PARIJAT-5

IT IS BARREN AND DRY. THE MONSOON HAS LEFT. WINTER HAS JUST PEEPED IN. THE EARLY WINTER LANDSCAPE NEVER DRAWS A SUCH GLOOMY PICTURE. MILES AND MILES OF VAST BARREN LANDS WITH NO SIGN OF VEGETATIONS. IT HAS NOT RAINED FOR SECOND CONSECUTIVE YEARS. JOHN KNEW HIS COUNTRY IS FULL OF EXTREMES. IT IS PROBLEM OF PLENTY AND AT THE SAME TIME HAS PROBLEM OF SCARCITY. THE PROBLEM COULD BE SORTED OUT IF WE HAVE A WILL TO SOLVE IT. BUT WHO BOTHERS? PASS THE DAY. IT IS NOT MY PROBLEM. WHY TO BOTHER?

BUT SOMETIMES WISER COUNSEL DOES PREVAIL. FROM THAT ARROGANT AND INTELLECTUALS REALM OF POWER TO SAY “NO” A DECISION HAS FLOWN IN .THE UPSTREAM WATER HAS TO BE STOPPED; A BY-PASS WILL BE CREATED TO DIVERT MORE WATER TO THE SMALL HILLY RIVER FLOWING IN A GORGE. A BARRAGE HAS TO BE CONSTRUCTED CONNECTING TWO SMALL HILLOCKS; WATER RESERVOIR WILL BE CREATED TO DIVERT THE WATER TO THE BARREN LAND. EVERYTHING HAS TO BE DONE BEFORE THE ONSET OF NEXT MONSOON. JOHN KNEW THE HIMALAYAN TASK AHEAD OF HIM. BUT HE LOVES CHALLENGES. HE IS AWARE THAT NOTHING HAS BECOME SMOOTH IN HIS PROFESSIONAL CAREER. PROBLEMS AND HINDRANCES, ALL UNEXPECTED, ALL UNIMAGINABLE HAVE ALWAYS CROPPED UP. THEY HAVE LEFT THEIR SCARES JOHN’S MIND. BUT HE WAS NEVER FOUND WANTING. HIS TECHNICAL JUDGMENTS HAVE NEVER BETRAYED HIM. IN THE LAST HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN WINNER. IN THE END IT IS HE WHO SMILES.

JOHN HAS COME TO HIS NEW SHELTER AFTER THAT BUS JOURNEY OF NIGHT. HE IS ALREADY ONE DAY OLD IN THAT SHELTER. IT IS AN USUAL SHELTER IN CONSTRUCTION SITE. WALLS ARE CONSTRUCTED IN SEMI BURNT BRICKS AND MUD MORTARS; ROOF IS COVERED WITH OLD GALVANIZED METALLIC SHEETS WITH STRAWS OF PADDY OVER IT. STRAWS ARE HELPFUL MANY WAYS. IT PROTECTS AGAINST HEAT AND COLD, ALSO PREVENTS RAINDROPS FALLING INSIDE FROM THE NAIL HOLES OF METALLIC SHEETS.

JOHN IS OBSERVING HIS BULKINESS STANDING IN FRONT OF LARGE SIZED MIRROR INSIDE THE ROOM. THE MIRROR REFLECTS IMAGE OF EACH INCOMER TO THE ROOM. IT IS A STRANGE THING TO FIND IN CONSTRUCTION SITE SHELTER. ON ENQUIRY HE WAS TOLD THAT COMPANY HAS PURCHASED ALL THE HOUSEHOLDS OF THE SHELTER IN A BULK AUCTION. HIS WAIST LINE HAS INCREASED, THE EXTRAS OF HIS SAGGING BELLY GIVES AN UNCOMFORTABLE LOOK. SAGGING CHIN WITH RECEDING HAIR LINES WITH MIXES OF THE WHITES. IT IS ALL ODD. SIGN OF ADVANCED AGE. HE HAS GROWN OLD WITHOUT REALIZING THAT. EVERYTHING LOOKS SO RECENT AND SO FRESH. BUT TIME HAS TICKLED DOWN LEAVING ITS MARK IN HIS PHYSICAL LOOK.

JOHN MOVED AWAY FROM THE MIRROR, SAT DOWN TO DRAW THE WORK SCHEDULE. THERE IS A NEW SURGE IN HIS MIND, A NEW ZEAL, AND ZEAL OF A YOUNG, TO EXCEL AND SUCCEED. HE STILL POSSESSES FIRE IN HIS BELLY; ENTHUSIASM, DETERMINATION OF YOUNG MIND AND ACUMEN OF EXPERIENCED TO CONQUER THAT UNCONQUERED. THE OLD AND TIRED LOOK IS DECEPTIVE FOR VERY FEW HAS SEEN AND REALIZED THAT FIRE, URGE AND DESIRE TO SUCCEED. JOHN WENT THROUGH SCOPE OF WORK, CAME ACROSS REHABILITATIONS MEASURES TO BE ADOPTED. EXPANDING WATER IN THE WATER RESERVOIR WILL DISPLACE MANY HOUSES WITH THAT DESTITUTE HOUSE FOR THE OLDS. THOSE ARE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF RIVER. JOHN THOUGHT OF MAKING VISIT TO THAT VILLAGE. THERE IS NO BOAT MAN TO OAR THE BOAT ACROSS THE RIVER. JOHN WANTED TO VENTURE THAT OLD EXPERIENCE. ROWING OF BOAT ALL ALONE.

THE SUN HAS JUST STARTED ITS WEST WARD JOURNEY. SLIGHTLY INCLINED SUNRAYS ARE WARM AND BRING COMFORT IN A WINTER DAY. JOHN CAME TO RIVER BANK. HIGH TIDE HAS COVERED A VAST STRETCH OF RIVER BANK. HE HAS TO WALK IN THE SALLOW WATER TILL HE REACHES NEAR THE BOAT. BECAUSE OF HIGH TIDE COVERAGE THE BOAT LOOKS AS IF IT IS IN THE MIDDLE OF RIVER. JOHN FOLDED HIS PANT AND WALKED DOWN TOWARDS BOAT. HIS FEET ARE GOING DOWN IN SOFT AND LOAMY SAND. IT MAKES SOUND AS HE PULLS OUT HIS FOOT, SAND RUSHES IN TO COVER THAT IMPRESSION. THAT IMPRESSION NEVER LASTS. IT GETS COVERED OF IN NO TIME LIKE THE PAST MEMORY OF WEDDING GIRL WAITING FOR THE ARRIVAL OF HIS NEW MAN. MEMORIES GET BURIED FOR HER LIKE THOSE FOOT IMPRESSIONS IN SUBMERGED SAND. SOME MEMORY REMAINS AS THE REMINISCENT OF THAT PAST. THOSE ARE WRITTEN IN INDELIBLE INK.

JOHN CROSSED THE RIVER, CAME TO THE SLEEPY VILLAGE ON OTHER SIDE OF BANK. IT IS DEEPAVALI DAY. THE FESTIVAL OF LIGHT. AS THE EVENING APPROACHES SOUND OF CRACKERS WILL FILL THE AIR. EACH HOUSE WILL BE DECORATED IN OIL LAMPS EMITTING LIGHT OF TRUTH, HAPPINESS AND PROSPERITY. MAY BE THIS IS LAST DEEPAVALI FOR THE VILLAGE. SOON IT WILL BE PART OF MEMORY WITH ITS STORY OF LOVE, BETRAYAL, ANGER, HATRED, MISERY, SMILE AND HAPPINESS. SOON IT WILL BE ENGULFED IN SWELLING WATER OF RESERVOIR. NO REGRET, IT WILL BE PART OF PAST FOR A CAUSE. IT WILL BE LIKE THAT IMPRESSION OF FOOT IN SUBMERGED SAND ENGULFED IN THE ANTICIPATED PROSPERITY OF NEW ERA WHEN THE EACH BARREN LANDS WILL SMILE WITH GOLDEN MUSTARD FLOWER OF WINTER.

JOHN CAME TO THAT DESTITUTE HOUSE OF OLD. SOME ARE ALONE. SOME LUCKIER ARE WITH THEIR SPOUSES TO SHARE THAT BITTER AND YET SWEET PAST. FORGETTABLE, YET UNFORGETTABLE. BUT THEY ALL LAUGH TOGETHER IN THAT COMMON HALL. THEY HAVE LOST THEIR TOUCH WITH OUTSIDE, NOBODY ENQUIRES ABOUT THEM. NOBODY EVER BOTHERS TO PEEP IN. THEIR FAMILIES HAVE FORGOTTEN THEM. BUT STILL THEY LIVE AND SMILE IN ANTICIPATION OF A TOMORROW, A BETTER TOMORROW WHEN SOMEBODY WILL REMEMBER THEM. THE OLD MODEL BLACK TELEPHONE HAS GATHERED DUST. IT HAS NOT RUNG SINCE LONG. STILL THEY LOOK TO IT IN THUMPING HEART AS THEY PASS BY IT. THEY MUTTER AND PLEAD, PLEASE, PLEASE RING FOR ME. IT NEVER RINGS. THUMPING HEART OF ANTICIPATION SLOWS DOWN; SOMETHING FROM INSIDE THAT OLD HAGGARD BODY COMES OUT IN FORM OF A DEEP BREATH OF DESPERATIONS. THEY HAVE RECOGNIZED THAT DESPERATIONS IN EACH OTHER FACES, THEY HAVE REALIZED THAT AS IT IS SO COMMON TO THEM. BUT IT REMAINS UNTOLD.

JOHN VISIT TO THEM WAS LIKE THE TOUCH OF SANDAL IN HOT AND PRICKLY AFTERNOON OF SUMMER. THEY HAVE SURROUNDED HIM AND BLESSED HIM IN HEARTS OF DIVINITY AS IF HE IS NEAR AND DEAR TO THEM. THEY HAVE LISTENED TO HIM IN RAPT ATTENTION OF A CHILD LISTENING FROM GRAND MAMA THE STORY OF BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS ELOPING WITH HER DREAM MAN, WHEN JOHN DESCRIBED THEM THE PLAN OF RESERVOIR AND CULTIVATION OF BARREN LANDS. THEY HAVE AGAIN BLESSED HIM AMASS WHEN JOHN LEFT THEM IN APPROACH OF EVENING. THEY HAVE LOOKED TO HIM IN HEAVY HEART AT THE TIME OF DEPARTURE. AGAIN THE SOUND OF UNTOLD BUT DESPERATE DEEP BREATHS HAVE FILLED THE ATMOSPHERE.

JOHN WALKED DOWN IN THE VILLAGE ROAD AS IF HE IS MOVING IN THE PAST. IT IS NOSTALGIC. IT REMINDS HIM OF HIS YOUTH. OLD TREES IN THE SIDE OF ROAD REMINDS HIM THAT “TREE OF WISHES” OF HIS VILLAGE, WHERE EVERY YOUNG HEART WILL WRITE DOWN HIS OR HER WISHES IN THE DARK OF NIGHT AND PRAY SECRETLY FOR THAT WISHES TO BE FULFILLED. JOHN HAS REACHED THE RIVER BANK. FOR A MOMENT HE WISHED TO ROW THE BOAT UP STREAM. SOUND OF OARS BECOMES OSTENSIBLE ALONG WITH THE SOUND OF BOAT CUTTING AND SPLITTING THE HEART OF WATER STREAM. AN OLD SONG OF PAST RESOUNDED IN HIS MIND’S EYE; SOMEBODY IS SINGING IN THAT PAST WITH TOUCH OF AGONY IN REMEMBRANCE OF THAT REMINISCENT MEMORY. OH, MEMORY YOU ARE LIKE THAT UNKNOWN BREEZE OF RAINY NIGHT. YOU ARE LIKE THE LIVE FIRE BURIED UNDER HEAP OF ASHES. YOU ARE THE TEMPLE SURROUNDED BY DANCING ANGLES. YOU ARE LIKE THE CRESCENT MOON EMITTING SILVERY GLOSS. YOU ARE THE NAME WRITTEN IN CHARCOAL IN THE WALL OF AN OLD INN. OH, MEMORY, YOU ARE THE VILLAGE OF MY LOVE OF PAST. YOU ARE LIKE THE FRAGILE PAPER BOAT FLOATING IN THE DOWNSTREAM OF THE RIVER. OH MEMORY, HEY MEMORY, YOU ARE LIKE THAT BREATH OF MY MOST HUNTED AND YET LOVEABLE PAST.

IT IS SOUND OF CRACKERS EVERYWHERE. IT IS NIGHT OF DEEPAVALI. IN DARK SKY OF MOONLESS NIGHT, LIGHT OF CRACKERS CREATED FLOWERS OF THOUSAND LIGHTS. IN THE BANK OF RIVER HOUSES STARTED SMILING IN GLITTERS OF OIL LAMPS. THE DESTITUTE HOME FOR THE OLDS IS STILL DARK. NO SOUND OF CRACKERS EITHER. AGAIN JOHN FELT A SUDDEN RUSH URGE INSIDE HIM, URGING HIM, ATTRACTING HIM AND DRAGGING HIM TOWARDS DESTITUTE HOUSE. HE MUST GO. JOY OF A CHILD, JOY OF THAT ONE LEGGED DANCE IN LABOUR COLONY. HE HEARS SOUND OF SMILES ALL AROUND IN THAT FLOWING RIVER. SOUND OF GIGGLING MINI BITING JACOB’S EAR LOBE. TRIUMPHANT SOUND OF MARANDI’S DRUM AFTER THAT BONE CRUSHING SIXTEEN HOURS OF SUPER HUMAN EFFORT. IT IS BLISS. IT IS TRANQUILITY. IT IS HAPPINESS. HE MUST SHARE. HE SHOULD SHARE. HE STARTED ROWING FEVERISHLY TOWARDS THAT DESTITUTE HOUSE OF THE OLDS.

THE TERRACE OF DESTITUTE HOME BECAME ACTIVE. OIL LAMPS STARTED EMITTING BLESSINGS IN THAT DARK NIGHT. IT IS SMILE OF LAMPS, GOLDEN LAMPS LIKE THOSE OF PARIJATS SMILING IN FULL BLOOM.