I was known about this mishap from the guard who stopped me from entering the house initially but its certain that he isn't aware of that so I kept quiet and lowered my head to avoid eye-contact with him.
My cellphone was vibrating for the fifth time and I heard him fumbling something.
"It has been a thousand years since I started trekking the earth
A huge travel in night’s darkness from the Ceylonese waters
to the Malayan sea
I have been there too: the fading world of Vimbisara and Asoka
Even further—the forgotten city of Vidarva,
Today I am a weary soul although the ocean of life around continues to foam,
Except for a few soothing moments with Natore’s Banalata Sen.
Her hair as if the dark night of long lost Vidisha,
Her face reminiscent of the fine works of Sravasti,
When I saw her in the shadow it seemed
as if a ship-wrecked mariner in a far away sea
has spotted a cinnamon island lined with greenish grass.
“Where had you been lost all these days? ”
yes, she demanded of me, Natore’s Banalata Sen
raising her eyes of profound refuge.
At the day’s end evening crawls in like the sound of dews,
The kite flaps off the smell of sun from its wings.
When all colours take leave from the world
except for the flicker of the hovering fireflies
The manuscript is ready with tales to be told
All birds come home, rivers too,
All transactions of the day being over
Nothing remains but darkness
to sit face to face with Banalata Sen."
He was out of breathe almost after narrating the whole poem of the great poet Jibonanando Das.At this age also he remembered the verse so perfectly...a matter of appreciation truly.
With time the bitterness for him was fading it seems though I wanted to keep the fire alive.I have so many questions in my mind which were never been filled with a proper answer in presence of Bonolata...er! my step mom,whom I hated throughout my aldolesence and adulthood.Before I could remove the scar of arriving at a time with a wrong question to speak about, I was asked to rest at the guest room and freshen up for some rituals where other guests will come to offer condolences. In a way I was deviated from being a guest to be the host for time being without asking my permission. I have always learned throughout the time from my mother that this man is known for his severe choices.
I saw Arunabha sitting at the sofa just beside Bonolata's photo.May be, he is weeping in silence. I saw the thick white smoke of 'yagna' refilling the room as well as my mind with a sense of unavoidable sad notion.I felt like putting my hand of comfort on Arunabha's shoulder though I refrained myself from doing so.I turned to see a tall man is his 90's mostly cladded in white tashar dhoti.I can quickly assume the fabric as I remembered my ma's face lighting up when she got a saree of similar fabric once from father. During those days I was staying with her in that small apartment at Sokher bazaar while my father left us to cherish his talents of adulthood in the brothel of Bombay.The tinge of past memories tasted worse than chewing neem. I turned my face towards Arunabha again, atleast his bitter condition made me selfishly better for the time being.
I saw that old man coming and standing beside me...more specifically his wheel-chair." "You are Bonolata's eldest son...right?" ... the heavy voice broke the silence of the past.I hate being called as her eldest son yet to my surprise today I nodded my head. May be its true, I have inherited most of my traits from my ma. I thought to leave the place and was about to step out when a feeble hand hold me back.To my surprise, it was the same old man.I shrugged and gave him a bitter look. He, without getting affected asked his helper to leave us alone.
" Why the hell this man stopped me from leaving? And what does he want to speak in privacy? "... I was utterly disgusted.
He asked me to follow him to a room which is far away from the room where all the rituals are taking place. It seems he is quite often to this house and must have some deep connection with my biological father.
After all sort of assumption and my monologue session, I heard the same bold voice resonating through the surface of his epiglotis... " Do you know remember me? " he asked as if he feels Im acting unknown infront of him."
"I haven't seen any similar looking man " ... I mocked.
He smiled. " Its age that changes your expression of asking from confirming. Though I was a good orator...now nothing" ... he said looking at his left hand hanging from the wheel-chair. " Would you mind if I ask you to lift my left hand on the arm-rest of wheel chair?Actually this bloody left is too lazy to move by itself!"... he started laughing at his own humour.
I did what I was asked...even during my school days, my teacher used to make me do all the odd jobs in return of some extra minutes from them when they used to listen and give probable answers to my questions.Though it also made me the teachers most obedient pet to be called by my classmates.
" You know why I asked you to come with me? I thought to speak to you long back but Vishesh never gave me any contact details of yours. I guess probably you shouldn't remember me as your step-mother's father but must had remembered me as your father's mentor or guru.Yes! Im Dr. Akhilesh Bharadwaj, from whom your father had learned the A-B-C-D of music which he soon left after he met my daughter to my worst surprise." ... he stopped to catch some breathe giving me chance to speak.
" I don't remember you in either way. And I want my answers from my biological father and not from his father-in-law or guru.Its already been years that I have grown up with all sort of assumptions of my dad receding visits to me and my mom and later learning it as your daughter to be the cause of it. But still the question remained...Why didn't he divorced my ma but just let her suffer all alone throughout her life till death?I know I was left with no other options other than staying with your daughter after her death as I was still a minor. Anyhow I dont want any answer from you so if you please excuse, I want to leave."... I started walking towards the exit.
" Arundhati was one of the many causes." ... his cracked voice stopped me and I saw that old man with tear-filled eyes.
"You don't know how much painful it is for a father to come for his daughter's funeral and it pains more when you learn that someone present in her last ritual has hatred for her.I know your grief is rightful but only if, you judge after you let me brief the whole incident." ...this time his voice was not loud to be heard by ears but from heart.
I nodded again as my voice was already choked.
"Vishesh was working in a small cotton mill and later he got a job in a decent sari retail shop at Boubazar when you were born.His earning was not enough for a family of three, mostly when he is married to a daughter from zamindar's blood. I think your mother has told it that their marriage wasn't arranged.Anyhow I met him in that shop during the occasion of my daughter's ashirbaad ceremony.Later one day I saw him singing for a small function near to my house. I liked his voice and asked him if he had any technical teaching, when he refused...I took him in the troop of my background singers. From then he started going with me to Bombay for different programmes I used to do there. Your mom was quite happy. Meanwhile, I saw my daughter's liking for your father though she was soon-to-be married girl. Though your father was just a background singer, he had a charming personality. Soon he started writing small poems and dedicating it to my daughter who used to come to meet me often in my rehearsal room. Initially I didn't paid much heed, and sooner I found a new artist within him...he was a great poet. i recommended him to my friend where my daughter used to go to learn poetry. Soon Vaishaki changed to Bonolata and my background singer changed to Vishesh, the great poet. All this things were known to your mom yet she kept quiet.Meanwhile for a very petty reason, Vaishaki aka Bonolata's marriage was cancelled.Even though she got married to the son of my friend, she always remained the centre of his inspiration and a part of his poetry.Vishesh started writing lyrics and verse but all throughout your mom wasn't interested in his choosen life or I should say she encouraged him to go haywire. Within a year of his fame, your mom was diagnosed with tuberculosis which was quiet fatal at that time. He went back to Kolkata and never returned after that for long. I lost hope in him and learned that your mom had passed away. I was engaged in my daughter's marital problem which resulted in a heart breaking divorce. She was devastated as the way things turned out to be when she is already carrying a 7 months baby.Her husband claimed that the baby she is carrying is not his but of someone else. I was enraged and threw her out of my house even.I was ashamed and was criticised publicly given no other option than to leave India. I went to England to my elder son's untill I got to know a year back that Bonolata has got cancer." ... he stopped and pointed his right index finger to somewhere. I found a glass at that place.He gulped the water and started speaking again
"The email was from Vishesh. I was cent percent assured that the baby she was carrying then was of Vishesh so I never replied him back in disgust. Still being a father, I sent some money to her account and asked my son to mail them about the money sent. My son never sent the money but booked our return tickets to India. He wanted to meet his sister and hence I returned but got my left side paralysed.Within few months Bonolata passed away. I met her twice in between, once with my son and once just before she closed her eyes forever."
I noticed his front part of kurta wet with tears.
I don't know how to conclude from his story though I remember ma waiting for baba all throughout. I felt a burning sensation when he said she let my dad go haywire. How could he say like that about my ma? Though I agree Bonolata never ignored me or mistreated me like a step son when I started staying with her but still she cant be a goddess for that as still she is the cause of my mom's sorrow and may be even her death.
" Do you want to know the inference of this story? "... he enquired wiping his face with the end of his kurta.
I looked blank.
"No one was wrong if you ask me. Your dad loved your mom and still he loves her.Your mom understood his talent and let him take his way. She knew that he was like water and would take his way in her presence or absence. My daughter was just the path through which he flowed and your mother was like the boulders which gave him intensity to rise. He had loved and respected to both the women. May be now you might feel your dad as a selfish self-centered person who have used both the women to get fame but to your as well as to my surprise its not so. After I refused to accept my pregnant daughter, it was Vishesh who gave her shelter and the baby name. He gave you Bonolata, who took care of you more than a mother from the time Arundhati, your mom passed away and she came to your fathers life. Bonolata died of shame and guilt that she was responsible for Arundhati's demise. She always saw that question in your eyes for her and your father.She told that while counting on her last few breathes."... the old man stopped in between realising that Im eager to ask something more.
"Then what about Arunabha? Isn't he my dad's illegitimate son from Bonolata?" ... I spoke with a little grief and hell lot of hatred for my dad.
"I knew that you will ask this question only. I was assured that Arunabha was Vishesh's son so I hated both of them till the first time I saw Bonolata lying numb with Arunabha by her side, you were placed in US then. She told me that other than an emotional attachment, she never shared any other relationship with Vishesh. She was like a goddess to Vishesh, to whom he used to dedicate all his verse.They had always kept their relation on the very layer of purity of soul which Arundhati was quiet aware of...hence never stopped Vishesh from his creation. But rumours were spread in industry about their extramarital affair which affected Bonolata's marital life. Her husband started questioning about her and Vishesh's relation. Meanwhile Vishesh left for Kolkata while she was pregnant. Her in laws as well as husband claimed it as Vishesh's fruit. Hence the whole story turned out, even I faced my back towards her when she needed my support." .... grandpa started howling and I ran towards him to hug him.
Tears rolled down from my eyes unconsciously. I saw a figure standing at the door. My father was standing may be from long. I saw him falling down by his knees and started weeping.I left grandpa and hugged my dad.I could feel someone else hugging us both together. It was Arunabha, my younger sibling.
It was an emotional moment... a moment I felt for the first time that Im sad not because of some other reason but because I have lost my mother once again.
"Bonolota tumi chole gele amay akla kore
kintu morbe na tumi tao amar moroner pore
tomar namer age boshbe duti akhar naam
tara tomar gourav-Arunabha ar Arindam"
My dad breathed his last that day whispering the above verse.I was left with my brother Arunabha and another history to be created in name of Bonolata...the goddess in disguise.
A huge travel in night’s darkness from the Ceylonese waters
to the Malayan sea
I have been there too: the fading world of Vimbisara and Asoka
Even further—the forgotten city of Vidarva,
Today I am a weary soul although the ocean of life around continues to foam,
Except for a few soothing moments with Natore’s Banalata Sen.
Her hair as if the dark night of long lost Vidisha,
Her face reminiscent of the fine works of Sravasti,
When I saw her in the shadow it seemed
as if a ship-wrecked mariner in a far away sea
has spotted a cinnamon island lined with greenish grass.
“Where had you been lost all these days? ”
yes, she demanded of me, Natore’s Banalata Sen
raising her eyes of profound refuge.
At the day’s end evening crawls in like the sound of dews,
The kite flaps off the smell of sun from its wings.
When all colours take leave from the world
except for the flicker of the hovering fireflies
The manuscript is ready with tales to be told
All birds come home, rivers too,
All transactions of the day being over
Nothing remains but darkness
to sit face to face with Banalata Sen."
He was out of breathe almost after narrating the whole poem of the great poet Jibonanando Das.At this age also he remembered the verse so perfectly...a matter of appreciation truly.
With time the bitterness for him was fading it seems though I wanted to keep the fire alive.I have so many questions in my mind which were never been filled with a proper answer in presence of Bonolata...er! my step mom,whom I hated throughout my aldolesence and adulthood.Before I could remove the scar of arriving at a time with a wrong question to speak about, I was asked to rest at the guest room and freshen up for some rituals where other guests will come to offer condolences. In a way I was deviated from being a guest to be the host for time being without asking my permission. I have always learned throughout the time from my mother that this man is known for his severe choices.
I saw Arunabha sitting at the sofa just beside Bonolata's photo.May be, he is weeping in silence. I saw the thick white smoke of 'yagna' refilling the room as well as my mind with a sense of unavoidable sad notion.I felt like putting my hand of comfort on Arunabha's shoulder though I refrained myself from doing so.I turned to see a tall man is his 90's mostly cladded in white tashar dhoti.I can quickly assume the fabric as I remembered my ma's face lighting up when she got a saree of similar fabric once from father. During those days I was staying with her in that small apartment at Sokher bazaar while my father left us to cherish his talents of adulthood in the brothel of Bombay.The tinge of past memories tasted worse than chewing neem. I turned my face towards Arunabha again, atleast his bitter condition made me selfishly better for the time being.
I saw that old man coming and standing beside me...more specifically his wheel-chair." "You are Bonolata's eldest son...right?" ... the heavy voice broke the silence of the past.I hate being called as her eldest son yet to my surprise today I nodded my head. May be its true, I have inherited most of my traits from my ma. I thought to leave the place and was about to step out when a feeble hand hold me back.To my surprise, it was the same old man.I shrugged and gave him a bitter look. He, without getting affected asked his helper to leave us alone.
" Why the hell this man stopped me from leaving? And what does he want to speak in privacy? "... I was utterly disgusted.
He asked me to follow him to a room which is far away from the room where all the rituals are taking place. It seems he is quite often to this house and must have some deep connection with my biological father.
After all sort of assumption and my monologue session, I heard the same bold voice resonating through the surface of his epiglotis... " Do you know remember me? " he asked as if he feels Im acting unknown infront of him."
"I haven't seen any similar looking man " ... I mocked.
He smiled. " Its age that changes your expression of asking from confirming. Though I was a good orator...now nothing" ... he said looking at his left hand hanging from the wheel-chair. " Would you mind if I ask you to lift my left hand on the arm-rest of wheel chair?Actually this bloody left is too lazy to move by itself!"... he started laughing at his own humour.
I did what I was asked...even during my school days, my teacher used to make me do all the odd jobs in return of some extra minutes from them when they used to listen and give probable answers to my questions.Though it also made me the teachers most obedient pet to be called by my classmates.
" You know why I asked you to come with me? I thought to speak to you long back but Vishesh never gave me any contact details of yours. I guess probably you shouldn't remember me as your step-mother's father but must had remembered me as your father's mentor or guru.Yes! Im Dr. Akhilesh Bharadwaj, from whom your father had learned the A-B-C-D of music which he soon left after he met my daughter to my worst surprise." ... he stopped to catch some breathe giving me chance to speak.
" I don't remember you in either way. And I want my answers from my biological father and not from his father-in-law or guru.Its already been years that I have grown up with all sort of assumptions of my dad receding visits to me and my mom and later learning it as your daughter to be the cause of it. But still the question remained...Why didn't he divorced my ma but just let her suffer all alone throughout her life till death?I know I was left with no other options other than staying with your daughter after her death as I was still a minor. Anyhow I dont want any answer from you so if you please excuse, I want to leave."... I started walking towards the exit.
" Arundhati was one of the many causes." ... his cracked voice stopped me and I saw that old man with tear-filled eyes.
"You don't know how much painful it is for a father to come for his daughter's funeral and it pains more when you learn that someone present in her last ritual has hatred for her.I know your grief is rightful but only if, you judge after you let me brief the whole incident." ...this time his voice was not loud to be heard by ears but from heart.
I nodded again as my voice was already choked.
"Vishesh was working in a small cotton mill and later he got a job in a decent sari retail shop at Boubazar when you were born.His earning was not enough for a family of three, mostly when he is married to a daughter from zamindar's blood. I think your mother has told it that their marriage wasn't arranged.Anyhow I met him in that shop during the occasion of my daughter's ashirbaad ceremony.Later one day I saw him singing for a small function near to my house. I liked his voice and asked him if he had any technical teaching, when he refused...I took him in the troop of my background singers. From then he started going with me to Bombay for different programmes I used to do there. Your mom was quite happy. Meanwhile, I saw my daughter's liking for your father though she was soon-to-be married girl. Though your father was just a background singer, he had a charming personality. Soon he started writing small poems and dedicating it to my daughter who used to come to meet me often in my rehearsal room. Initially I didn't paid much heed, and sooner I found a new artist within him...he was a great poet. i recommended him to my friend where my daughter used to go to learn poetry. Soon Vaishaki changed to Bonolata and my background singer changed to Vishesh, the great poet. All this things were known to your mom yet she kept quiet.Meanwhile for a very petty reason, Vaishaki aka Bonolata's marriage was cancelled.Even though she got married to the son of my friend, she always remained the centre of his inspiration and a part of his poetry.Vishesh started writing lyrics and verse but all throughout your mom wasn't interested in his choosen life or I should say she encouraged him to go haywire. Within a year of his fame, your mom was diagnosed with tuberculosis which was quiet fatal at that time. He went back to Kolkata and never returned after that for long. I lost hope in him and learned that your mom had passed away. I was engaged in my daughter's marital problem which resulted in a heart breaking divorce. She was devastated as the way things turned out to be when she is already carrying a 7 months baby.Her husband claimed that the baby she is carrying is not his but of someone else. I was enraged and threw her out of my house even.I was ashamed and was criticised publicly given no other option than to leave India. I went to England to my elder son's untill I got to know a year back that Bonolata has got cancer." ... he stopped and pointed his right index finger to somewhere. I found a glass at that place.He gulped the water and started speaking again
"The email was from Vishesh. I was cent percent assured that the baby she was carrying then was of Vishesh so I never replied him back in disgust. Still being a father, I sent some money to her account and asked my son to mail them about the money sent. My son never sent the money but booked our return tickets to India. He wanted to meet his sister and hence I returned but got my left side paralysed.Within few months Bonolata passed away. I met her twice in between, once with my son and once just before she closed her eyes forever."
I noticed his front part of kurta wet with tears.
I don't know how to conclude from his story though I remember ma waiting for baba all throughout. I felt a burning sensation when he said she let my dad go haywire. How could he say like that about my ma? Though I agree Bonolata never ignored me or mistreated me like a step son when I started staying with her but still she cant be a goddess for that as still she is the cause of my mom's sorrow and may be even her death.
" Do you want to know the inference of this story? "... he enquired wiping his face with the end of his kurta.
I looked blank.
"No one was wrong if you ask me. Your dad loved your mom and still he loves her.Your mom understood his talent and let him take his way. She knew that he was like water and would take his way in her presence or absence. My daughter was just the path through which he flowed and your mother was like the boulders which gave him intensity to rise. He had loved and respected to both the women. May be now you might feel your dad as a selfish self-centered person who have used both the women to get fame but to your as well as to my surprise its not so. After I refused to accept my pregnant daughter, it was Vishesh who gave her shelter and the baby name. He gave you Bonolata, who took care of you more than a mother from the time Arundhati, your mom passed away and she came to your fathers life. Bonolata died of shame and guilt that she was responsible for Arundhati's demise. She always saw that question in your eyes for her and your father.She told that while counting on her last few breathes."... the old man stopped in between realising that Im eager to ask something more.
"Then what about Arunabha? Isn't he my dad's illegitimate son from Bonolata?" ... I spoke with a little grief and hell lot of hatred for my dad.
"I knew that you will ask this question only. I was assured that Arunabha was Vishesh's son so I hated both of them till the first time I saw Bonolata lying numb with Arunabha by her side, you were placed in US then. She told me that other than an emotional attachment, she never shared any other relationship with Vishesh. She was like a goddess to Vishesh, to whom he used to dedicate all his verse.They had always kept their relation on the very layer of purity of soul which Arundhati was quiet aware of...hence never stopped Vishesh from his creation. But rumours were spread in industry about their extramarital affair which affected Bonolata's marital life. Her husband started questioning about her and Vishesh's relation. Meanwhile Vishesh left for Kolkata while she was pregnant. Her in laws as well as husband claimed it as Vishesh's fruit. Hence the whole story turned out, even I faced my back towards her when she needed my support." .... grandpa started howling and I ran towards him to hug him.
Tears rolled down from my eyes unconsciously. I saw a figure standing at the door. My father was standing may be from long. I saw him falling down by his knees and started weeping.I left grandpa and hugged my dad.I could feel someone else hugging us both together. It was Arunabha, my younger sibling.
It was an emotional moment... a moment I felt for the first time that Im sad not because of some other reason but because I have lost my mother once again.
"Bonolota tumi chole gele amay akla kore
kintu morbe na tumi tao amar moroner pore
tomar namer age boshbe duti akhar naam
tara tomar gourav-Arunabha ar Arindam"
My dad breathed his last that day whispering the above verse.I was left with my brother Arunabha and another history to be created in name of Bonolata...the goddess in disguise.
No comments:
Post a Comment