THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 22): PHANTOM OF CHINARPUR

Yesterday night I met him… The Phantom! Yes, The Phantom of Chinarpur! Before I delve deeper into the details of this story, let me begin today’s journal with the sequence of the events that led to my experience yesterday. As the months have eroded away, my amnesia has also progressed into a more advanced stage. There are so many things I cannot recall anymore. However, I have made it a practice to read my past journals every night and it works really well. I feel that all my efforts have been worth it. Yet, a feeling of dejection about my own self and body keeps creeping into my mind. Understanding this condition, my friend and colleague, Mehul, asked me to accompany him on a weekend trip to the Karnala Bird Sanctuary.

The trip began on Saturday and I must admit that it was a real refresher. Yesterday, that is Sunday, we decided to visit the Karnala Fort and the Ransai Reservoir on our way back and return to Mumbai by the evening. The day was well spent and the two of us had a sumptuous late lunch at a local restaurant. However, as unpredictable as it gets during the monsoon season, a gust of rainclouds brought a flash of heavy downpour. Such was the force of the rain coupled with a strong thunderstorm, that it seemed impossible for us to head back. We decided to wait, but the incessant rains seemed unperturbed even after another long hour. It was already six-thirty and the darkness was covering

As we were preparing to leave, the restaurant-owner’s help came up to us and said, “Sahib, do you know about Chinarpur?”

Both Mehul and I gave a perplexed look while the boy continued, “Sahib, in this weather condition I believe it would not be safe to drive back to Mumbai. Moreover, the night is descending fast. Chinarpur is a small village about three kilometers away from here. Not many people have heard about it, but there is a good news. There is a bungalow of the ancient zamindari of Chinarpur. It is said that Raja Shoorveer Arya built it centuries ago. Even though nobody from their lineage lives there, the local caretaker still takes care of the place. He is my uncle, Balwant Singh. Go there and spend the night. Tell my uncle about me. My name is Veeru. He will allow to spend the night there. In the morning, you can head back to Mumbai.”

Considering the prevailing weather condition, the suggestion of the boy seemed quite logical. Mehul and I consulted each other and decided to head towards the bungalow of Chinarpur. The strong downpour was making visibility difficult but we managed to drive down to Chinarpur within half-an-hour. The village was indeed remote and sparsely populated. Amid the thatched huts and muddy roads, we approached the bungalow. It is worth mentioning that the bungalow of Shoorveer Arya was indeed a masterpiece and the magnanimity of the palatial building enthralled both Mehul and me.

Balwant Singh heard the reference from Veeru and welcomed us inside. He said, “Sahibs, you can stay here tonight. I shall make arrangements in a room on the first-floor for you. However, you would have to manage with a meagre dinner from my own limited resources.”

We thanked Balwant Singh and gave him some money, as a token of respect for his hospitality. The rains continued undeterred and Mehul checked the weather report and declared that it won’t recede before midnight. We got freshened up and, around nine-thirty, finished our dinner with Balwant Singh. After dinner, the three of us sat on the veranda and chatted. Balwant Singh narrated the history of Chinarpur and how, after Raja Shoorveer Arya, the village passed away into public oblivion. Presently, my eyes fell on a structure at a corner of the courtyard. It was a small temple-like structure inside which a small lamp was glowing.

Looking at my inquisitive expression, Balwant Singh said, “That is the Temple of the Phantom! It was built by Raja Shoorveer Arya himself. It is said that the Raja saw the Phantom inside this temple. There is no deity inside the temple. The four pillars at the four corners carry four large mirrors of Belgium glass and the center of the temple’s floor carry the footmark of the Phantom himself. The local people believes that the Phantom visits this temple, at night, and protects the residents of Chinarpur. Look at that inscription on top of the door…”

Mehul and I stared at the top of the door connecting the veranda to the courtyard. An edifice was engraved on it with the following words…

Love Thy Phantom, and the Phantom Loves Thy Men

Hate Thy Phantom, and the Phantom Grieves Thy Name

Mehul laughed away the entire topic and picked up some light discussion to ease away the mood. After another hour we went away to sleep. Within a short time, Mehul was fast asleep, but I kept wondering about the “Temple of the Phantom”.

As the clock ticked past midnight, the rains receded slowly and the clouds began to blow away in the breeze. Presently, a clear sky peeped up with twinkling stars. I got up from my bed and tiptoed out into the courtyard. At a corner room on the ground floor, Balwant Singh was also fast asleep. I didn’t disturb him and headed straight towards the temple. A rush of adrenaline gushed inside my body and a deep sense of adventure gripped me.

I went inside the temple. The lamp was flickering in the mild breeze and the darkness was prevailing inside the stone structure. I went in and took a quick look at the interior. My heart was beating fast. The huge dome-like roof seemed like the mouth of a Phantom, trying to engulf me. I gathered courage and went to the center and placed my feet on the Phantom’s footmarks engraved in stone. I was not scared but wanted to experience something that I had never experienced before. Presently, through the skylight, the bright soothing moonlight entered the room and fell on me. There was a romanticism in the entire ambience that I cannot depict on paper. I looked around and observed something interesting. On the four mirrors, placed on the four pillars, there was a reflection of me! Front the four directions… East, West, North and South… I could see myself!

Suddenly, everything became crystal clear in front of my eyes! The words engraved on the edifice started to make sense. I was amazed by the philosophy of Raja Shoorveer Arya…

We ourselves are The Phantom! We, the mortal, the privileged or underprivileged… we are blessed with this beautiful life. We must love ourselves, the gift of life! Only then can life help us love the men and women around us! There is no Phantom, no ghost… it is just we! Life needs to be cherished and we must love ourselves, our bodies our souls our lives! If we abuse them, then The Phantom suffers. If we love them, then only can we appreciate and take care of everything else.

I smiled at my realization. I understood that my anxiety and feeling of dejection about my own self and body was so very wrong. The cool breeze calmed my mind and body and I returned back to my room. I didn’t tell anything to Mehul or Balwant Singh about my experience. It is something that cannot be said, it is something that needs to be felt.

As I finish today’s journal entry, I urge myself, The Phantom of Chinarpur, The Phantom within me needs to cherish this gift of life forever!

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 21): OBLIVION

As time flies by and my ailment advances, a fear, a hidden anxiety has begun to grip my mind. There are so many things I want to remember. There are so many incidences, so many people, so many experiences, so many emotions that I really want to remember after my amnesia overwhelms my existence. However, I find that many of these memories are already forgotten. Is it because of my amnesia or simply a natural oblivion? I don’t know. Yet, the anxiety keeps mounting! Just as I was trying to find a way to cope up with this turmoil, something happened… something really wonderful. I met Dr. Prabhakar!

My doctor referred me to Dr. Prabhakar a couple of days ago. Dr. Prabhakar is a psychiatrist and lives a couple of blocks away from my house. Looking at the mounting anxiety level, my doctor felt that I needed professional support and suggested his name to me. The first phrase that came to my mind when I heard his name was, “I am not going mad! Why do I need to visit a psychiatrist? I am not a mental patient by any measure!”

I expressed my irritation and reluctance to my doctor but he insisted with the words, “Just go and meet him casually. I personally recommend this to you. Trust me, your anxiety will vanish in no time!”

With an unwilling mindset, I decided to visit Dr. Prabhakar on a Sunday. Yesterday I got an opportune time and went to his house around 11 AM. As I arrived, the first thing that grasped my imagination was the subtle serenity of the house. The two-storeyed house looked like a mini bungalow. The white color of the walls radiated an aura of happiness and cheer and my first impression slowly began to become positive. I walked up to the gate and knocked on the door. A housekeeper let me inside and made me sit on the sofa. Within a few moments, Dr. Prabhakar arrived from another room. He was about six feet tall, moderately fair complexioned, thin and athletic in body built and wore a stubble around his chin. Even through the rimless glasses of his spectacles, I could see his large, bright and expressive eyes.

Dr. Prabhakar had a personality that carried an equal charisma in his character, just like the serene house, that clicked a positive note in my heart. I felt comfortable in his presence and the initial introduction made me at ease even more.

I poured out my heart to him and revealed the innermost causes of my present anxiety. I asked eagerly, “I want to remember so many things. But when I try to write them down, I find that there are so many things that I have completely forgotten! Sir, I cannot control this anxiety. What should I do?”

Dr. Prabhakar replied, “Mr. Pravin, first come with me please. I want you to meet somebody.”

I followed him and we went into an adjacent room. It was a pretty spacious room with large windows ushering in the bright sunlight. At one corner sat a frail old lady on a wheelchair. A nurse was standing beside her while she stared outside the window. Hearing our footsteps, the old lady looked at us. There was a tranquil smile on her face and she waved lightly at us and then looked back at the window again.

“Mr. Pravin, she is my mother. At the age of 88 years, she is completely at peace. But, do you know why?” asked Dr. Prabhakar, as we went back to the living room and sat on the sofa.

I didn’t know what to say. Dr. Prabhakar continued, “Most of her memory is gone. It is a natural progression with age. She has seen many calamities, many hardships, many deaths, many sorrows. However, peace and tranquility is her biggest gift now. And this is the gift of OBLIVION.”

I was slowly digesting the discourse while Dr. Prabhakar spoke, “Mr. Pravin, the human brain is not just trained to remember… it is also trained to forget!”

I smiled on hearing his words and Dr. Prabhakar continued further, “We should not, rather we must not remember everything! That would be so painful. Can you imagine how painful it would be if we remember every incidence when we got hurt, or felt pain? How miserable it would be if every time we try to write something, we remember how we first learnt to while letters of the alphabet. Think, how sad it would be if the grief of losing a loved-one is not washed away with time. Life would be a mess then! OBLIVION is a bliss… it is a gift of GOD that helps us to be happy!”

I said, “Your words are very true Dr. Prabhakar. I think I understand what you are hinting towards.”

Dr. Prabhakar touched my hands softly and said, “Mr. Pravin… Be happy that you have forgotten some things. It is best to forget some things. That is how Mother Nature has created us. Your inner soul would make you remember what needs to be remembered. You note that down in your journal, and let go of the rest. Cherish this gift of forgetting… this will keep you happy!”

I came back home with a heart that was free of the burden which was building up for the past couple of days. I understood, I understand and I am really delighted that I met Dr. Prabhakar. Truly, OBLIVION is a bliss and my diary is a true reflection of who I am.

THE FLOATING DIARY (Short Story Journal – 20): BITTER GOURD

Bitterness is evil. Bitterness leaves a negative impression. Yet, in life, bitterness is necessary too. It is a resident evil in all our lives that is so very indispensable. Just as my disease, my amnesia, is trying to overcome my entire existence, a bitterness often starts to cloud my mind. In such a situation, one incidence flashed across my eyes and I wanted to note it down here in my journal.

Mr. Samir Mukherjee was Baba’s college friend. He used to live in Kolkata along with his wife, Archana aunty. Samir uncle was a lawyer by profession and used to practice as a public prosecutor in the Calcutta High Court. The incident happened when I was in class X and it left quite an impact on my adolescent mind.

One Sunday morning, as I was sitting with my studies after finishing breakfast, the doorbell rang. The ring was of an unusual duration than normal and I felt that somebody was at our doorstep with an anxious state of mind. Baba was in the living room and was reading the newspaper. Aunt Padma went ahead and unlocked the door. Like a gust of agile monsoon breeze, Archana aunty entered. Maa came out of the kitchen and Baba kept aside the newspaper and stood up. The was a clear sign of anxiety on Archana aunty’s face as she stood with a big suitcase beside her. I came out from my study room and watched the entire episode unfold.

After the grimness of the sudden arrival cleared a bit, we all learnt from Archana aunty that Samir uncle had sent her to Mumbai, to stay with us for a couple of days, in order to avoid a crisis that was prevalent in their lives. The suddenness of the situation was such that it was not possible for them to inform us previously, and Archana aunty took the morning flight from Kolkata to Mumbai and arrived.

“He is involved in a dirty case!” said Archana aunty while drinking from a glass of water. “He has taken up the defense case of a serial murderer in the Calcutta High Court. The entire newspaper media and the electronic media has been harrowing us ever since! Even the general public has labelled him as an evil lawyer! No other public prosecutor agreed to take up the defense case and finally Samir agreed to do so. The public emotion is strongly in favor of the capital punishment and Samir is fighting in favor of the criminal, on behalf of the court of law. Everybody, including our relatives and friends, have suddenly taken a negative view about us. They have labelled Samir as a traitor to the country and democracy! Considering the looming danger of a public outrage, Samir has sent me here till the case clears!”

All of us listened to the discourse with full concentration and consoled Archana aunty. She was very worried about the safety of Samir uncle. Baba made a few phone calls and even spoke with Samir uncle over a long-distance telephonic conversation, while taking stock of the current situation. I could not find any reason for this behavior of Samir uncle. Why did he have to represent the evil criminal? Why did he choose to work in favor of somebody whom the entire world abhors! Why did Samir uncle need to support a felonious person and bring upon such bitterness? Yet, I could not find any suitable answer. Days passed, as we keenly followed the proceedings of the case. A sense of bitterness grasped out house. Everybody held a gloomy face while Archana aunty remained in a state of complete trauma and fear of something bad that might befall. Baba, tried his best to convince Samir uncle out of the case, but failed. Baba pleaded him to remain safe and get out from any upcoming troubles. After a total of one month, the Calcutta High Court declared its decision and announced the criminal as guilty! Unknown to us, Samir uncle gave a striking interview in the local newspaper, and as a result, the negative public emotion cleared quite somewhat. In the next four days, Samir uncle was in Mumbai and sitting with us happily.

On the day of his arrival, Samir uncle smiled at Archana aunty and said, “Archana, I am famished! I have missed the excellence of your cookery for so long! Please treat all of us with a fantastic Bengali lunch this afternoon! And please include my favorite SHUKTO recipe in it positively!”

Baba and I were sitting with Samir uncle in the living-room. I asked, “What is this SHUKTO? Is it a specific delicacy?”

Samir uncle only replied, “Pravin, wait till you taste it. I am sure you would love it.”

As we sat or lunch, Archana aunty first served steamed rice and SHUKTO. It was the first time I tasted SHUKTO, a mixture of bitter sweet medley of vegetables that was cooked in a unique manner! The recipe holds its origin in the old Portuguese culture and has evolved ever since its incorporation in the Bengali cuisine.

As we savored our lunch, Samir uncle asked, “This Bengali style recipe, SHUKTO, is an appeasing rustic curry which clears your palate! Can you perceive the taste of the BITTER GOURD amid the vegetables?”

I nodded my head while gobbling my food. Baba’s eyes sparkled in anticipation of what his dear friend was about to say. Maa, Aunty Padma and Archana aunty looked at Samir uncle while he started again, “The bitter taste of BITTER GOURD in the SHUKTO is not meant to spoil the taste of this fantastic recipe. It is this bitterness that alleviates the beauty of the entire curry and makes the recipe more palatable and unforgettable. Without BITTER GOURD, the SHUKTO is incomplete!”

Baba smiled, as if he understood what Samir uncle was hinting towards. I listened keenly to his words as Samir uncle continued, “Bitterness is important in life. It is important because, the absence of bitterness would eliminate the taste of sweetness! Since there is something bitter, we can appreciate whatever is sweet. This is the sole reason why I chose to become the public prosecutor in favor of the criminal. Even though the entire media criticized me for my choice, I remained firm in my decision.”

Archana aunty watched her husband with eyes full of emotion as Samir uncle spoke, “If nobody represented evil, nobody highlighted the negativity, how would have anybody proved the righteousness? How would the defense lawyer prove the guilt? The more I fought, the more I defended the criminal, the more easily justice was meted out. I didn’t believe or support the crime, I highlighted it. Bringing out the bitterness in front of everybody, helped me prove the severity of the crime!”

Samir uncle finished, “Trust me, bitterness is important in life and my decision was not wrong. The entire news media now understands my decision. So, my dear Archana, we can happily go back home!”

Even though it is an old story, the metaphor of BITTER GOURD in SHUKTO still remains so relevant. Indeed, the absence of bitterness in life will devoid us of the beauty of sweetness.  The sweetness that life and the entire world carries around us is far more than my pain. Perhaps, the bitterness of my amnesia is a necessary evil that enables me to appreciate the beauty of life and love it even more!