A page from the diary of an Indian

The moment i looked over the hills towards the horizon, an eerie feeling crossed through my body. In a state of trance i saw a shadow gliding towards me. As it came near, i found it to be the figure of a tall, bespectacled, well dressed gentleman with salt and pepper hair. The figure kept floating towards me and i recollected the identity hidden in the remotest corner of my memory. While crossing me in a hurry i felt that he looked at me through the corner of his eyes and hinted at me to follow him. In a jiffy, i crossed more than half a century and found myself attending the English literature class of Prof. A.B. Without wasting anytime Prof.Bhattacharjee started delivering his lecture. Skipping the main subject of the day, a piece written by Sir James Jeans on The Dying Sun; as a corollary, he started dwelling on The Story Of Civilisation. He was telling how our primitive ancestors, armed with only one most deadly weapon, the intelligence of the human mind, made their settlements, curved out their living. Once the security and resources of sustenance had been established, they diverted their time, mind and labour towards creativity. But these small pockets of civilizations were sprouted at different parts of the Globe and subsequently they got obliterated from the face of the Earth, mostly because of the capricious act of Nature or some times by marauding invaders. As professor Bhattacharjee started crossing over to the next phase of civilisation, one loud known and concerned voice broke my trance and brought me back to the present reality. She demanded to know why i had been standing there like a zombie when others of the group have already started climbing up the steps? So we started climbing up the flights of 85 steps which would take us to the threshold of one of the greatest wonders of the world, the rock-cut Ajanta Caves.

As i was slowly climbing up the the steps, I kept wondering how the same Nature, which through its capricious moves (in the form of quakes, droughts, floods, volcanic eruptions and the likes) has destroyed so many civilizations and yet here has wielded a benevolent face that has preserved these priceless relics of rich, ancient civilization from the marauding invaders by completely covering the whole area into her lap with a green veil of dense forest for more than thousand years. The mighty Mughal Emperor, Aurangzeb, who found ecstatic pleasure in destroying places of worships of any religions other than Islam, came and conquered ths region. He died and was buried at a place not far from Ajanta caves. But he never could know the presence of these caves, chaityas and, bihars even although the area as a whole is named after him and the city is named as Aurangabad.

The same thing can be told about another Muslim military genius. An illiterate but endowed with

phenomenal memory, preceding the Mogul period and Aurangzeb, he shifted his capital from Delhi to the same place, and named it after him as Daulatabad. He ruled most of the part of India, had every information through his well organised administrative system and informers. Yet, Mohammed Bin Tuglagh failed to crack the code of Nature.

While remaining completely engrossed with the thought of this bewildering but benevolent and protective whims of Nature, I lost the count of time and suddenly found that we had climbed all the steps and presently were standing in front of cave no-1. The caves were excavated in a semi-circular scrap of a steep rock over-looking a narrow sinuous gorge through which flows the stream or river "Waghera" descending at the head of the ravine beyond cave no 28, in a water fall of "seven leaps".

Looking around, one can only be awe stricken to appreciate that artistic sense and mind which selected this place to excavate these caves and place of worship, absolutely in consonance with the surrounding verdant beauties of Nature. The caves are cut and aligned in a horse-shoe form. Thirty caves (including the unfinished ones) are there in the hill, which is a part of the Sahyadri Range. All these caves were not built at the same time. They had been built in a sporadic manner extended over a period from 250B.C.E. to 650 A.D.

Cave no -1 was not the first built one to be built. From the 2nd century to the1st.century B.C.E. caves 9,10,19,and 26 were built during the Satvahan Dynasty. Rest of the caves were built during the time of Harishena of Vaklaka Dynasty during a timespan of 460 A.D. to 480 A.D.

There were separate approaches to each of these caves, built in the form of a bridge from the river. The remnants of one such approaches can even be seen today. Volumes have been written and volumes will be written about the ingenuity of the masons, artisans and painters, about the murals and frescos, the use of indegenious paints and pigments, about the World's Largest Monolithic Structure ...The Kailash Temple of the nearby Ellora Caves by more competent historians and researchers whose knowledge lay beyond the reach and scope of a lay-man tourist like me, who is more interested and prefers to get awe-struck and bask in the glory of his country's reach heritage.

All of this brings me to think that i must give vent to some of my feelings in this page of a diary. Firstly, I visited this place more than forty years ago and at that time I found that bright Flood-Lights were allowed to be used, in lieu of a paltry sum of money, to allow the photographers (mainly foreigners) for taking photographs of these frescos, causing irrepairable damage to these priceless artifacts. Of course during this visit I noticed that only a very dim light was used by the guide and no other forms of lights are allowed where murals/frescos are present. But, whatever damages were to be done have already been done. Why had we taken so much time to wake up from the slumber and rise to the occasion to protect the thousands of years old National Treasures? Is it because of the long long years of servitude?

Secondly, amongst the tourist visiting the place, a major percentage of people were found to be from foreign lands armed with every bits of information and were exulting with joy while comparing those information with reality.It was a shear joy of enjoying the beauty and history of rich Indian Heritage and Civilization even though it was apparent that they were on a shoe string budget and I must accept that it was undoubtedly an endearing and delightful sight. That brings me to the next question. What about the young Indian boys and girls? What happened to the lot? The 'open-market' has churned out a generation of Noveau-Riche young elite Indians who prefer to term themselves as Gen-X,Yor Z(or have they already incorporated the Greek alphabets?). They brag to be modern, promising, enlightened and that is very close to reality but painfully they are oblivious of their own rich heritage and culture. They do not hesitate to spend money to go for sky-diving, bungee-jumping and the likes to a distant land ignoring the vast spiritual, cultural, architectural, natural treasure trove of their own beautiful Subcontinent which is waiting with open arm and tearful, downcast eyes to welcome them.

Although it cannot be generlised yet unfortunately this is the trend i observed in utter dismay...

Tewari Da, Psychology,The Kid and The Mother

That was a winter evening, of the month of January, and except the odd man in me, all the bachelor professors, in one of the rooms of their 'den' had been enjoying the steaming cups of tea along with puffed rice and snacks while listening to the discourse of Tewari Da. Each one of us was wrapped in woolen wrappers. This was one of those yearly week long holiday visits of mine to Agartala, Tripura. Most of the time of my seven holidays were earmarked for ceaseless adda at some place or the other.

Let me come back to the discourse of Tewari Da. He had been telling about one of the predicaments of his school days. He always had to stand up on the bench or to stand outside the class as a punishment whenever he had to spell certain words in the English Literature Class. He could not understand why the 'pronunciation' and 'spelling' will not match with each other....why in certain cases some letters will take a French leave to put him into trouble. So he had to 'invent' his own solution. He had decided that he would pronounce those words in the class, as they should be, but in his mind, he would memorize the spelling and its pronunciation without allowing any letter to slip away. Of-course he had to keep this system strictly to himself.

Thus muttering P--sychology, Neigh--bour and the likes, while trudging through the muddy terrains, he started going to the school, a few miles away from his home in an obscure village of Bihar. But his invention worked and since then he never had to endure any punishment for spelling 'psychology' as he remembered it in his mind as P-sychology. I don't know the present whereabouts of Dr.R.N.Tewari M.Sc,Phd. as I have lost any touch with him since 1975, but the memory of his ingenious method stayed with me.

On one day, after many years when I returned from my work to my quarters for lunch I found a small book lying on the table. As I was leafing through the book, I resorted to roaring laughter. My wife and the kid rushed to me, from another room, and kept looking at me in astonishment. The kid, who had just crossed two years of age perhaps thought Papa must have found something very amusing and kept eagerly smiling at me as he knew that soon it will be shared with him and as for my wife,she was unsure whether I was in the right frame of mind. This was quite natural for her, I presume, as she was not aware of the hilarious story of P--sychology and Tewari Da.

The book I was leafing through has been presented to my wife by her sister, Radha, who was yet to cross the barrier of school but was much ahead of her age and time. The book gifted was " The Psychological Developement Of Children".

It was a small, decent, book with no complicated medical terms or jargon, no preaching of theories. It simply grouped children, each group of a span of three years, from infancy to the door of teens and then narrated in simple language, how boys and girls of a particular age group will behave and how parents should respond to their acts and behaviors. At the preface, there was a stern warning from the author to the parents, that no kid should be given any "Corporal Punishment" for any of their mischievous acts until and unless that very act may endanger his or her life. Another important guidance for the parents was that the most severe punishment which can be meted out to a kid is to stop talking to him or her. But this should not continue for more than twenty minutes as otherwise it will be too severe for them. This dictum was for the first group of kids, i.e the infants.

So far as the first warning is concerned, I stuck to it religiously although the kid had some spanking from his mother for writing 'doctor' as 'boctor' or 'Calcutta' as' ')alcutta'. But so far as the second guidance is concerned, I tried once but that was more painful to me than to the kid. These things came afterward but first thing should come first.

While having the lunch we have decided to give a trial of one or two of the dictum given in the book,on our child, in the evening. The book preached that to get a small kid attracted and understand something to which otherwise he or she is not interested, the best way for the parents is to ignore the child and one should act to teach the subject in question to the other. Finding it to be something very funny, we chose the letter 'V,'accompanied with a picture of a violin from one of his books and I started teaching my wife...'this is V for violin', as the boy always used to find some difficulty in identifying this alphabet. While continuing this act of teaching, we kept an eye on the kid. Soon he came over to us and kept looking at our faces and then, as he was not invited, he, on his own, started taking initiative and kept chanting V for violin, while putting one of his little thumbs on the letter 'v'and the picture of violin. We continued ignoring him for some more time but he did not stop and went along with his act of imitating his father.

After sometime, just to see,how far it worked, we mixed blocks of all the alphabets and asked him to find out "V" from the cluster.He made no-mistake to pick up the plastic block embossed with the letter 'v' accompanied with a picture of violin.Since then The Book be came "Bible"to us in rearing our child.

Days went by and the kid celebrated his third 'Happy Birth Day'.Time had come for him to go to school.We chose the best school in that area..The Modern School.The ambiance of the school was excellent,the flowering trees, the trees loaded with fruits,the chirp ping birds and playful Hares, swings, see-saws...all at one place,in the same compound.The Gray Haired,Cambridge Educated,Strict Disciplinarian but Kind hearted,Widow of a valiant Fighter Plane Pilot was the Principal of the Convent.

One day, the mother and the son went to the school and after an 'interview' and other formalities, the kid got admitted to the school

The kid was very pleased to see the "Assets" of the school and as well so many boys and girls of his age.

We went to our "Bible" to know how the kid was likely to behave on his first day at the school and as well, how the parents should respond.The Book clearly stated that on the "First Day to School",every kid will enjoy the outing .They will feel a sense of 'Freedom' from the Governance of their parents and the confines of their homes.This will last for two days and from third day onwards, they will be reluctant to go to school as their illusion will be vanished since by that time they will spot that they have entered into some other kind of confinements.So from third day, they will have to be coaxed with love, tenderness along with a little sternness.This stage will continue for few more days and after that every thing will be normal.

Thus we came to know the secret.Then came one of the most significant and meaningful day of his life...his first day to the school...the first step to the outer world.The mother and the son boarded the car and went for the school and ,after being a witness of this land-mark event in the life of the kid,I went for my work.During my break-fast hour I came to the quarters,more anxious to

know about the happenings in the school then the break-fast.I found the empty table with nothing on it to eat.I searched for my wife and found her sitting on a couch in one of the rooms,morose and on the verge of tears.Without disturbing her,I made the 'break fast' and coaxed her to come to the table to have a bite.Gradually the cause of her sorrow started unfolding.With a heavy voice she told that as soon as the kid had been asked by his 'Miss'to accompany her,he started following her without giving a second glance to his mother.I consoled her and told her that all these were written in 'The Bible'.She told that why this had to be so ruthlessly true?He could atleast give a glance or smile while parting?I kept silent for some time.Then I told her that this just the beginning.He is on his way to the outer world and from now on he will move further and further.But that should not be of any concern or worry for you.The 'invisible' umbilical chord will keep him tied with you all the while,he will continue to rotate around you whatever might his distance from you like the celestial bodies around The Sun or the electrons around nucleus.While giving her the analogy,I also told her that only in certain cases,as in transitional elements,the electrons changes the orbit and the colour of the element also changes.For the time being let us think about the Solar system and of the 'stable' elements and let us forget about the 'Rare Earths',the 'Transitional and Inner Transitional' elements.Perhaps she believed me,about the humane elements without bothering to know any thing about the Chemistry or science.

Now when that invisible chord has extended for a formidable length of 20000K.M and still remained equally strong as when the kid was only a few feet away from her I wonder whether she still remembers the conversation at the 'Break-Fast' table.Perhaps the answer is manifested in her attitude while testing the bondage through the electronic medium.

Assessment of an act of deceit

Debits,Credits,Balance Sheets....all these terms exudes a sort of commercial essence----the Troughs and Crests of day to day life.But with the quietening of the turbulence of youth and when the distant horizon,which earlier seemed to be something unreachable,looms nearer and nearer beckoning to join the march of setting Sun,One can perhaps be allowed to become some-what indulgent to stretch the meanings of these terms and may be allowed to apply them in other aspects of life.

In this perspective, Sometimes, when a simple 'White lie' uttered, or an act of apparently innocent 'Deceit' resorted to,decades ago and buried deep in to the remotest corner of memory resurrects and raises its head,removing thick layers of days,months and years and starts gnawing at the conscience,then personally I felt a jolt and thought of having a second look to it....I mean to the 'incident'.

I was waiting for the lunch while it was being arranged by my wife and then both of us will wait for his arrival from the Nursery school. I got the sound of arrival of the school van in the campus,and the silencing of purring of the engine.I heard the sound of opening of the gates and chorus, joyous,gibberish of boys and girls,all coming from the morning school,while deciding amongst themselves what games will be played in the afternoon before heading towards their respective quarters.

I heard the sound of opening of the wicket gate and soft sounds of small steps.Now he will cross the veranda,enter through the main gate into the room,will rush to his parents and fill the room with the stories and happenings of that day in the school,oblivious of the load of the school bag still being carried by him on his back.

Then he will have to be coaxed and persuaded to keep the bag on his reading table,to change his dress and wash his hand and feet, only after giving him a solemn assurance that both of us will listen to all stories to be told by him in the evening.He will then join us for the lunch and will immediately rush to the fish-plate.

But, this blissful daily ritual did not happen on that day.I heard the sound of small feet climbing the steps and also the sound of opening of the wicket gate,as I was closely monitoring the progress.But then I heard a shrill wailing---calling in between sobbing"Papa Come to me quickly".I rushed to him and saw him weeping profusely and his school bag biting the dust.First I checked his person for any cut,bruise or blood,as he had an UN-canny habit of having cuts and nicks.Not finding anything of that kind I lifted him on my lap and while consoling him,I tried to get to the reason of the deep sorrow of the kid.

In between his sobbing,he extended one of his little hands to a fluttering,wounded sparrow with a deep gash at its neck and told,"minu has killed the chirip",('minu' and 'chirip' being a kitten and a sparrow in his language).Giving him to his mother,I tried to nurse the wounded sparrow but the effort went in vain and the sparrow died after few minutes.He had just witnessed the most inevitable but the dreadful part of life...the Death.He had heard the term before but now he had seen it with his own eyes.He kept wailing and sobbing and I had again taken him in my lap.Now from his mutterings in between his sobbing I could follow that the cause of his sorrow has extended its vista..apart from the death of the sparrow he has now become concerned about the fledglings in the nest.He started asking me that after the death 'elder' sparrow who will feed those fledglings in the nest and they will also die of hunger.

These house sparrows were very dear to all three of us.Together we followed the building of their unkempt nests in different niches,the laying and hatching of the eggs and the feeding of the ever hungry fledglings by the tire-less mother sparrow..from day break to sun set.The idea of lunch and the concern of getting late for my work had already left me and in the quest of quietening him and reducing his sorrow and concern,I took him to the dead sparrow and showed him that it was a '.father sparrow'.The mother sparrow is still alive .It will get sad but will continue the feeding and rearing the fledglings...alone.Being assured about the future of those fledglings,he stopped sobbing but remained very sad.I eased him down on the floor, went inside the room and brought an empty container.I put the dead sparrow into that container an closed the lid.Then holding the kid in one hand and the container in the other,I guided him inside the room,his mother brought the school bag.

I kept the container at one corner on the top of the dining table, in his full view,and while consoling him all the time to quieten his mind,both of us started washing his hands and feet and changed his schhol dress.Now came the most difficult problem to solve....what I could do with the container holding dead sparrow without hurting the already wounded mind or hurting him the least.This was there at the back of my mind and that is why I had brought that empty container.After sometime when he had come to his own and his mother was trying to feed him,I told him that in the evening both of us will go and bury the sparrow with the container in The River Ganges and will pray to the Mother Ganges to confer blessings on the dead sparrow and to wield Her Magic Wand,once more, so that the sparrow can get united with its family.He Happily agreed with me.I came back from my work in the evening and found that he had skipped his afternoon game and earnestly waiting for me.

Without wasting any further time ,I lifted him on my lap and holding the container in one hand we headed to-wards the Bank of the Ganges.Leaving him in the care of jetty guard,I went down the stairs to the level of the water and in his full view I silently prayed for some time and then drowned the container in The Ganges.While climbing up the stairs, I saw him standing on the jetty,still praying with closed eyes and folded hands.

As I came near, with the sound of my feet he opened his eyes and hold one of my hands and did something which was very much rare with him....he walked all the way by himself.Only once he asked me.,"Papa, now again they will be a happy family".I was out of my words and wits and only I could manage to reply that let us hope that our prayers will be heeded.

He was sure that his prayer will be answered and his beloved "chirip" will get back to its family.He was very happy and had no more sorrow for the dead sparrow.All the way he kept talking about so many things happened in the school.Again he was on his own self.

But what about me?In my leisure moments,my conscience continually reminding me about the act of deceit and cheating of the innocent child.But what else I could have done to give some peace to that little mind.

I know that when he will grow up,he will spot the deceitful act of his father but I was also sure that to give his judgement ,he will have to wait for some time till he becomes a father.

And so, after decades,when the memory of this fraudulent act raises its head and confronts my conscience,I still feel that I had done nothing wrong.I had no other way to console that young mind and so this act of deceit should be entered under the heading of the 'credit column',

In the mean time,I will patiently wait for Final Audit on the Day Of Judgement.

Pradip Maitra

Yarrow !

This is not a misadventure of a lunatic to make an appreciation of the poet Wordsworth or of one of his best known poems.This does neither have reference to that perennial plant nor of any stream flowing by a hamlet.

Extending my imagination and as well my idiocy,I prefer to consider 'Yarrow' to stand for a place any where in the world for which any one may have a longing to go,can visit any number of times and have the liberty to express the anticipation and apprehension,ecstasy,exultation and as well the deception&sorrow.Yarrow should stand tall as a unique place.

At the late hours of the night the engine chugged the behemoth and it started moving...first slowly and then gaining speed.Sitting on a side berth in the cool comfort of the air conditioned compartment I watched through the closed glass window,the vendors and book-stalls,the people came to see off their dear ones racing slowly and then rapidly in the opposite direction---an illusion but it was so real;.Finally the train left the platform and started heading towards its destination.

As if small,discarded feathers of a flock of joyfully flying sparrows wafted through the air and clouded my vision and my mind and memory started making a detour in the past.Like the feathers wafting through the air,more than a quarter century has taken leave of my life span.Same train,Same station to start from,Same platform,Same destination but what a difference.Apart from those years of our lives,mine and of my wife,missing were the majestic coal-fired Canadian Engine and its regal and sombre note,the shrill sound of whistle blown by the Guard which could be heard through the open window of a second class sleeper compartment, and as well the collection of cups of hot tea from vendors standing on the platform.......Missing were also the humane elements. After making the bed for my wife and perching comfortably on my berth I allowed my mind to have a free run through my memory.

Apart from both of us and the kid,my widowed mother and parents of my wife were there.Four berths were booked in coupe, ear-marked for ladies and old people for their safety and security,and the lower side berth just in front of the coupe was booked for me to keep a night long vigil--especially for the kid as he was sharing his place with his mother.The T.T.E.incharge of the compartment, after going through the ritual of checking the tickets,put out the light ,only kept the dim blue light on,closed the doors and took his seat by the side of the door.I was enjoying the breeze,coming through the window as well listening to the demand of the Canadian Engine commanding the attention of all and sundry present on the station it was whistling by through its brief,Regal,sombre note.

After some time I turned my attention to the occupants of the berths in coupe.All the three older people,who were on their way to the pilgrimage to Puri--the abode of lord Jaggannath were already plunged in deep slumber.But the kid and his mother were wide awake.Even with the mother by his side,a moving bed in a dimly lit 'room' was too much for him.He had brief acquaintances with train journey but it was never at night and under such circumstances.With open eyes and occasional deep breathing he was trying to make an assessment of the situation in his little mind without making any disturbance to others,an act which was quite befitting to his nature.I felt that this will continue through out the night and neither the kid nor the mother will be able to have a wink of sleep in the night.I took the kid from his mother,made a comfortable for him by my side and put him over there.Moving side wise,he clasped my legs with both hands and looked at me.Caressing his hairs,I softly told him to go to sleep as I will remain awake to keep an eye on him.He understood,felt secured and went to sleep.The train stopped at junctions,went past the smaller stations and steadily moved ahead.I watched them all,felt the embrace of those soft little arms and continued my sleepless vigil.

The tour was an excursion cum pilgrimage.The destination was Puri,in the state of Orrisa...the abode of Lord Jagannath along with his brother Balaram and Subhadra as well a favourite holiday destination for any middle class Bengali family...by the side of majestic Bay Of Bengal.

To me it was another type of pilgrimage.This is the place where my grandfather spent the major part of active life as a leading renowned advocate as well this is the place where my father spent his entire school life.I knew that our ancestral house had been sold out and I did not have any place of my own to put up except in a Hotel or in a Holi Day Home.But even then,I thought that I will be able to breath the same air under similar ambiance which once was inhaled by my father and grand father,will be able to bathe in the same sea water where once they had their 'Dips'and performed after-bath religious rites.The journey was long over-due and at last I could make it a reality.

With the day break,I woke up...no pair of soft hands of the soundly sleeping kid was there.Soon we arrived at the station and disembarked from the coach.But we did not have to hire four Rickshaws to carry the group of old,young and the kid,did not have the bewildered,bemused eyes of the kid looked up to his father overflowing with questions while perching comfortably,as usual,on his lap.We headed for the luxury bus of waiting to take us to the Hotel.

The bus meandered its way through the city,crossed the school where once my father kept himself busy with his studies,crossed the site where once our ancestral house stood,holding peace and prosperity,but now yielded under the hammer of Realtors.The roaring sound of ever restless waves of blue and frothing sea-water heralded the arrival of beach side road.

The very sound and sight started gnawing at the core of my heart.No old lady with silent prayer on her lips and folded palms on her temple was there,neither the affectionate,delightful old couple.More so I never had to answer to the gibberish,multitude of questions of the excited kid continuously shifting his position on my lap.All of a sudden I felt a salty taste on my lips.Without giving any alarm drops of tears rolled down from my eyes.The saline taste gradually becoming more and more bitter.

The bus reached the hotel.We checked in a comfortable suite...tea,breakfast,lunch,dinner followed.But nothing could remove that bitter taste.

I realised that I have revisited my 'yarrow',but only a 'Bitter Yarrow'.

Mon amour

I was ambling through the fair, sniffing and inhaling the festive mood,enjoying the fragrance of all sorts of perfumes, the rustlings of saris, cargos, jackets and jeans.
Suddenly, she caught my attention.Svelte,Bright,Sober,Timid
but Intelligent amongst the Dark, Dreadful amazons,Vociferous coquettes,Willy Sirens..all at one place,in one cluster.
Immediately I felt attracted to Her and as if in a state of trance I moved towards her. I felt an intense urge of having Her in the complete possession of mine. In fact My proximity with her increased that passion. Others in that group also tried to draw my attention but that made no impact on me. Finally I started bidding for Her, raising a notch higher with each 'call'. At the end, through a sort of re-enactment of 'Slave Trade' of the medieval era, She was finally handed over to me. Carefully, with utmost tenderness I took her in my arm.
An urge of exploring her beauty made me mad and gently holding her in my arm I started snaking through the crowd and headed towards my desolate home. After entering into my house I closed the door behind me. Now, She solely belonged to me and only two of us were there---away from the prying eyes.
As I started to explore her treasure, She, who hitherto remained silent, started talking in a soft voice. She said that all along She knew that she is beautiful and different from others yet, as it happens with all beautiful things in this world, she had already been rifled,vandalised and molested. So,even after knowing all these things if I still feel attracted to her then only we can have a beautiful evening. I comforted her and told her that without any qualm and ennui, she is beautiful and attractive to me with all her present entity,with her violated treasures. With Truce established and any doubt and misgivings shoved aside, She yielded and I started unfolding her treasures.
I started leafing through the pages of the book,briefly thinking, wondering and reminiscing about the reactions,affections and attachments of the persons who had handled this second hand book. This is a book which holds the History of men and women, most of whom had made their final journey, after inhabiting, caring and tending and doing their bits for the place...Of trees, flowers and fruits..common and rare... many of which had already yielded to the greed of men and clinging to the slender thread of law before extinction,Of birds and animals, which had to meet with the same fate as that of the trees. She holds all these treasures, meticulously explored and chronicled by her author Mr.Kushal Mookherjee. In fact,The book,"Birds and Trees of Tolly" is the book about a club with a history of more than hundred years,the book about a club which is one of the best twenty clubs of the world--an epitome of heritage inherited by us.
The main club building was constructed by Mr.Richard Johnson in 1781 and set up an Indigo plantation.Later on it became the residence of Prince Golum Mohammad, son of vanquished Lion of Mysore.....Tipu Sultan. In 1880 Sir William Cruickshank, secretary and Treasurer of Bengal Bank, predecessor of State Bank Of India purchased the building and the adjoining estate, renovated the building and established the club in the February of 1885. Perhaps it was the destiny which wielded its charm so that Cruickshank, while riding in a misty morning lost his dog and subsequently discovered the building. Thereafter different renowned captains of the Industry and Society of the then India took much interest in tending and decorating the place with affection and imported and planted scores of different beautiful trees from different parts of the World ...Trees blooming exotic flowers,Trees bearing delicious fruits,Trees having thick foliage and bearing fruits edible to birds and having medicinal values had been planted and tended .Although flowers, one type or other are always there in any time of the year,the actual riot of colours starts during the spring time. Flowering trees vying with each other in this showing-off season---flame of the forest...Palash with flamboyant Red Krishnachura and Pink Mohor..Mauve Jarul..'The Queen of the flowers' with bright yellow Radha chura,the Pink 'Biliti' Siris with White fragrant Champa..to name only a few of the fashion parade participants. Flowers brought butterflies and bees, fruits brought exotic birds,thick
foliage sheltered birds and different animals,mammals and reptiles, water bodies hold fishes, scores of different types of frogs,little Cormorants, Herons, Kingfishers of different types,Water Hens and Jacanas.
Through out the year the club area witnesses a very busy
'Bird Life'.In the summer, some of them are going away to the cooler regions and again in
the Winter and Spring seasons,Seasonal Migratory Visitors pay their visits to this place
religiously, in every year.Some of the varieties of birds stay in the garden through out the year.Perhaps the last few flocks of Green Pigeons of the city only can fly fearlessly over
the garden area. Adding dash of different hues and strains of different tunes there are Swifts,colourful Orioles,Copper smiths,Robins and Drongos,Doves,Bulbuls and Mynas. Wagtails,constantly nod their heads, acknowledging the arrival of harbinger of winter in the city,Bee eaters making occasional forays to catch bees and insects in the mid air. Drongos,patiently waiting for few moments,before picking up another bout of the day, Woodpeckers,fully draped in wedding attire tapping different trees for finding insects hiding in the hollow of the tree under the bark,Stately Hoopoes, mostly in pairs,pick their foods from lawns and shrubs,elegantly,till they get concerned,for some reason or other,un-furl their crown feathers and flt for a safer place.Rustlings of leaves and chattering of group of birds will definitely denote the presence of Jungle -Babblers,always moving in groups and good number of which are inhabiting the Club Area.
Mammals and Reptiles,like Civet Cats,Jackals,Squirrels
and Mongoose along with innumerable varieties of Frogs and Snakes,mainly of Rat snake
and Keel Back variety are permanent residents of foliage,shrubs and water bodies of the club area.Lizards and Tucktoos adorn the walls of old building,hiding in the crevices in day time and coming out for food at the night. As many of the trees ,such as Buddhas Coconut tree,Yellow Silk cotton tree, Easter Tree and the likes and some types of Birds too ,briefly described in the book were not known to me and they had truly enriched my knowledge But to have a full grasp on them I had to take the help of Internet Searching.
After going through the book,resting my hand on the both of my palms,I kept sitting on the chair but my mind raced past to a place,far away from me,in the part of a Paradise, hither to whose existence was not in my perception and knowledge. I felt ashamed and stunned.I had crossed Shashmal Avenue umpteen times,I knew that there is a Club with the name of a Tolly Club. But,only a recent invitation by Samik to attend the reception of his marriage ceremony, held on the lawn of the Club gave me the first feel of the rich heritage and since then I had been looking for this book,which, at last I could acquire in a Local Book fair.
Night slipped away.With the advent of day-break,birds in
their nests in an old Spanish cherry tree,known as Bakul in local parlance,started chirping
and twittering as a mark of their wake up call. A solitary Robin(Doyel) sitting on the topmost branch,started blowing whistles,demarcating its territory.
But my mind was getting weighed with so many anxieties.
How long these mute,beautiful, gentle giants will be able to thawrt and ward-off the menacing,threatening axe ready to be wielded by the clandestine wood-merchants or the
chirping,twittering and singing of those exotic Birds will be able to stall the pellets from
the Guns ready to be fired to bring them down for delicate dinner dishes.The greed of human beings does not have any limit. Only Ray of Hope is emanating from this Book....
Once documented and well circulated,these trees and Birds will definitely attract the eyes
and attention of more number of Nature lovers.In that way they are bound to get a long
lease of life.
With my heart felt thanks to Mr.Kushal Mookherjee and a
longing to go to this 'Piece Of Paradise',still surviving in concrete jungle of this city,
I closed the Book softly before going to sleep.

Mystic Evening

With a reddened face , caused by the hard toil of the day the Task Master was having his final sweeping glance, through the trees ,before going down the horizon, to take care of the other half of the globe. The curfew gradually crept in. The eerie but solemn silence was only occasionally being broken by the giggle of the playful,mischievous waves.

I was sitting alone on the steps of a desolate ghat on the bank of the Ganges , with a vacant mind, savouring the bliss of silence, looking at the silhouette of a man at the rudder on the boat sailing through the middle of the river.

The sudden sound of soft foot-steps of a man turned my attention and I found the shadowy figure of a man. On a closer look I found a saffron cladded, matted hair, bare footed man with an Ektara in his hand. He took his seat, a few paces away from me, absolutely oblivious of my presence. In the dim light, I could found that with a child-like innocence on his face. He fixed his gaze at the river, lost in his own thought.He was a Baoul,I recognized.

After some time he started singing a heartrending song while playing the Ektara. The tune of the song filled the air with an unspeakable ambiance, striking at the same time on a long-forgotten chord of my mind. After about an hour he stopped singing. The silence descended but I could not find yet why my mind was getting disturbed.

I got to my feet, came to that man and extended few notes to him. With a Godly smile on his face, silently he declined with the swaying of his head and after a pause he quietly said, raising his head towards the sky,that again The God has failed him and his prayer so long has gone un heeded.
Having felt a slap by some invisible hand,I put back the money in my purse and staggered back towards home ,deep in thought,to get to the reason of disturbance in my mind.

Walking back, along the deserted road,all the while probing deep into my memory,cutting the layers of time.At last I saw the light.One long disputed question in my mind has just been sorted out;....The origin of the word"Baoul" is not "Baykul" but "Batul" and this man follows that maxim. So, to him any materialistic thing is of no significance and he was saddened to see that his prayer to God to change my mind did not have any effect. Now,with a lighter mind I started walking.

The Begger

Since the alms, collected through conventional mode, became minimal and hardly enough for sustenance, the beggar started begging from passengers travelling in long distance trains, running between big cities and moving at high speed with limited stoppages.These are vestibuled trains through which many compartments can be covered (except the air conditioned ones) and thereby enhances the scope of collecting the materialistic form of compassion trickling from the tight-fisted hands of passengers. Some giving with utter disgust, just to get rid of the nagging or to show-off his class difference from the rest of the passengers of the cubicle. Some drop a coin in the begging bowl with an air and pang of parting with his Kohinoor and there are some who join their palms, after dropping a small piece of coin, as if to remind the almighty to register this accrued virtue against his/her name so that it may be taken into account at the time of final judgement. But most of them look at the begging bowl as the carrier of the germs of some deadly disease and become busy in shielding themselves, vehemently waving their hands and keeping their breathing process stopped, as long as possible. Rest of them will turn their faces towards the window and start criticising and blaming the Government for ignoring this disturbing phenomenon.

All these acts make no mark on the beggar--it is almost like the same script, shown at a Cinema Hall, in matinee, evening and night shows, days and nights. But, unlike the script in cinema it does not change after a few weeks. It goes on..the same script goes on and on..although the faces change,compartments change...trains change...as if to all the passengers,before en training, a crash course in acting is being meted to them.The beggar boards a train, crosses a couple of stations and when all the available compartments are explored and done with, there comes the time to detrain and catch a train in the opposite direction. In between these acts there lies the process of dodging and greasing the palms of the guardians of laws and rules....the people who generally leave certain aspects like compassion, morality and similar petty intricacies behind them, safely closed in a certain vault the nature of which are known only to those creatures.The booking of a ticket could never be there in the scheme of things of the beggar.

The uneventful, monotonous life of the beggar was going on except on one day a man in police uniform caught hold of the beggar in a station. All the common tricks of escape fell flat and the beggar was dragged to the office of the senior officer in-charge.The herded crowd in the room started thinning out,the cases disposed--either fined or taken to custody.The beggar was then pushed forward to face the menacing officer.Where from you are coming and where do you stay?No answer, Silence. Name? Silence. Nationality? Silence.Are you deaf and dumb? More silence.The officer stood up from his chair, roaring like a caged tiger. As he was about to give the order, he gave another look to that mute statue with tears rolling down the cheek. He paused for a moment, slid back on his chair and set aside his pen.The colour of his face changed. He asked the sentry to let the beggar go..unpunished.

After all some one who is already punished by God perhaps deserves some compassion, he argued with his conscience for a fleeting moment before moving to the next case.

The Beggar was an Androgyne.