PARIJAT-19

The size of the land was insignificant by village standard. It was hardly some 400 and odd square feet of trapezoidal land. In ordinary days nobody will care to look that insignificant piece in squint eyes. But the egos of village have made it certainly significant. It is clash of egos. When that ego surfaces everything takes a back seat. No knowledge, no understanding and no rationality work. Somebody has rubbed the salts in the old wound. Let me perish or you perish or both. That is the conclusion. See the odd against winning. One fourth quarter against three fourth quarters. But let me fight. The land was located where two egos perpendicularly meet. Corner point. Meeting point. Joint point. Fighting point. Ego looks to ego in side eyes, yet to be head on, yet to be clashed. But see who the loser, an innocent is! An innocent who has no roll to play. But it shall be victim for its presence. Odd presence. Sound of illogic. Sound of anguish. Sound of injustice. But that remains fact. Children of lesser God are always the victim. Take any continental and monumental clash or to any street clash. You see the cry of innocent. You see the blood of innocent. Insignificantly insignificant, you lesser mortal!

This village clash had surfaced between so called giants of village Nayak’s family and Samal’s family. Nobody knows the reason of clash. That is not important for you to know. You are too insignificant to know that. It is important to know, realize and recognize that there is a clash. Choose your ally and make propaganda with a heavy and pulled face. No, no, that is not fare. The other family should have not done that. We are not going to let it lie like that. They have badly hurt our ego. See the “we” and “they”. You have chosen your ally. But what is that unfairness you are talking of? What should not have been done? No, I do not know. That is not important for me to know. That is for the so called to giant to know. Let me play my role. Role play? Ah!you lesser mortal. How insignificant you are ? I feel pity! Your head is going to roll in that role play when giants smile. Do not blame this obscure village of eastern India. Do not blame the development there. It only reflects the trend and development of world at large. Death of lesser mortal. Flow of insignificant and inconsequential light red blood of lesser mortal. Certainly it is a blood of different form!

The clash has encircled RajaniMa and her insignificant piece of land. A widow for a significantly long period. John has seen her like that from the day he has started recognizing the sun and the moon. RajaniMa, a village style of calling somebody by his/her child name. RajaniMa, mother of Rajani, a girl child. Nobody has seen Rajani. May be very few octogenarian might have. Rajani had flown away like a seasonal bird. She had followed her Papa. The daughter, Papa’s favorite. She had flown to the unknown darkness of no return. But till today in that odd moment of night when drowning moon resembles like a dead eye, the soft feathers of that seasonal bird flutters around RajaniMa, sits on her left shoulder and flies across closely kissing her face and sits on right shoulder. RajaniMa looks to her in eye of satisfaction. She is mother, mother of that bird. She mutters Rajani, you are so tiny, my love. You are not growing. Memory grows. Memory floats. Memory flies. Memory kisses with love of a child. But memory remains as a memory. A sacred and loveable piece of mental agony. Difficult to erase but hard to see. We wish it should quit but we cling to it inside a clinched fist ,never, ever willing to release it.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The development of that village road in the back side of her one roomed house located in that insignificant piece of land has made her certainly significant. The land of Samal’s family and that of Nayak’s family running perpendicular to each other end in RajaniMa’s land. Beyond that is the newly developed road. Who-so-ever, either Nayaks or Samals occupy RajaniMa’s land shall block the access for other family to the newly developed back side road. Territorial gain. Sign of supremacy. Who will lose this opportunity? But she has refused to yield to pressure. She can not sell her Rajani’s memory. Persuasion has not worked. Offer of moon has not worked. Threat has also not worked. She can not do that. She has seen enough defeats in her life. She knows the agony of defeat. She knows the pain of slow fire of that defeat. Nothing is seen from outside. It burns you from inside like the slowly burnt charcoal under the ashes. She does not want to see that on others’ face. She does not want others to bear that.

There is enough space available around her one room house. She can give access to both the families coming from perpendicular directions to that newly laid road. But wiser counsel has never prevailed amongst the giants; she too has never yielded to the threats or temptations.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is raining insistently. The sky above might have cracked several places. It is unusual in month of October. But this unfortunate part of eastern India is infamous for unusual. It is always unusal, extreme and abnormal. Extreme heat. Unusual rain. Devastating flood, cyclone and draught. It is also land of plenty. But nature has never been kind. Perhaps it is nature’s experimental field of destruction amongst the plenty. RajaniMa looked to the sky. It looks heavy as if it is about to crumble. She extended her look beyond. Beyond those cultivable lands. She does not see the brown color of earth. It is water, everywhere water. RajaniMa had a strange feeling. The sight of bushes of screw pine beyond horizon looked menacing. The long narrowed upward looking leaves of screw pine with those white tiny thorns resemble like a crocodile’s tail overeager to hit the prey. Is it her imagination? No, it is so apparent. It looks so real. It must be late into the day. The sun has not shown its face. What she hears? The yelps of jackals beyond the bushes of screw pine. It is strange. Is it night? The speed of wind is increasing. it has already crossed the limit the stream line flow. Rains with wind have taken almost horizontal trajectory defying the gravity. The strange feeling is slowly overpowering her, it is turning into fear. The fear she had seen in her husband’s eyes when the village doctor had pronounced the inevitable and impending ultimate. The flash of lightening followed by the deafening sound of thunderstruck forced her closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened her eyes she could not see anything. It is dark, defeaning, mencing dark with burst and sneer of wind. The branch of a tree might have fallen on that high tension electric wires. She moved up in the darkness to close the door. She was about the do that. The wind came with ferocity and speed of the water of an untamed wild hilly river. It banged the door with wildness of a drunkard. The door recoiled and hit the face of RajaniMa. It was a knock out punch of the devil. She fell backward twisted. Her frail, weak, porous and aged femur cracked like the branch of a tree twisted by the heavy gale.

The wind and rain have stopped by time she regained her sense. Perhaps it is the loll before the ultimate. Nature is perhaps regrouping all its ferocities to unleash that terror. RajaniMa felt a tingling sensation on her face, as if somebody carefully caressing that bloody nose. It is soothing like sandal of summer. She had not felt that pleasure for an age. The heaviness from her head is moving away fast. Who is that? She slowly opened her eyes ,still engrossed in that delirium of pleasure. It is short smooth strokes on her face.

Can the kiss of impending death be so pleasurable? She had not seen that in her husband’s eyes in that last moment. She had seen eyes full of pain of agony when he departed. But what she sees now? What are those two small glows of brightness moving near her face? Jackals certainly do not eat the live. But rule and law of nature is changing fast. It is a new taste. The taste of hunger. The taste of raw blood. The tongue is moving fast in her face. It is kiss of death. It is kiss of ultimate. Breathing choked in fear RajaniMa waited for that ultimate truth. The truth of ultimate call. It is time to depart. It is time to bid an adieu. For the last time she saw and felt those soft feathers of that fluttering bird jumping from her left shoulder to right shoulder. She felts her body getting lighter and lighter. Soon she will join the cloud. Peace. Death, you can not be more pleasing!----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John looked to that one roomed house of the past. It bears a new look. It has been extended to the boundaries of two adjacent sides of the plot. It is no longer one roomed. In its front, two roads flow in two perpendicular direction before merging into one and joining the common road. Some where from the branches of the tree a humming bird echoing the wish of RajaniMa. Two roads have met. The house has become library of the village. The old memory again resurfaced when John flipped through an old magazine of the library. It reads:

OCTOBER 29, 1999.

DESTRUCTIVE NATURAL CALAMITY IN EASTERN COAST OF INDIA.

48 HOURS OF CONTINIOUS RAINS .

WIND SPEED 300K.M. PER HOUR.

DOWNPOUR 995MM.

CASUALITIES-20,000

John could not read further. The memory of RajaniMa blinded him. In the corner of library two girls started giggling. In swift and deft hands of promising artists they have drawn some hopes of future:

GREEN FAIRY OF HOPE.

WARM HEARTED GREEN EYE.

PUSSY THE STAR GASER

BUN CHECK, PETER.

John smiled. So must be Parijats!