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.

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 Crying Child

Friday Morning 10:00 AM

BANNERGHATTA CREMATORIUM, Bangalore

People were grieving as the button was pressed and the dead body heated to intense red and turned into flames. There was a tremendous uproar. Ladies of the house were crying insane. It was the sound of death. It tears the heart and the soul in its merciless music.

 The melody of death was the favorite music for Vibhu’s ears. He stood there – in the form of a child – a young boy at it – watching the proceedings calmly. He haunted the crematoria as a crying child – filling the heart of the survivors with the sadness of death.

Just as the attendance to the funeral attrited , Rajat left the mourning family. He was among the last ones to leave as he was so close to the deceased. As he took the turn towards the lawns that lead to the parking outside the crematorium gates – he heard a squeal. The saddest and the most painful one he had ever heard. It resonated with a great loss. It resonated with emptiness and longing which can never be fulfilled - a wail that would invoke sympathy even in the hearts of the most merciless people. The wind was in the trees. It was a beautiful day. He turned around and saw the most beautiful and yet the saddest face of a boy he had ever seen. Fair, but pale, with red lips and black hair. He wore white kurta- pyjama. His mourning seemed complete.

An instant sense of sadness at the loss of the boy filled Rajat’s heart with extreme sympathy. He approached him and sat down on the ground on his knees facing the boy. He gently wiped the boy’s tears and amidst his sobs, he asked him, “Don’t cry my child. Where are your parents? Why are you alone?”

The boy had a white rose in his hand. He asked Rajat, “Was he your brother?” He was still sobbing.

Rajat answered, “He was my friend - a really close friend.”

“It’s so sad.” The boy said and burst into a sad squeal.

Rajat was a bit confused. Was he from the family? But then why was he alone? He asked, “You know him?”

The boy moved his head in denial.

“Then why are you crying for him?” Rajat asked. He was really confused by now.

“He will never find peace……” the boy burst into the saddest cry. “ He will never be able to cross to the other side.”

Rajat’s face turned white. The words reverberated in his mind. He looked like a dead man already. His hands turned cold. His speech stopped.

“This is your friend’s flower. I’ll take him with me.”

He remembered that a dead man’s flower is his ashes.

He ran off stumbling and falling a little distance away. He heard the boy’s words. “Its so sad. I’ll take you too. I cry for you as well.” And then burst into a loud crackling cry. The cry filled Rajat’s heart with absolute sadness. He stopped running and stood still. He didn’t want to live anymore.

The boy came over to him and gently took his hand. He led him to cremation table where his friend lay minutes back. The family was gone. There were no ashes there.