The housekeeper of Kolkata

3 Karunamayee, Kolkata

Rajat wanted to be as close to the city centre as possible. He bought himself a small home at Karunamayee. He would take a bus to Rashbehari where his office was located. Kolkata healed him a bit. He was away from all the old faces in Bangalore, and moreover, he felt closer to the goddess. Kolkata was the city of Kali. Rajat often took the monorail from Rashbehari to Kalighat. He would sit there in front of the goddess, and then they would talk. No one saw them talking, but in course of time, he felt that answers came more often. Was he blessed? Was he cursed? He didn’t know! It became confusing at times, but he felt happier day by day. Company of the goddess was far more secure than that of a human being.

He had a servant named Biswaroop Das. People knew him by the name Biswada more than the original name. The only thing worthwhile that he cooked was Bath-Macch – the Bengali fish curry with boiled rice. Rajat tried teaching him how to cook Curd-rice, Besse-belle-bath and sambar through the internet, but he himself learnt it better than him. Often, when he was fed up with Biswada’s Hilsa and rice – he would cook for both of them. Biswada would tell him weird historical stories from Kolkata’s past.

“Kolkata was the city which the world was searching. The Europeans came here and kali gave them refuge. She had pity on those fair skinned people, but they betrayed her. They betrayed her sons and daughters, and then they were kicked from here, and from India.” He would tell Rajat.

Rajat would often correct him. “Biswada…. Where did you learn your history from?”

He would then click a huge volume of ‘Day’s Comprehensive History of Medieval Bengal’ and watch the things happen in front of them. He would keep the volume high and turn Bengali text for Biswada.

“See Biswada, the British found Kolkata, and an Indian cheated the king of the Bengal and helped the British win. From Bengal, they went to take over whole of Indian subcontinent, which they ruled for two hundred years. After that, during the time of the goons rule, the city changed its name from the then Calcutta to Kolkata. The city was thrown into dark ages and degradation. It was during the rule of the buddhijivis that the Bengal was reunited and the prestige of the city was reinstated.”

Biswada often told him interesting stories about Kali, authenticity of most of whom was questionable, but Rajat enjoyed these stories a lot. He would somehow connect the historical facts with Kali. Rajat would smile at many of his innocent mistakes, but not interrupt him. Kali was the good part of his life too.

One day as they were having dinner, Biswada asked him for a day’s leave.

“Do you have a family Biswada?” Rajat asked.

“I had one.” He said somewhat indifferently. “They became ascetics.”

Rajat almost choked at it.

“They might be happy wherever they are.” Biswada continued. “I didn’t want to become ascetic because I wanted to be in this world at the feet of my goddess.”

Rajat was looking straight at Biswada’s face. He couldn’t find the right expressions. He was surprised and amused at the same time.

“You didn’t stop them?” Rajat asked.

“No. The ascetics from Himavant took them.” Biswada said.

He was both surprised and raged by now. “You allowed some ascetics to take away your family Biswada. You didn’t do anything?”

“Not some ascetics Rajat Babu.”

“Then?”

“Four of them.”

“How does it matter if they were four or even four hundred?”

“Yes, that doesn’t matter.” Biswada said. “What matters is that who they were.”

“Who were they?” Rajat asked. There was inquisitiveness in his eyes, and impatience.

“The Kumars – Sanak, Sanad, Sanaatan and Sanat Kumar.”

His eyes opened wide. He felt they would tear off.

“What?” was all he could say in a hoarse voice that his throat was capable of producing in that state of shock.

The Kumars were the mind born sons of Brahma – the creator. The eldest and forever young ascetics, they wandered among the heavens and the earth at their own will – forever chanting – Hari sharanam – we are in the refuge of the God.

They were famous for remaining at the doors of the householders only for the time equivalent to that in which a cow is milked. They would ask for alms, but would give salvation in return. If they didn’t get, they would just move on.

“Please Biswada, don’t be stupid.” Rajat said, wildly in a tone of protest.

“It’s true Rajat Babu.” Biswada emphasized his truth.

“How did you know?”

“What?”

“That they were the Kumars?”

“Children don’t vanish into thin air, or cause others to vanish. Moreover they introduced themselves.” Biswada explained.

Rajat’s hairs were standing at the end by now. “What did they say?” He asked.

Biswada sighed. “I’m going to Dakshineshwar tomorrow. I met the Kumars there. Come with me if you want to know.”

“Dakshineshwar, where is that?” Rajat asked.

“A little distance from Kolkata, there is a huge temple of Kali there. She is called the Dakshineshwari.” Biswada answered.

Rajat closed his eyes momentarily and then said calmly – “Biswada, I’ll go with you.”

Deborah and Thomas

2

London, England 

“He was my uncle! I don’t know what you are talking about?” She protested sitting on the chair in the glass chamber.

“You mean to say that you weren’t there?” The officer asked.

“Of course, I wasn’t.”

“Then where were you?”

“At my home. I was sleeping at the time you are talking about.”

“Yes, that’s what most of the people do at that hour.”

“True.”

“Yes, True. That’s why most of the criminals use the night to work.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” She was irritated.

“Its just a matter of fact. Just discussing about some obvious correlations.”

“That isn’t what you are trained for, are you? Discussing correlations.”

“Hah! Witty Ms. Dawson.  I see that you are quite alert and free from stress. Not a very usual thing to see when someone is sitting on this seat. Well, there are always exceptions, but then another strange correlation is that most of those exceptions are seasoned criminals.”

Deborah didn’t speak anything in return.

“What about the cameras madam?”

“What about them?” Deborah asked.

“They tell us that you never came home.”

“They tell you that my car didn’t come home.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Yes, that’s what it means.” The officer said.

“Because I came back with my friend. My car broke down. Its still at the services.”

“Ok…”

“So was it your first time with your uncle?” He suddenly changed the topic.

“You are offending me officer.” She cried.

“Ok. I’ll re phrase. Did you ever have any sexual relation with your uncle?”

Outside the glass box, the jury observed and heard the proceedings. The heart rate increased, so did the blood pressure. The Pulse oxymeter showed high values.

“No.” She answered.

The doctor of the court was watching the proceedings closely. He turned towards the jury and announced -

“She might be lying. She might have got offended as well. This can’t be confirmatory. Regarding the earlier part – she told the absolute truth.” 

“Thanks Ms. Dawson. You can hire a lawyer to defend yourself. If you won’t, the court would hire one for you.” The officer said. “For now, you are put on house arrest. The court will let you know the next date for hearing and the site.”

He turned away and left the glass chamber. The jury dispersed the court.

Lambeth Palace

“Father, this news moves me. There is something in my heart that compels me to go to Harrow – to her place.” He said, keeping the newspaper on the table and picking up the cup of tea.

Thomas was a young induct in the church. His study in law found an outlet in making official papers for the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was the assistant to the archbishop. However, he was also deeply interested in politics and news. The case of murder of Mr. Dawson attracted him particularly.

This morning he had sought an appointment with the Archbishop to discuss a personal matter.

“How would you justify it, son?” the bishop asked. He had the usual calmness in his voice, but his face seemed faintly anxious.

“Deborah Dawson has sought special permission from the court only for one thing.”

“…and what’s that?” archbishop asked.

“…to attend the Sunday mass at the church.”

It led to a semi – involuntary raise in the eyebrow of the Archbishop, but he suddenly normalized his expressions and smiled calmly saying –

“Seems like a good way to improve her image in the public.”

“She has been visiting the church every week. She knows all the nuns well. The church itself has given her a letter of approval which she produced to the court.”

“Hmmm….” archbishop said in a reflective mood. “That certainly strengthens your case.”

Father, I have been opening the page from the holy Bible since yesterday. Every time I open, it comes to the same passage. Pray, open a page for me sir.”

The Archbishop picked up the holy bible. Prayed on it and opened. As he moved his lips to read the passage, his eyes could only have recognized the first word, when Thomas repeated the whole passage before him.

But Jesus, answering, said to him, “Allow

it now, for this is the fitting way for us to fulfill all righteousness.”

Matthew 3:15

The Archbishop looked at Thomas, kept the book aside and said:

“Draft the letter and get it typed from the clerk. I’ll sign it for you.”

Ch.2 Coming of the Sages

Chapter 2

Coming of the Sages

1

The Himalayas, India

The foundation had been laid more than three hundred years back. Destruction was initiated by destruction. In just one night, everything except the shrine of Kedarnath was washed away. The northern pilgrimage was stopped. It took four years to revive it. On the very first day of the pilgrimage, there was a huge earthquake. All the pilgrims died. There were huge landslides. Approach to the shrine was destroyed. Only the shrine remained unaffected. Next year, there was huge seismic activity in the area which culminated in a great volcanic eruption which is now known as Mount Bhaskara as its lava seemed as a perpetual rising sun at its top. The pilgrimage was permanently stopped and the area was rendered inaccessible by the human beings. The Hindus cried at the loss.

The area – came to be known as the Hamavant in the religious circles and soon found favor with the recluses, ascetics and spiritualists. The stories of its unparalleled wild beauty, its sweet and unpolluted streams, and its crystal lakes, the ladies of the forest, the mermaids and the celestial nymphs entered the religious folklore with the wandering ascetics. It was so inaccessible and so impermeable by human beings that it came to be believed as the land of the pure – where no soul entangled in material longings could enter. The Government of India tried to make it accessible once again, but every time it tried to do so; some natural calamity would bring all the work to a rumble. The adventurers, who tried sneaking in, were either stalled or annihilated. The only ones who could enter, or at least claimed to, were the sages – who were said to have seen the wonders of the land across the Bhaskara. They talked about a lake of undisturbed water that looked like a mirror kept on land. The celestial nymphs used its waters for washing their tresses – an act that left the water fragrant with their unearthly perfume. Golden lotuses bloomed in that lake and the dust of its pollen that splattered on the river invited drones to feed on them and make a pleasing echo in the air around the lake. The lake was surrounded by beautiful garden full of plants that bore flower and fruits around all the seasons and which were scented with unearthly aromas. Various birds and wild animals lived in those gardens. The sounds of the birds and the animals gave the whole scene a magical and melodious voice. With fresh flowing air, soft green grass and crystal clear water – the whole area was no less than a paradise. The ascetics called it Devamandapam – the alter of the gods. No one knew if it actually existed or not.

 

 He had emerged from the river-bed at the Yamnotri four days back. He had always heard that entering the Hamavant was a second life to the ascetic. It had actually been a similar experience. He had thought that he would starve for air, just at the time when the surface of water started appearing to him. Then an old temple appeared to him, with red flags on its summit, and beyond it – endless white glaciers. He moved westward across the mountains, when after four days he came across a landscape that he had heard of since his childhood – the valley of flowers. There it lay in front of him, stretching in its full bloom, filled with bright colors. He moved westward.

“Gorakshak” He heard a voice from the flowers.

He turned around and saw an old ascetic with white flowing hair, white beard and white clothes. His face exuded grace and glow. He stood amidst the blue flowers. Gorakshak stood there with his gaze fixed on him, and then slowly folded his hands and bowed to him.

“How do you know my name, milord?” he asked in a suppressed astonishment.

“Who in the Hamavant doesn’t?” He answered.

“Give me the opportunity to have your introduction, sir.” Gorakshak asked.

“I am the Bhargava, Rama Jamdagneya - the son of Jamdagni.”

Listening to this, Gorakshak immediately fell down on his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he prostrated to the great sage’s feet.

“Lord Parashurama. Praise be unto you milord!” He cried.

Parashurama raised him up with both his hands. A touch of his hands shook him with divine vibrations.

“Get up son. My hermitage is across the mountain in the west. You need some rest.”

Both of them walked towards the west. Parashurama’s aura exuded positive energy all around. It felt like a wave of joy in his heart.

The Frothy Mist

7

Nigambodh Ghat, Delhi, India

  

“Oh! I love this smell of burning flesh.” The ascetic said, breathing a long deep breath.

He had long and flowing white hair - matted, oily and rough - falling down to his waist. His beard flew sideways in flowing wind. Flashes of lightening reflected in his eyeballs and lit his face momentarily – accentuating the wrinkles on his forehead. White ash was smeared all over his body.

“Alas, I would have to part with it.” He had a scornful expression on his face as if someone had done some wrong to him.

His disciples gathered around him. With their hands folded and heads bent down, they listened to him intently.

“I get the signals of change! Smell the flesh.” He said inhaling again. “It rots as it burns. Even the Agni (fire) is unable to contain the rot. When the purifier ceases to purify, it means that it’s the time for change. I feel that others might have sensed it too. They would have started as well. At the end of the era, there would be a meeting amidst destruction in the HimavntMountains of the north. The seven sages would be there and thousands of ascetics. Kripacharya, Parashurama and Lord Hanuman himself shall be there. The meeting shall be chaired by Lord Bharadvaja – the Brihaspatya – the son of none other than Brihaspati: master of the demigods. There we shall get the clarity on what’s coming.”

He repeated the old verses:

Yada yada hi dharmasya, glanir’bhavati’bharata.

Abhyut’thanam hi dharmasya, tvad’atmanam srujamyaham

Paritranaya sadhunam, Vinashaya ch’dushkritam

Dharma’sansthapanarthaya, sambhavami yuge yuge.

Whenever, on the earth the righteousness is shamed – in order to raise the righteousness, I incarnate myself. In order to save the ascetics and destroy the evil – in order to re-establish the cosmic order, I come age after age.

“We are in the darkest age, my pupils. The transition of the order is about to begin. Something new will come out of the dust of the old order, as it was the last time:

Senyur’ubhyor’madhye

…in midst of the armies and in midst of the ages…

The darkness shall soon pass.”

He turned around and walked to the banks of the turbulent Yamuna.  

“How much for an upstream ride on the flooding Yamuna?” he asked the lone rower. He was denied the ride.

“How much for a lost boat?” He asked. The rower smiled.

The ascetic was soon seen with oars, rowing upstream in the wild Yamuna, till he vanished in the frothy mist.

Two Identities

5

London

Just as Deborah turned around to board the tube, she was stopped by a voice. It was calm and deep, but sounded firm

“Richard Hayes, Metropolitan Police.”

She turned around and found herself staring at the identity card of a Met officer.

“Yes”, she said hesitantly.

“Madam, are you Ms. Deborah Dawson?” he asked.

“Yes”, Deborah answered.

“The police has the orders to detain you for questioning on John Dawson murder case. You can read the papers.” The officer handed over some papers to her.

As she read, the expressions of her face changed from confusion, to anger and then to shock.

…..Ms .Deborah Dawson to be detained by the police as a prime suspect in Dawson murder case…..

“This is nonsense. I was…” Deborah protested, but the officer interrupted her in between – “Any statement you make can be used in favor or against you, madam. It would be best if you consult your lawyer in this matter. As for me, I’m just doing my duty.”

Deborah’s face turned pale.

As she left the tube station and entered the police vehicle, there were flashes of lights and sounds of camera clicks. A group of reporters with video cameras had also gathered outside the station. Deborah covered her face with handkerchief. As she sat in the car, Deborah vaguely heard the reporter speaking in the camera-

“…as the Coventry crime bureau have given confirmation that the body fluids found at the crime scene belonged to Ms. Deborah Dawson….”

 The sound died in the vehicle sirens as the car moved on to the road.

6

Bangalore

Each day, Pankaj longed to return to his humble home, but his body had rendered him unable to do so. His driving license, identity card, and passport – all proved that he was Rajat. No one would believe that he wasn’t. He seemed to be living an artificial life. He’d better not lived at all.

It was early morning. As Pankaj returned from jogging and sat for breakfast, he was reminded the days when when he went jogging with Rajat. They would return back to have some tea and cookies. Both of them were still together. His soul and Rajat’s body, but it was so different.

He remembered how awkward it felt when Diya tried to kiss him on the first day. He was still uncomfortable with her. She often told him that he had become a stranger to her..

He visited his home once; Pankaj’s home. His parents and family had adjusted to life without him. He just remained in their background memories, maybe in their subconscious mind, but there was no trace of him in their routine life, except the photograph on the wall. He remembered how his mother had started crying on his first visit. There was an uncomfortable silence as he sat down for the tea. He visited them a couple of times again after that. Last time, his brother escorted him while leaving and quietly told her – “Bhayia, we have moved on. I know you have come to sympathize, but each time you come, it seems that it was just yesterday when Pankaj died. Each time mother keeps crying late till night. The family feels the loss. I don’t want you to feel bad about it, but I want you to let us move on, Bhayiya. It’s a request.”

He looked straight into his brother’s eyes. There was a pain in them. He meant what he said. He broke the contact. Looked down into the ground and nodded his head in affirmation. They shook hands like strangers – formally as if it didn’t mean anything and then he turned around. He kept thinking about everything. That night, when he went home; he hid his face in the pillow and just cried. He never went back to his home again.

He called Itisha one week after the death.

“Hi Itisha, Pankaj.”

There was no response for a minute, but after that there was this rather rude voice – “Rajat, I don’t know if this is to hurt me or you’re making fun of him.” And she snapped off the call. He tried calling again, but she didn’t pick up. After two months of calling and messaging, she finally decided to meet at the Cubbon Parks.

They sat on the bench in the park sipping coke.

“I don’t know what you rich guys feel, but love is not a commodity, Rajat.” She said.

“I know, Rajat…..um..Pankaj, I’m sorry was my closest friend. I feel so much about him…” Rajat said.

There was a silence. She asked “How is Diya?”

“She is fine.”

Silence.

“Well I think I must go.” Itisha said breaking the silence. “I’ve got to take my mother from hospital. She goes there for physiotherapy these days.”

She said goodbye and turned around.

There was a call from her a few months after the meeting. She was getting engaged over the weekend.

 

A few weeks later, Bangalore

“Rajat, I have appointed you as the Chief Manager of our East India project at Kolkata. It would take you away from Bangalore so that you can de-stress. It’s a new project, so you can understand and do better.”

Rajat’s past memory had weakened a lot after the accident in which Pankaj died. Miraculously, he had escaped unhurt. His father was concerned about his health. Rajat couldn’t even recognize people whom the family knew so closely. Whenever he talked to him, there was contempt in his voice and a line across his face.  Sending him to Kolkata might bring a nice change in his life. He would meet new people and make new friends. He would be able to get off the old things.

“What is the project dad?” Rajat asked.

“Our CEO would brief you about it.” He answered. “When do you want to be there?” He asked.

“Tomorrow, maybe!” Rajat answered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Rajat answered.