? His weary mind tried to find out the answer to this one question, from the tirade of information, charts and X Rays that the doctor bombarded him with.

As the lights of the operation theatre came on, Nakul felt a cold dread in his heart. "It’s a dangerous operation Mr. Sood, and the success rates are very low. But we have got to take a call. That’s her only chance. But don’t worry; we have the best doctors in the world."

He hadn’t seen Aroha at all in the past two years. His pride, his ego had prevented him from calling Nafisa up even though she was always in his thoughts. Oh why had he been so foolish? Why did he have such a big ego? He had wasted two years. "Please god. Please let her live." he prayed silently.

The operation lasted 18 hours. And for 18 hours Nakul and Nafisa sat hugging each other. Hoping against hope. Praying fervently. Counting on each other for strength. Nafisa would fall asleep in fits and suddenly wake up with a start in Nakul's arms. Those 18 hours had brought them closer than they ever had been in the past 2 years.

Finally the doctors came out. "Congratulations Mr. Sood. It’s been an extremely successful operation. Aroha will be a perfectly normal child now. No Mrs. Sood, we are sorry you can’t go near her for another 48 hours. It’s a very tedious operation for the child and her body needs to recover. But don’t worry, she is perfectly alright now."

Nakul suddenly wanted to hug the doctor, or jump with joy, or do something equally crazy. Instead he smiled funnily and thanked the doctors. Nafisa was too overcome with tears to say anything. She just kept crying and nodded when he asked if she was alright.

"Mr. Sood, I think both of you should go get some rest now. It’s been a long watch for you. We will take care of your daughter right now. You will need the strength once she is discharged from the hospital, so please conserve it", the doctor advised.

They drove to Nafisa's place. It was the same old apartment where she used to stay in her college days. They were exhausted beyond the point of sleep. Nafisa offered to get some coffee. Nakul sat in the verandah and switched his cell phone on. He hadn’t thought of his work at all in the past two days. Now he wondered what had happened to the Leroy deal. Had Rishi handled it well?

"Rishi, Nakul here. Yes I am fine. Yes Aroha is fine too. Thanks man. Tell me what happened. Ok. That’s good. Great. And he agreed to all the terms? Oh, that’s not a problem. Ok don’t worry, I will manage it. Just ask Jennifer to make my travel arrangements. And an immediate return too Please. Thanks a lot"

Nafisa came and sat beside him, coffee and sandwiches on tray. "So Mr. Sood. Off again?" She was smiling, and there was no complain in her eyes. That surprised Nakul. He had been dreading the explanations he would have to make.

Nafisa read his thoughts, "Nakul, you have been here exactly when I needed you. And I realized how stupid I have been. I have missed you in these past two years but I didn’t realize how much I missed you until yesterday when I was sitting besides you, with my head on your shoulders. I am sorry Nakul. I let my ego destroy our love. I promise I won’t let that happen again. I will never ever run away like that. Never."

Nakul got up and sat besides her. "Don’t be silly Nafisa. It was my fault. I made big deals of small issues. And I should have hunted you out. I missed you girl. I missed you every second of every day. And I missed so much of Aroha. I cant tell you how much I am looking forward to make that up as a father. Two years wasted. I cant curse myself enough"

"Why didn’t you call Nakul? Just one time. If you had called just one time, I would have come running." Nafisa was in tears again.

"Hey old girl, no more crying. The worst is over now. I am here and whether we fight or whether we make love, we will stick around till kingdom come. Deal."

"Now listen, I have to go sign few documents in Pune and return. I will be back by tomorrow this time and then we will go get our daughter together. Aroha. Honestly, I like the name."

"It means unconditional love." said Nafisa and they both smiled.

"Now you go to bed. I will take a cab and get going. I will call you once I reach Pune." They kissed each other passionately.
Long after Nakul had gone, Nafisa sat in the verandah sitting and thinking. It had been very tough time. After the initial sense of freedom and independence she had begun to miss Nakul terribly. For the past one year, she had waited for his phone call everyday. But her ego wouldn’t let her call him. Until the day she found about Aroha's dreadful illness. And she was glad that she loved Aroha enough that it had helped her overcome her ego and go back to Nakul. And now, finally, everything was alright. They were together again, Aroha was in their lives and it would be just perfect.

A distant sound woke her form her fitful sleep. It was her cell phone. She woke with a start and realized that she had fallen asleep on the sofa in the verandah. It was pitch dark outside. It must be Nakul, she thought. And ran to get the call.

"Hello"

"Hello, can I talk to Mrs. Sood?" the voice was not Nakul's. It was a stranger.

"Speaking."

"Mrs. Sood...this is Nakul's colleague. Rishi. Mrs. Sood there’s something I have to tell you..." he was sounding very hesitant, and it irritated Nafisa. What can it be. Why couldn’t Nakul have called.

"Yes go ahead please...." she said, barely able to mask her irritation.

"Mrs. Sood, Nakul had an accident on his way back from the airport. It was a hit and run with a truck. I am sorry to say this...he was found spot dead by the police...Mrs. Sood, Hello, are you there Mrs. Sood?"

She was no longer on the line. Mrs. Nafisa Sood had fainted.

Waiting For My Novel

when words leap up from the page
hold hands and perform a dance.

when letters come to life, roll out a stage,
switch on the lights and enact a play.

when the black ink metamorphoses,
into different colours and paints a picture.

when sentences change into notes,
and instruments and become music on their own.

when characters walk and talk,
and make the reader's mind beautiful.

that day my novel would have arrived,
and my muse shall be at peace.

The Moon and The River

This is the story of a moon. Not the one that you see every night from your bedroom window, which bathes you in a soothing light and in the middle of extreme darkness, keeps you silent, constant company. This is the story of another moon, exactly like the one you see, but in a universe far away from this one.

It was a lonely moon, in a big universe. But it was beautiful, spotless and when its light fell on the earth, people looked up in warm admiration and praised its beauty. The moonlight had a certain captivating charm in it and its magic touched the hearts of many. Every night, when the moon came out of the clouds and bathed the earth below with its milky light, the earthlings looked up and wondered - if the moonlight is so beautiful, then how much more beautiful the moon itself would be. The earthlings began to want the moon. They began to long to possess the moon and love it.

The moon would look down at the earth people with a sad longing. It was lonely up there and it needed company. But there was a secret that it hid from others, and it dared not come into close proximity with others, for fear that its secret would out. It was afraid that once people came close to it, and knew the truth, they would no longer love and admire it as much as they did now. And so the moon chose to be friendless and lonely on the roof of the world, looking at things below, spreading happiness, calmness, light and hope, while itself remaining sad and deserted.

But what were these secrets that the moon guarded so closely? What made it chose this path of solitude and sorrow, when so many loved and longed for it? The answer was simple yet complex. The moon was cursed to be dry and barren. There was no life on it. As beautiful as it was from afar, the moon did not have the potential to sustain life on itself. For it lacked the single most important thing that man requires to live - the moon had no water on it. And therefore it had no life sustaining quality. And this curse had led to the death of many near and dear ones. Earthlings who had fallen in love with the moon, and whom the moon too had loved in return. Earthlings who had tried hard and for whom the moon too had tried hard. But none of them could last, and the pain and tragedy had left the moon drier still. and lonelier still. and therefore the moon chose to remain alone now, having accepted the fact that life for it was a life of solitude.

then it so happened, that during one of its nightly sojourns, the moonlight fell on a small river. the crystal clear water reflected the moonlight and the moon could see its own beautifully sad face in it. the river was busy playing with its friends on the banks, when a milky light covered it and lit up its dark world. it had a feeling of warmth that was unprecedented.

the river and the moon became friends. the moon was thirsty and lonely. though it could not drink the river's water, gazing at the river made it happy and it did not feel as dry and as lonely. The river was happy too. In centuries someone had shown care for it and provided it company. In centuries some one had come to its lonely bank for the first time spread a warm light all around, making the river more beautiful.

In this way time flowed on, and this mutual friendship grew stronger and deeper. Every night, the river would wait at its bank for the moon to come out of behind the clouds, and every night the moon would longingly delay its stay by the river banks. they would talk, reflect in each others selves, share stories, joys and experiences, and keep each other company.
They became the best of friends. As there friendship grew in strength and intensity, the river began to see that the moon was never completely happy. even when it was laughing, there would be a subtle sadness in it. even when it seemed to be completely carefree, its eyes had a tinge of sadness in them. " what makes you sad my sweet one? why do I always see an emptiness in your eyes, even when you laugh" One night the river asked.

" Nothing. Nothing but this fatal knowledge that I am predestined to live alone. that I am cursed to be dry and barren so that even though I long for people, I cant ave any around me. I cant sustain life. I am weak and cursed to be lonely."

" And is there no way to break this curse" the river thought to itself. " can I not give myself to my moon and quench its thirst forever?" This thought began to haunt the river day and night now. The more he met the moon, the more he looked in her eyes, and the more he felt the sadness in them. This sadness permeated into his heart and created a strong desire to solve the moons wish - the wish that it were not dry.

and so it sought the help of the witch who lived on its banks below the mountains. " There is only one way that you might do this little one. You must travel to the moon, so that it can drink you and be quenched of its thirst. but be aware of this, that the journey to the moon is fraught with dangers on the way. and no river has made it till now. it will take you 400 years to reach the moon. and 300 years will be dark and you shall not see her in that time. others will as to drink from you, and though you will be tempted, you must drive them away from your banks. remember that once you pledge your water to the moon, it belongs to the moon you will freeze on the way, and all the life in you will die. and when you are melted again, you must start from scratch."

" that is not all. the moon may itself deny you. it will refuse to take your offerings, refuse to believe you. through all this you must be composed and consistent. in the darkest of hours, in the saddest and loneliest of moments, you must keep your calm and trudge ahead. In my 1000 years of life, I have never seen a river reach up there. Men have done it, but men have not lasted. rivers have never done it."

"Go, if you are so determined, I shall tell you the way and the manner. But remember this. Even though you may reach her and obtain her, you will lose your own identity."

The river listened with bated breath, and then replied. " o wise witch, thanks for your advise, but every river has a destination. All flow to the sea, I shall flow to the moon. That is perhaps what I was born for. we must at all times do what our heart calls us to do. and my heart calls me to travel to the moon and unite with her. And for that, and also for quenching the thirst of those eyes, I shall go through all trials and tribulations.”

“Then, god bless you my child. Nothing wrong will ever come from this because whatever is done from the heart’s desire is always pure and leads to greatness. Therefore though your journey maybe difficult, your destination will be beautiful.”

And so the river began its journey. and immediately, all life in it began to leave it. for it was leaving its normal course and going to an unknown place. no one wanted to be with it any longer and the river was left alone. slowly it rose, from the path where it had lain for centuries, over the mountains and valleys where it had been flowing through, and started towards the dark distance space.

a hundred years passed, and the moon was nowhere in sight. the witch had been right in her predictions. the river could no longer see the moon. But it kept on going. though it was lonely, tired and heartbroken, it kept going. cold waves swept it and froze it. darkness made him lose his way. but he kept going. whenever he felt that he could not go ay far, it remembered the thirsty eyes of the moon and started again.

then one day, the river's journey ended, and it knocked on the moon's door. " Who are you?" the moon asked. Three hundred years of separation had made the moon forget the river. " I am your friend the river. Remember back to the days when we used to play with your moonlight on my banks? the days when we talked all night and days when you cried and laughed with me.
remember the days when you peered into me and seeing your beautiful reflection there, became immensely happy. don’t you remember anything of that?"

" yes I do. but where did you disappear? and why have you come here all the way?" the moon was still sad and lonely and on that particular day was feeling very bad. it did not know why the river was there and it did not want it there. all it wanted was to be left alone. so, without listening to the river, it just closed its doors. and so the river in that cold outer space, half freezing, half dying, broken hearted and lonely, just waiting for the moon to open her door and accept it.

meanwhile the moon, kept its journey though the universe. earthlings came and earthlings went. but it was still the same - cold, dry, sad and alone. One night, tired and beaten, the moon fell asleep. It was centuries since it had fallen asleep, and there was darkness on the earth below. everybody wondered what was wrong - for the moonlight had never failed them ever.

through all this commotion about it, the moon slept - a fitful tired slumber - and dreamt. It was strange dream. in the dream the saw a beautiful land, with shady trees, green lawns lined with flowers, crystal clear pools which reflected the blue sky above. it saw children playing in the parks, and it heard much laughter and merriment and it saw many people - happy people every where. It was such a happy dream that the moon smiled in happiness. " what land was this? it tried to peer closely. the modulations in the mountains, the valleys, the plateaus, why did they all look so familiar yet so strange? why did she have
the feeling that it had seen this land somewhere? and then, in a flash it struck her - that she was seeing herself in the dream.

but she had been transformed. she was no longer dry, or lonely or sad. she was green and alive and full of life giving strength. she was a new moon and now she was as beautiful from close as she had been from afar. her ageless thirst had been quenched. and her sadness and loneliness had bid adieu. her eyes were truly happy.

the moon woke up, and opened the door. and without stood the river, smiling. with open arms she welcomed him. there was a gushing sound as the river entered the door. Centuries of thirst, centuries of pain and desire, on both sides, were finally quenched, as each of them lost there identities and mingled into the other. and when this was over there was neither the moon nor the river. in their stead, stood a happy park, full of shady trees, green lawns and beautiful flowers. where children played with abandon and laughter and joy reigned supreme. where the sun shone by the day and the moonlite filled the night. and where there was no thirst, for there was a hidden river to quench the thirst.

ekti nodir gaan ~ the song of a river (bangla poem)

aami ekta nadi
aamar ekta shuru ache, kothau ekta shesh o aache
shuru ta aamar mone nei, shesh ta jaani na kobey hobey
aar aache du to teer, du dikey shimanaheen, ofuronto

aami kothau thaami na, aami kothau daarai na
aami stheer na, aami chonchol,
aami kothau gobhir, kothau patla,
kothau kothin kothau ba nirmol

aami shobar otocho karur na
aami shobjaeygaey, otocho kothau nei
aami nejei trishok, nijei tripto
aami bondio otocho unmukto

aami kokhono ekta dondo
aabar kokhono shoja chondo
aami kokhono shotti, kokhono mitthe
aabar kokhono ekdom bondo

aami kokhono jeebon daata
aaabar kokhono dhongsher srot
aami kokhono utthan, kokhono poton
aami bidhatar haater jot

aami ekta nadi
aamake jeno bedhona kokhono
aamar teerey eesho, kichu shomae bosho
tomar mon kharap hobey jokhono

aamar bukey lukiye aachey
hajar loker lokho kotha
taader haashi, taader kanna
taader khushi taader betha

bondhu jokhon jeebon juddhey
kokhono thokey jaao
kokhono jodi betha ba trishnaey
choltey choltey theymey jaao

Tokhon money koro aamey
aami thakbo tomar kaachei
aamar jole mitabo trishna
aar hobo tomar bedonaar shaathi

A Narration of Affairs

" All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts..."

I do not think I shall come across a more apt philosophy on life than this all-encompassing definition put forward by Shakespeare. Everyday about a dozen times I am reminded that I too am a mere actor, playing countless different roles in countless concurrent plays going on the world's stage. In this story though, I am a mere narrator. The principle actors are yet to be introduced.

In the hundreds of cities in our country, there are thousands of colleges where quite a few lakh boys and girls study. This story is perhaps common to almost every college in every city. I happened to be a part of one of them.

Amol liked the girl from the very first day he saw her. That very day while walking home he told me that he had finally found the girl he was looking for - a junior named Anu. I had not seen her then so I did not comment anything. To be honest I did not take the matter very seriously. Amol liked a lot of girls. Quite a few of them reciprocated his feelings. Though not conventionally good looking, Amol had sharp features, a sharper mind and a gift of the gab. He had the unique ability to blend with and become the darling of a group in matter of minutes. Amol was a general favorite in all circles.

The next day I saw Anu. To say that she was beautiful would be an understatement. She was tall, extremely fair and lissome. It was natural that men found her attractive. I made a casual comment on her in my usual nonchalant manner, the normal tone in which we discussed all his female interests. To my utter surprise he took offense, made a curt reply and changed the topic.

Anu did not figure again in our discussions and for all practical purposes I had forgotten about her and the discussion that Amol and I had had, days ago. College life and pressures of a career occupied me completely. This was our last year in graduation and everyone was worried about getting admission into graduate school. We were neighbors and often used to walk back and forth from college together, but this last year meant different electives for each of us, so our timings were completely different. We went without seeing or hearing from each other for days, and it often surprised me how the pace and pressure of modern life can become a barrier between people who had been together since childhood. We both knew that we were there, just a shouts distance from one another. But none of us actually bothered to shout aloud and say hello. We just took our relation for granted.

It had now been almost a month since I had seen Amol, and I became a bit restless about it. On that day I decided that I had to see him anyhow. So after my class was over, I waited in the library because I knew he had an evening class. I had an hour to waste so I wandered to the English literature sections, where I hadn’t visited this semester. Literature was a passion for me, but the pressure of studies meant that I had no time for it nowadays. I was roaming around the galleries and wondering when I would find time to read all these books, when a sweet voice called me from behind, " Excuse me Raj, have you seen Amol around?" It was Anu.

I was taken completely off balance, first by finding myself looking directly into a pair of the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen and second because the way she took mine and Amol's name, it appeared that she knew us for ages. I was about to mutter something to the effect that I hadn’t seen him for a month now and that I myself was waiting for him but I found myself paralyzed by her beauty and innocence.

The situation was saved by the character in question himself appearing on the scene. "Hi Anu, sorry man I was held up by the traffic, extremely sorry". "Hey u, where the hell have you been. I was wondering just this morning", this to me.

" Well looks like even though our lives are separated, our minds still think in tandem. I was thinking about you myself this morning", said I. Then pulling him a little aside, I said, " you little bastard, when did this start. And you didn’t even bother to tell me. "

Amol glanced at Anu once and then looked back at me with a cat-that-ate-the-canary look. " Hey listen, why don’t we do a night-out today. Tomorrows Saturday so we can sleep late and there’s lots of things I need to tell you, but I must get going now or she will kill me", he pleaded.

" Ohho!! So things have reached this far, have they? Holy shit, and that day when I asked aunty, she said you were spending time in the library preparing for the CAT. I can now see what kind of cat. Listen, I need an explanation, or I am going to report matters to the head quarter - you know that aunty believes every word I say as gospel."

"You are going to do no such thing. What are you, a friend or enemy? C’mon man, I wanted to tell you long back. It’s just that we didn’t meet. Have I ever hidden anything from you? Now let me go. We are already late"

All this time, that sweet little girl was standing at the corner looking at us with mix of complete bewilderment. I could understand that look on her face. Amol’s friendship and mine was unique in its own way. When we were together we gelled so well that a third person felt left out of our inner circle and was always left wondering what we were up to.

That night, over five cups of coffee and a packet of Parle G, Amol told me his story. Things had happened very quickly with them. He had tried to talk to Anu but never found her alone. They did get to know each other at a friend’s party, but that was very formal and distant. Finally Amol did something, which normally is only done by heroes of masala Hindi films. He stopped her on her way home and told her that he liked her and wanted to become friends. It then turned out there feelings were mutual. For some people, life is served on a golden platter, ready to eat. But they are the unlucky ones; because they don’t realize the value of things they hold.

Over the months I keenly watched Amol and Anu's relation grow. My interest in them as a friend was doubled by the fact that I found it very strange that two people who had hardly known each other for a few months could develop such a strong attachment towards one another. In my dictionary, attachment needed time to develop. Love was a tree, which needed time to grow from a seed, nurtured by the careful hands of care and commitment. How could two people who had hardly been with each other for two months say with certainty that they would be unable to live without each other?

It was a strange relation that defied conventional explanations and definitions. Its intensity made me think of a whirlwind, which had arisen in the midst of a calm field from apparently nowhere and was now shaking the entire field. From sitting together for hours at the canteen and the library, to talking for hours on the phone, making false excuses to visit each other’s homes and exchanging gifts, they went through all the motions that lovers typically go through. But they did make a wonderful pair and I felt happy for them.

As for the two of us, we hardly spent much time together. I was busy as usual and Amol was doubly busy. But we did keep track of each other, doing our Saturday night-outs or sharing a cup of coffee at the canteen. All these brief meetings were essentially dominated by Anu, so that I came to know and understand this girl, to whom I had hardly talked, very well.

Slowly a picture began to emerge - of a girl who had had troubled past, estranged parents and had had close brushes with poverty in her childhood. But now things had improved and she lived with her father and brother. But from the many incidences that Amol narrated I began to see her as a very insecure person who clung tightly to the things that were dear to her. A girl who always felt the need to be reassured of things. This insecurity and need for reassurance bordered on the edge of selfishness. Like the times when she would call up Amol suddenly and ask him to come down and meet her immediately. Amol lived 20 kms away from Anu’s place. And her times were all late evenings or hot sunny afternoons. I must give credit to Amol that he never complained.

But there was a softer childish side also. The side, which made her, fall sick when Amol had an accident and was hospitalized. The side, which made her, sit by Amol’s bed for a week and nurse him out of the illness. These acts astounded me because I had not attributed her to be a type of person capable of doing such things. In this way 4 months passed and this whirlwind affair was now famous across the campus and the two had been officially coupled off.

We always have a habit of messing our lives with our own hands. I have often seen people complicate situations by actions, which they don’t comprehend fully in the beginning. Perhaps my point will become clearer as I progress on this narration. It was the last week of November when Anu had to go to her maasi's place in the next city. It was just 80 kms - just a 2-hour drive from our place - but both Amol and Anu behaved as if she was going beyond the seven seas. But that I suppose is the way with lovers. They will make big issues of such small things. No amount of pleading, fighting or cribbing could avoid the trip. Her father turned a deaf ear to her. And she realized that she had to go so she resigned herself to a month's separation from Amol. Little did she know that she was up against a more powerful adversary than her father - fate herself.

I think it was fate that played this entire game. Otherwise why did it happen that the day Anu left town, it somehow got into Amol's head that he wanted to test Anu. I wasn’t very much aware of all these things until about a week after Anu had left I received a phone call from her. She was close to tears. " Is something wrong with Amol. He hasn’t called once since I left town and he isn’t even answering my phone calls. Is he sick or something? " I was a bit taken aback. I was completely unaware of his whereabouts for the past one week, but I was sure that nothing serious had happened otherwise I would definitely had known. Then why the hell hadn’t he called her, I wondered. " No, he is doing fine. I met him just the other day. I think his phone lines are disrupted or something." I lied.

" Listen Anu, don’t worry, I will tell him that you called and he will get back to you. I am sure there is some confusion." I reassured her, thinking that I would lick the bastard first thing in the evening. " Please do that Raj. I am awfully worried about him. I hope his asthma hasn’t returned or something." She said in a half sinking voice.

"I am not going to call her or reply to her phone calls. I am testing her." This was Amol’s reply to my question. I couldn’t believe my ears first. It took me some time to comprehend what he was hinting about. "I think you are crazy. Think of what she will go through, poor girl. What kind of test is this anyway? And besides it’s an outrage and an insult. How can you even think of testing someone you love - who gives you the right to do that? What if she thought the same way? What if she wanted to test you someday? How would you feel then? "

" Listen, lets not argue on this. I am doing this for both of us. Do you think I am happy doing this? Do you think that I feel nothing and that its not hurting me? But we must both go through this. It’s not only her test. It’s as much mine. We must bear this pain of separation and prove to ourselves that it is actually love and not just infatuation. Look, I know this sounds crazy but I have sound logic behind this. This is the first time after our affair started that we would actually be away for such a long period. I want to see whether our relation lasts this. And listen, Anu can test me any day she wants to. It would be fair enough."

" Amol you know what I feel. I feel like slapping right across your face. For Christ’s sake, Anu needs a brother right now who can come and bust that smart ass of yours. And if no one else is going to do it, I will. Man, have a heart. How can you make a girl as sweet as that cry? What’s got into you?" My voice was now on a high pitch. I was terribly excited at this hardhearted insipid behavior of my friend.

" Raj, I have just one thing to say to you. Stay out of this. Its my relation and its my decision and I know what I am doing is not wrong. Can’t you see man that even I am suffering? I haven’t had a night’s sleep since she went away. I can’t eat. I am missing her like hell. But I am not going to call her. We must both pass this test to prove ourselves. And if she really loves me she will understand and forgive me. "

I saw that there was no point in carrying the discussion further. We were venturing into forbidden waters and I suddenly felt very tired of the entire thing. " OK, That’s fine with me. But can you just tell me what I am supposed to say to her if she calls back? "

" Tell her that you couldn’t get through to me. Tell her that you left a message. Just think up something and tell her. I am sure you can manage." That was Amol. He would always create a situation, which involved others and expect you to handle it.

Anu didn’t call me back again. I lived in a constant fear that she would call up and I would be at a loss to explain things. I thought of numerous possible answers and explanations and all of them sounded equally vague to me. I gave up at last in despair and waited for the phone call. Fortunately it never came.

A month passed by in a jiffy. Or so it seemed to me. Because exactly 45 days to the day I had gone to Amol's house, he was at my door. His face told me that things were bad. After I heard him out, I knew that things were very bad. Anu had been in town for a week now. She had called up Amol to say hi. She hadn’t demanded an explanation from him. Neither did her voice invite him to continue the conversation. She sounded distant and cold. She had avoided him ever since then and all his attempts to meet her had failed. Amol wanted to explain things, but he needed a chance. Anu was not willing to give him that one chance.

"Its all your doing Amol. I warned you that you would mess things up. You shouldn’t be surprised. What do you expect from a person whom you go about experimenting with. I am sorry man but I don’t see how I can help you in this. And seriously, even if I cold help you, I wouldn’t. You deserve worse than this."

" Look I never thought things would turn out this way. I thought she would give me a chance to explain. And then I would explain everything and also tell her how much more I loved her now. How impossible it was for me to live these 30 days and how much I value her. I mean every word of it. Can’t you see it in my eyes? But I never thought that she would draw up such a wall all around her. You have to help me Raj. I will die otherwise."

" You know Amol, you are a fool. But you are my friend so I guess I don’t have much choice. Listen the only thing I can do is talk to her, though I don’t know what or how. Now go home and take some rest. You look really worked up."

Next day I caught up with Anu outside the canteen. " Hi Anu, how was your trip?" " Oh, Hi Raj. Thanks, the trip was fine" I could see her eyes looking questioningly at mine.

I avoided the stare. " If you have time can we have a cup of coffee together? I mean, if it’s ok with you."

" Listen Raj, I am Ok with the coffee but if you are here to discuss Amol, then you are wasting your time. "

" Anu he just needs one chance. Just let him explain things. Please just once. I am sure everything would be just fine. "

It was good that the canteen was deserted at that particular hour, because suddenly she erupted. " Ya sure things would be fine. How extremely convenient for you to say that. And how convenient for him to think that. Things were always fine weren’t they? They were fine when I was sitting their 80 kms away, wondering and worrying like a fool about a person who doesn’t even bother to call me once. Things were fine when I left message after message without a single reply. Things were very fine when I used to stay awake at nights and think what had gone wrong. Things were always fine Raj. Who said things were not fine. Listen Raj, just tell Amol that I am not like a chemistry lecture in college, which you attend when you feel like and bunk when you don’t. For god’s sake, I am a live human being. I have feelings. And I don’t want to have anything to do with a person who doesn’t respect them. That’s all. Good bye." And she picked her things and left the table, tears streaming from her eyes.

I wanted to do two things then. First I wanted to find a hole to climb in and hide myself. Second I wanted to box Amol’s ears. I did neither. I just sat there and looked at the ants on the table carrying away breadcrumbs to their homes.

September approached and with it the deadline for the entrance exams. I found a new ally now in my night outs – Amol. After my meeting with Anu in the canteen, he had suddenly given up everything and returned to his books. He had listened to the entire episode calmly, then looked at me with watery eyes and said, " You were right Raj. I have murdered my love with my own hands. I know Anu; she is never going to forgive me. It’s all over and I am responsible for it. "

No amount of coaxing or convincing on my part would make him try to talk to Anu one more time. He went around with a dazed look for some days. Then one night at about 12 I had a knock on my study room. It was Amol, with a pile of books under his arms. We can run from everything on earth but we cant run from ourselves. When our conscience decides to punish us, we must punish ourselves in one way or other. Amol chose work and began studying like a man possessed.

It was some time before I learnt the complete story behind Amol’s sudden work holism. He was trying to escape from something. He was trying to run away. I first picked it up from a gossip in the campus canteen. I wasn’t exactly listening until I heard the name Anu. The other name that they were taking was not familiar to my ears. It was someone called Tanvir. A few days later I saw Anu with a guy, whom I instinctively knew was Tanvir. They were sitting at the lounge in Barista. Since they were sitting at an angle to the road, I could see them clearly for about a minute or so without either of them seeing me. Tanvir looked like a handsome young man to me.

Slowly I gathered the entire story in bits and pieces. Tanvir was Anu's classmate and a very good friend of hers. He too had loved her from the very beginning but had lost out to Amol in the race. All this I gathered from the campus grapevine. However I could not find out where things were standing between the two at the moment. That the two were going around together was clear now. I had seen them quite a number of times and I was sure that Amol knew about it too, though I never brought the topic up.

I often mused about it, often worried about Amol, but I was helpless. We never discussed Anu again. Infact of late we hardly discussed anything except the oncoming entrance exams. It was clear that Amol was killing himself with the amount of pressure he was under. But I knew that if he let go even for a moment, he would rip apart emotionally. So I too kept things keyed up too.

When we are in the middle of things, time passes by like sand from between the fingers. Before we realize it, things are done, events become memories and the days for which we have waited and prepared for long, are suddenly over. Its almost like we are mesmerized into a state where we have no sense of the clock and the calendar. It takes something to jolt you out of this mesmerized state. For us it was the invitation to the college farewell.

It arrived on one sunny January afternoon with the mail. It had been a hectic week. The entrance exam results had been declared. Both of us had done well and we used to spend hours deliberating over our choice of graduate school. It was a stress of its own kind. In the middle of one such heated argument the farewell invitation arrived, and suddenly we realized that the class of 2001 would meet on 31st January for the last time before being dissolved - forever.

I will not bore my readers with details of the farewell. I have cherished memories of it, but I am sure each one of you has the same memories of your own farewell. But I must briefly mention it here. It holds some importance in this narration. A farewell to the class of 2001 was to be given by the class of 2002. And both Anu and Tanvir were a part of that class. I wondered whether Amol would go at all, because I knew he would be under tremendous emotional pressure. But Amol didn’t show any emotion on his face. It was the same determined and resolute look that I had been seeing for the past few months now. The only place that betrayed any emotion was his eyes, and he never let you look long into them.

From the evening of the farewell, I was terribly apprehensive and concerned about my friend. My apprehension increased when I saw Anu and Tanvir enter together. Anu looked ravishingly beautiful. Amol was sitting in one corner of the auditorium - all by himself. I looked over to him, but he seemed lost in thoughts. As I looked away, my eyes met Anu's and our eyes were locked for a moment - and then she looked away. But that brief moment told me the entire story. I knew she was not in love with Tanvir. And I knew she was waiting for Amol to come to her.

I still remember that night clearly and whenever I think of it I can’t help thinking about it as an "if-only" night. It was a mad night, full of shouting, dancing, cheering and celebrations. For the 80 odd people gathered there tonight was there night. It was here and it was secure. Tomorrow they would enter into an unknown, uncharted territory, all alone. But for Anu and Amol it was a night full of "if-onlys". If-only Anu had been alone and not with Tanvir. If only Amol had stepped up to her and asked her to come with him for a moment. If only he had listened to me and believed me when I told him what I had seen in Anu's eyes.

" What do you know of a woman's eyes, you flaming geek? You leave that to me. I am the expert here." It was supposed to sound like a joke but from his semi choked throats it sounded like a request to my ears to leave him alone. He avoided eye contact got up from his seat and went outside. I followed him. " Listen Raj, if Anu had cared for me she wouldn’t have come with Tanvir today. She doesn’t love me any longer. And its right I think, because I deserve it."

" You know what your problem is Amol. You make too many assumptions on your own. You cook things in that stubborn head of yours without even thinking of taking an opinion or asking others involved in your life. First you create situations with one set of assumptions and then when things are messed up you wont solve them, but will just sit there with another set of assumptions. How can you know what is going on in Anu's mind. You are not God? For heaven's sake man go and talk to her once. She is waiting; I can see it in her eyes. Please, if not for yourself then for her. "

But it was typically Amol. Once he had made a set of boundaries around himself he would never venture out of them unless he was personally convinced about it. No amount of coaxing, shouting, reasoning, threatening or insults could budge him. He was stubborn to a point, which I felt was suicidal. Throughout that night he maintained that had Anu wanted to give him a chance she would not have been with Tanvir. " I don’t want to create a scene today and be remembered by my class as the guy who got kicked by a junior girl. That’s something that I cannot go through. "

Amol’s call letter came in February. The country's best business school had accepted his application. He took it all very stoically. He came to my place and told me as a matter of fact that he would be leaving town next month - A day after the final exams. A few days later I received my letter. Finally after 22 long years of friendship we were to be separated - he would go to Ahmedabad and I to Hyderabad.

After that time flew by in a jiffy. There were the final exams to prepare for. Then there were the last minute formalities and running around the college for our TC. It was only when I was at the station to see off Amol that we suddenly realized that it was a major event of our lives. That probably Amol and I would never be together again. Neither of us said anything about it.

And then suddenly I asked something which had been on my mind for the past few days now. " Amol, does Anu know that you are leaving? Have you told her? "

" No I haven’t. But I think she knows because the entire campus knows, so she must have heard. Why don’t you understand Raj that its all over. She will never forgive me. Otherwise she would have called me at least once. She was a nice girl Raj, but perhaps I did not deserve her. I learnt a lesson but I guess I paid too high a fee. "

At that moment the engine whistled, the signals turned green and the train began to move. I felt the timing of it was strangely symbolic - as if the train itself agreed to what Amol had just now said.

A week went by and I had just two days left in town. I was terribly homesick and lonely. Most of my friends had left town and I would be leaving too - most probably never to return. There were chores to do, people to meet and things to wind up. But amidst all that rush there was something that I had to do, a little rendezvous that I had to undertake. I could not leave peacefully with that unfinished.

It took me some time to exactly locate the house because I did not have the exact address. It was small Victorian style bungalow - the kind that the British built for their officers and was later resold to the public after Independence. The small gate led up to the thickset wooden door through a small cobblestone path. 9'o' clocks bordered the garden path. The rest f the garden was wild but strangely beautiful and inviting. I took this all in before knocking hesitantly on the door.

" Anu has been sick for the past one month. No one was allowed to see her. Its just yesterday that the doctors lifted the quarantine. I am sure she will be happy to see you. She is in the upstairs room. Go ahead. " This from a white haired kind faced gentleman who introduced himself as Anu's father. If I was shocked at the news of her sickness, it was nothing to what I saw in the upstairs room.

There, resting her head against a pillow, lying on a cot by the window, was a emaciated weak little girl - a mere reflection of the beautiful Anu that I had known. I was rendered speechless for sometime.

"Hi Raj, nice to see you. I guess I am bit out of shape now. Do pull a chair. " She smiled weakly.

" Anu, I am terribly sorry. I..err..I mean..we...never heard anything. No one told us....."

" I know. Its because no one knows. It all happened so suddenly. I was hospitalized the very next after the farewell. Only Tanvir was with me then...." her voice trailed off and she motioned for some water.

" Then why didn’t you ask Tanvir to tell us? Why didn’t he tell anyone? " I said, agitated at Tanvir's idiocy.

" Tanvir left for Australia that very night. He was scheduled to go to Australia for a long time. He had applied for immigration and his papers were ready. He never got the time I suppose. Anyway, its ok. No one has time these days. "

There was a long silence now. I was completely at loss about what to say, do or even think. I looked up at the ceiling and I must have been concentrating really hard on them because I still remember that I noticed the overhead beams were terribly thick and oversized for the house of that size.

" Raj, I hope you are not angry with me. I am sorry for that day. " Anu's voice broke the silence.

For a moment I could not recollect what she was referring to, but then I suddenly remembered, " C’mon Anu, I have almost forgotten it. Its ok, I understand it. You don’t have to apologize or anything. We are all friends aren’t we ?" I smiled and she smiled back at me.

It was becoming difficult now. Both of us knew why I had come there and both of us wanted to talk about it, but no one knew how to begin. Finally I decided to start it the easiest way. " Anu, can I ask you something? Do you still love Amol?"

Anu smiled back as if I were a child asking a very silly question. " What do you think Raj? You have seen me long enough now. And though we haven’t been very close friends, we have known each other indirectly pretty well? You tell me what you think? "

" I don’t know Anu. I am confused. I Thought you loved him madly, otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted that way, the other day in the canteen. But then I saw you with Tanvir and I heard the college rumors and that made me feel very confused. Tell me Anu, if you really love Amol, then why did you go around with Tanvir. Why did you make it appear that there was something between you and Tanvir? "

" I don’t know. When Amol didn’t call me up for that one month, I was terribly lonely. I used to cry for hours. The only person from here who used to call me up was Tanvir. And he was so nice to me always. When I returned, I was mad at Amol. He had hurt me terribly. But there was a vacuum, which I needed to fill. I didn’t have friends, because it had always been Amol and me in college. It was then that Tanvir stepped in. And Tanvir was such a nice person. I could see that he loved me, but he never let it come between us. And he never expected anything from me. He was there when I needed someone most and he knew that I still loved Amol. But he was happy with my company. We were never anything but good friends. "

" You know Raj, I kept on waiting for Amol to come to me on that farewell night. He just had to walk up to me and I would have burst into tears. It was so difficult seeing him so close to me and yet so far away. But he never came up to me and I felt that he must have stopped caring. It broke my heart."

I felt that I was listening to some soliloquy because all this time Anu was staring out of the window and talking to herself. It was good that she wasn’t looking at me because I was very close to tears myself.

When I closed the gates behind me, and stepped into the street, it was evening. A few children were playing in the street. I just stood there and watched them. As their carefree laughter and shrill voices floated across to my ears, I was transported back to my own childhood days.

Life was so simple and happy. We derived pleasure from the very smallest of things. When our hearts knew no ego. When we weren’t smart enough to assume anything and we didn’t ask too many questions. When Sunday meant just fun and Monday meant school; and friends meant everything in life. And I was again reminded of the bard's lines. Our role as children was over. We had to play now as adults and go through everything that that role demanded from us – willingly or unwillingly.