A shelter in the snow

At Himavant

The unknown effort, as well as the time lapse between their dive into the Ganges, and their arrival at Himavant had left both Shankara and Burak exhausted. The fruit of the skies invigorated them, and at the same time, made them drowsy as well. They had just rested their backs on the rock by the side of the blue Ganges, that they dozed off to the realms of sleep, to be woken-up only in the evening, by the distant tinkling of bells, as if from the small tinklets tied on the neck of the cows.

Cows? There would be no cows here; maybe just the yaks. They would use the Yaks as the cows, maybe.

The sun was setting over the mountains behind the Ganges. It was just these folds of the earth everywhere around them. Visible in layers over layers, towering over one another. Burak turned around to Shankara.

‘There must be some humans there as well.’

‘Yes, let us see. We need to move and find a shelter soon, or the night would kill us of its cold even if the wild animals don’t hunt us.’ Shankara answered.

Both got up and turned around to the sounds. The tinkling was not from the vicinity, but from a far off place. As they moved on, the sounds got a tad louder each moment. These were not the tinklets on the necks of the cows, but actually the bells. They kept moving to the direction of the sound, until, in the midway, the sound just stopped all of a sudden. Among the mountains, they weren’t even sure, from which direction the sound came, now they were left entirely clueless.

‘ Let us just walk straight. Let us hope we reach somewhere.’ Shankara said with a sigh.

They walked ahead on the snowy track as it started getting darker. It would be night in another hour. As they walked, they hit a summit and saw a valley down the peak. Burak turned around to look at the expanse around him. The sky was crisp and the air was fresh. A sight suddenly caught Burak’s eyes. A little down the peak, there was a wooden structure. He quickly turned to Shankara, who faced onto the other direction, and patted his back. As Shankara turned around, Burak pointed his finger towards the building. Shankara’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he spontaneously fell on his knees in prostration towards the structure. As Burak looked ahead, he saw a man appear on the way to the structure, and as Shankara went down in prostration, the man faced the building and went into a sajdah. Shankara, got up and pulled Burak’s arm to take him ahead, as Burak watched the man in green robes go down into sajdah again. By all means he was into the namaz, except that he faced opposite to the quiblah.

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.

End of an era

Bamiyan

It was the year of power transfer. The Bamiyan Assembly held an election every four years in which the general public elected its representatives. The assembly had two limbs – the residential corporation and the commercial corporation. The residential corporation was elected by the people based on the geographical locations. Each location had a member who took care of the interests of the residents. The commercial corporation was elected by the trade guilds based on various registered professions. The trade guilds were elected by the professionals. The main work of the commercial corporation was regulation of the professions. Elected members of the residential corporation were simply called corporators, who were headed by a mayor, while those of the commercial corporation were called ministers. The ministers were headed by the chancellor. The mayor and the chancellor were integrated by the Convener of the assembly. The mayor, chancellor and the convener made the board of the governors, who also took care of the home office, the treasury, and the external affairs respectively. A shadow government was, likewise, made to represent the minority voice in the assembly. The shadow assembly had half the vote of the actual assembly. Every resolution was passed on a three fourth majority. As a result a second choice poll was usually conducted.

 

In the Grand Hall which was the office of the Convener of Bamiyan Assembly, Wazir Ali Khan signed on the sheet of parchment with his traditional fountain pen. As he ended his signatures with a dot, he broke the nib.

As was the tradition, the last sermon; as the law was called in Bamiyan, would be issued by the Convener in the Grand hall in presence of the mayor, the shadow mayor, the chancellor and the shadow chancellor. Over a period of time, the Conveners had made another unwritten rule of breaking the nib on the last sign.  

“Indeed, this era would be written in golden words in the history of Bamiyan.” Muzammil Hussain said holding Wazir’s hands, kissing them, and touching them on his eyes.

“Definitely sir! You make us proud.” The other voices added. There was an overwhelming atmosphere in the hall.

Wazir Ali smiled gently, took a seal out of his drawer and put it under his signatures. The seal bore the emblem of Afghanistan and under it was written:

W. A. Khan

Convener, Bamiyan Assembly

The sermon pronounced the dissolution of the Assembly and passage of all the powers to the chair of the highest power - ceremonial chair of the god kept under the golden dome in the central hall of the assembly. The chair would, thereafter, bestow the powers to the peoples’ representatives after elections. He passed the parchment over to his clerk. The clerk would later broadcast it and digitalize it for its use for all practical purposes. As for the parchment – it would be laminated and kept in the Assembly Achieves like all other sermons.

Wazir Khan folded his spectacles into his case. His Durban took hold of the case and followed him. As he moved on to the corridors, his staff had gathered on both the sides to see him off. He had been there for eight years – two consecutive terms. He had denied contesting for the third time.

Wazir took the stairway at his right that led to the central hall and stood before the chair of the highest power. He closed his eyes and said:

“Allah! Let there be prosperity and peace!”

All the people repeated the phrase. The only difference was that everyone prayed to his own god. The Chair of the hisghest Power was the place where the god sat – the one god, called by innumerable names. He protected the city and the world through ages. In this age of decline – Bamiyan was verily a heaven.

Wazir Khan left the building through the northern stairway that led straight to the Republic Street. People had gathered at the Assembly Square to see Wazir Khan leave the office. He was, perhaps, the most popular face in Afghanistan, and one of the world’s most important persons.  Just as Khan came out of the high door, there was a massive applause from the people at the square. Khan waved at them shortly and then descended the stairs onto the official wagon waiting to drop him home for the last time. He sat on his wagon and took a sigh. His work wasn’t over as yet, though.