The Million Years Old Kids!

Dakshineshwar

Biswada approached the door and switched the biometric lock on active mode. His body was scanned and his retinal code was matched. The door opened. Biswada spoke on the door. 

“Guest. Name RajatBabu. “

There were clicks from the cameras on the door. The lock device showed that Rajat was cleared to enter. Rajat entered into a tastefully decorated lobby.

“How is it so clean, Biswada?” Rajat was amused that it was spotless though there was no servant in the house.

“Oh! That’s because of the robotic cleaners. They are timed.” Biswada answered.

Rajat heard the voice of a child from one of the rooms upstairs. It was a soft voice:

“five ones are five….five twos are ten…five threes are fifteen….” It went on.

They moved upstairs. There was a soft yellow glow coming from one of the rooms – from which the voice seemed to be coming. Biswada rushed toward the room.

A child was sitting on the chair with back toward the door – studying from the book kept on the table.. Biswada ran toward him – “Son!” He cried.

The boy jumped from the chair – “Father!” He said

Biswada took the kids hands and pressed them lovingly. The child jumped suddenly with a loud shriek – “ohhh! It hurts father.”

The palms were bleeding right in the middle. It suddenly reminded Rajat of something.

The boy turned around. Rajat froze for a moment.

“Vibhu!” He cried in horror. He immediately turned to Biswada. “Biswada come and run. At once! He is no son of yours. He is a demon. He haunts the crematoria as a crying boy. Let’s go Biswada.”

Biswada seemed both shocked and angry. He was about to say something when Vibhu stopped him. He said to Rajat:

“Pankaj. You may be right in your way about me. But I am no demon. I have just come on the insistence of my gurus. Your friend is my friend. He is with me all the time, and as mother said –he is at peace. He is happy. I am the one who feels his agony all the time.”

Rajat looked at him. Suddenly there was a sound from the entrance.

All of them rushed toward the main enterance. There were four young boys – hardly six years of age and stark naked. – the Sanat Kumars.

“Rajat.” , spoke one of them. “Learn it that Vibhu is not wrong. As for you, go with him. He’ll take you where things would be clearer.”

“Go with him.” They said in unison, and vanished. 

There was nothing, but a blurred echo -  “Harisharanam”.

It was about time in which a cow could be milked. The Kumars never stay at a place longer than that, lest they might develop an attachment with the world! They are not of this world.

Visit to the temple

1

Dakshineshwar, Kolkata

Rajat and Biswda had boarded the ferry to Dakshineshwar at Fairlie Ghat. They had been sailing over the Hooghly for about ten minutes now. This was the route which carried passengers across the city since medieval times. Rajat saw a huge three storied structure on the eastern banks of the river – designed majestically in old Bengali architecture, with nine massive navratna spires dominating the horizon.

“That is the temple of Dakshineshwari.” Biswada pointed toward the building.

“Old!” Rajat exclaimed, “Breathtaking.”

They alighted on the bank and took the flight of stairs up the ghat.

The temple of Kali at Dakshineshwar was built by a queen on a land bought from the British on the east bank of the Hooghly. The site partially covered a Muslim burial ground. The presiding deity was Bhavatarini – the one who rescued from the turbulent ocean of life.

“Beautiful!” Rajat said, “But it cannot match how the goddess looks in real.”

“What?” Biswada exclaimed. “Real?”

Rajat realized what he had spoken. “Oh. I mean how she might look in real. She might be beautiful.” He cleverly covered up his mistake.

“Yes, Rajat Babu.” Biswada replied. “She would be the most beautiful one in the whole world. I wish I could see her.”

As both of them exited the sanctum sanctorum, Biswada led her into residential area of Dakshineshwar.

“Isn’t it amazing Rajat Babu. Dakshineshwar used to be north Kolkata.” Biswada looked at Rajat. He giggled. Rajat gave him a stare of disgust. “Biswada, it wasn’t amazing at all.”

“Anyhow.” Biswada continued. All this was irritating Rajat. Biswada had been talking continuously since past hour and most of it was crap. It was getting on his nerves now, but Biswada continued uninhibited. “The important thing is that why we came here in the first place.”

I think I was mad. I could have come here alone. Rajat thought to himself, however, there was no end to Biswada’s talks.

“Do you see that building Rajat Babu.” Biswada pointed towards a large thousand square yards mansion among the apartments.

“Yes.” Rajat answered absent mindedly. He was more mindful of own head that had started to ache by now.

“That belongs to the millionaire Krishna Das Choudhari.” Biswada said.

Why is he telling me all this. Rajat was really annoyed.

“I used to live there.” Biswada said rather coolly.

“What?” It was getting out of hands now. “Biswada. Did you get me here to tell me all this? Now don’t tell me that you are Krishna Das Choudhuri’s son – Biswaroop Das Choudhuri. I’m having a headache, so please remain silent now.”

“Ok.” Biswada said and marched toward the mansion. He opened the gate. Rajat ran after him.

“Biswada, we aren’t going there. What the hell? What are you doing Biswada? I don’t know them” Rajat barked.

“Rajat babu. I’m going in. They don’t live here anymore.” Biswada said coldly and proceeded.

Rajat blocked his way now. “Biswada. Ok! Whats going on? Tell me first.”

Biswda sighed, “After Krishna Das and family shifted to Lahore, I was the chief caretaker of this property. I lived here with my family. After my family left, I felt lonely in this place, therefore I left the service, but Krishna Das had trust on me, therefore he let me have the possession of the property. I keep visiting here frequently to see that everything is alright.”

“…and you have got me here to tell me this…?” Rajat felt even more annoyed.

“Definitely not. Rajat babu, please don’t grow impatient. I am telling you everything.” Biswada led Rajat to the verandah. “After my family went away, I felt really lonely for some time. I feel even now, so we made a pact. Whenever my family needs to meet me, I get indications to meet them. On Friday night, I got a dream – I saw my son in this house. Rajat babu, maybe I am chasing a dream, but I believe in it.

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.”

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.