Magic of the Hands

 Year: 2076 AD

After having served almost four glorious decades in various government departments and thereafter having lived a happy life with his family, it was time for Roopchand to depart. He was placed in a completely India made rocket and the take off was perfect. As he passed the earth’s troposphere, he opened his eyes and looked down once last time at the planet that he had tried to make better in his illustrious career. Sorry, it cannot be a planet, maybe a country or better a state that was his own and having worked in over seventy-five departments, he was assured of an unchallenged entry through the Pearly Gates. All his credentials had been vetted well in advance and he was embraced by His Holiness St. Peter who had a huge key dangling from his waist as he said, “Welcome Son. We look forward to you spending time in heaven in complete peace. No work, no worries, just rest in peace as they say there.”

After a good night’s sleep, Roop headed straight to the Heavenly Dining Hall. It was the cleanest place he had ever seen and decorated beautifully with flowers and shrubs on the outside. He picked up the tab on the table and selected a continental breakfast for himself. In no time three tiny spacecrafts landed on his table, dropped three plates with food and flew back to a place that possibly was the kitchen. Roop loved his food and was delighted when he took the first bite of the hotdog. He just could not hide the joy of eating the freshly made, delicious food with its gentle aroma. He next started eating the club sandwich. He had eaten this many a times at some of the top restaurants but none could match the taste of this sandwich. He could see the layers of fresh chicken, cheese, lettuce and tomato with a fine touch of mustard sauce. Roop felt full but he remembered what his mother had told him years ago of not wasting a morsel of the food that has been served. So, he now drew the plate with the apple pancake. One little bite and Roop’s head was completely blown off, “Is this for real?” he exclaimed.

Roop returned to his room overlooking a beautiful lake which was the biggest that he had ever seen. It stretched from east to west and north to south, much beyond his eyes could reach. The breeze blew gently and the birds sang melodiously. He fell asleep. Having worked hard all his life, he deserved a good sleep now and the Gods made sure that he got his dues in his afterlife. It was dusk by the time he woke up. He stretched a bit and then headed towards the dining hall once more for an early dinner. He looked at the menu which was unending. He picked a few of his past favourites and in no time the space-carts came flying towards him. Roop was amused and his happiness knew no bounds when the dishes were laid before him. He had ordered for multiple Mughlai dishes like paya soup, haleem and special chicken. He also got crispy tandoori rotis and by the time he finished his meal, his stomach felt overstuffed but he still asked for a malai firni that was served in a burnt-clay bowl. He burped aloud to the amusement of the other residents who were enjoying dinner. His fingers were all oily and no matter how much liquid soap he applied and rinsed, the oil and the aroma remained. For once Roop did not mind it for he had eaten the best possible dinner ever.

After a long walk around the lake, Roop hit the bed and slept like a baby. He was afraid that having overeaten the day before, he may have an upset stomach. Nothing of that happened, and in the morning, he once again felt the urge to eat some wholesome breakfast. During his work life, he had been the most honest man and eaten frugal meals. He remained slim and trim, something that helped him work energetically that won him kudos from people across the country. He realised that having now got a passage to heaven, he had to make up for all the difficult times he had faced earlier. This for him, was party-time and he accepted gleefully with outstretched hands. He once again walked into the dining room and placed his order of some Irani food. He wondered who was cooking these wonderful meals in Heaven’s kitchens. He made an attempt to enter the sanctum sanctorum but the Swiss Guards stationed there made it clear, “Sir, Einfahrt verboten!” Although Roop did not know Swiss German language, the crossed spears and the expression on the faces of the two tall guards when translated in plain English could only mean, “No Entry!” Roop did not wish to get into any confrontation here for he knew well that a transfer from heaven was something he was not really keen on. He raised his hands upwards in surrender and said, “Rest in Peace,” a phrase the residents of heaven would often chant.

Roop’s breakfast arrived and he now got busy eating one dish after another. There was keema-pav, kheema ghotala pav, bun-maska, caramel custard and sweet Irani masala chai. Each of these were finger-licking and lip-smacking, and our man was happy to be up above the world so high. As he had done the day earlier, Roop went back for his long afternoon siesta and woke up once again in the evening. Before going to the dining hall, he checked his weight on the scale. In one and a half days he had added a couple of kilos and now he felt like sending this news to his doctor on Planet Earth who always cribbed about him being underweight. Roop had turned from an angry-man to a hungry-man in a matter of a couple of days. He landed at the dining room but found the carte de menu missing. There was a screen at the serving counter with Ramyeon written in multiple languages. He asked some other people there and they clarified that this was the usual food in this kitchen. Roop was disappointed and went to St. Peter’s office and knocked.

“Come in son, what can I do for you?”

“Father, for the last two days, I had been enjoying some finger licking food. But this evening, all has changed. The other folks told me that there was some food festival for two days and hence the spread was so big. Now it is back to normal with bland food that will be served for all meals.”

“Son, what you have heard is correct. Let me see what all you had during the food festival …. Hmmm… you seemed to have enjoyed some wonderful stuff, a few of my personal favourites as well. So let me share the inside story about our special chefs who made the magic happen.”

“The breakfast on Day One was made by Rusi Yardegardi, a Parsi, who once owned Café Mondegar at Colaba, Mumbai. In the 1990s he was also credited with having asked Mario Miranda, the famous cartoonist, to do the sketches on the walls of the café that has been serving the best continental breakfast since 1932. It is a must go place for all locals of the city and the travellers across the globe. People would go in with great expectations and come out even more delighted for you will not find this food anywhere else.

“The dinner on Day One was made by none other than the legendary chef, Abdul Kareem who founded Noor Mohammadi Restaurant at Mohammad Ali Road, Mumbai in 1923. Since then, the place has been frequented by people of all strata for the best Mughlai food. Even celebrities walk in like commoners and enjoy the food. You remember the special chicken you had? That recipe called Sanju Baba Chicken was given by none other than film star Sanjay Dutt. The famous painter, Maqbool Fida Hussain, would go there often early in the mornings and had presented the owner with a sketch that is kept for all to see.”

Courtesy: Internet

“Finally, the breakfast you ate today was from Olympia Restaurant on Colaba once again and the chef who made the delicacies was Abdul Rahim Sulaiman. The restaurant has been serving people since 1918. Their signature dishes with their super-soft pavs and bun-maska are some things I ask people coming from Mumbai to pack for me on their way to heaven.”

“Now, Roop, since you closed these heritage eating places in Mumbai on grounds of hygiene and other shortcomings, we had these three legendary chefs downgraded from heaven to hell. We had invited them here just for the two days of Heavenly Food Festival. They now make the food in Hell’s Kitchen. The last of one such person is still around. He is Bablu, the famous phoochkawala from Kolkata. He is there in the kitchen right now. You can go there quickly before his phoochkas get over and he goes back to hell.”

Roop bolted to the kitchen where he got the remaining phoochkas or pani-puris as he called them. Most of the leftovers were broken but he enjoyed them and drank a couple of small bowls of the liquid kept in the big clay pot. Roop asked Bablu, “What is the secret of the secret behind the tasty phoochkas you serve?” Bablu raised his hands and said, “It is bherry simple, Saar. Bas inn haathon ka kamaal hai! (It is just magic of these hands). The phoochakas taste so good because I use my fingers while putting the mashed potatoes and chickpeas in the little crispy balls after giving them a gentle poke with my thumb and then dip them gently in the flavoured water in this pot before serving them in these katoris made from sal leaves. Business was good till one day a Corporation guy came and raised hue and cry over hygiene and asked me to wash my hands with liquid soap after every serving or use disposable gloves. The moment I started doing it, my customers missed the original taste and slowly dumped me. The magic of the hands was lost. In Hell’s Kitchen, I am once again serving freely.”

“Hmmm... the magic was truly in the hands. Got it Bablu. See you soon.”

Roop could not sleep that night. Next morning, he forced his way into the heavenly kitchen. The Swiss guards quickly overpowered him and he was taken to St. Peter who immediately issued him his seventy-sixth transfer order. Like his previous experiences, Roop accepted his transfer smilingly and moved on.

SS

Disclaimer: The blog is just for laughs with no intent to disrespect or hurt the sensitivities of anyone.

The Deluge

Three conversations set in a village at Nuwakot, Nepal, two days after the deluge of 26^th August, 2026.

1. Mother and Son

Ma, when is Pa coming back?

Don’t know son.

Tomorrow is our PTA. My teacher wants both of you to attend.

I know Binod.

Last time he was upset with my bad scores. This time I want him to listen to all the good things my teacher has to say about me.

That is so good. You have really done well this term, Binod.

You look worried, Ma.

No, I am not.

I can see it in your eyes, Ma.

Stop talking, Binod. Just leave me alone.

Are you worried about the floods?

Yes, I am.

I heard from my friends that a lot of people are missing.

Yes, they are.

So, you think Pa is also missing?

Don’t ask so many questions, Binod.

My Pa will come back. He is the best sherpa in the whole world.

I know.

He is my Tiger Father, the real Sher-Pa.

Yes, he is.

He always ensures the safety of the travellers and never takes any chances.

Hmmm… I know all of it Binod.

During the last earthquake, he brought the full group travelling to Mansarovar back to the safety of the plains even though it had caused so much destruction.

He sure is a hero in this countryside and your super hero.

I am eagerly waiting to see him smile at the PTA tomorrow.

………………….............

2. Two Friends

Two young boys are sitting atop a tree, talking and watching the water gushing by.

Ganesh, we are saved.

Agree with you, Bimal.

The water has saved us. I am sure there will be no PTA tomorrow.

No way. We saw the river water entering the school yesterday. There is no way the it would have receded so fast.

The Gods have saved us indeed.

Ya. Just think of how our teachers would have put us to shame before our parents.

I am so happy. My report card is red all over. Except art and sports, I failed in all other subjects.

If yours looks like the Red Sea, mine looks like the Persian Gulf where my scores are stuck forever below pass marks with almost all teachers dropping bombs over my subjects.

I have not shown the report card to my father.

Same here.

The Gods must have listened to our honest prayers. Every day since the term results came out, we have been going to the temple, ringing the bell loudly and also dropping some coins in the box kept there.

Hey look, there is a bus floating away. Is that our school bus?

I cannot make out from here. It is a yellow bus, so has to be a school bus for sure. It could be ours or of some other school. With no buses to pick-up and drop the children back, I am sure the school will not reopen soon.

The water level is not receding.  Should we slowly get down and go home?

No, just stay for some more time. It is fun to see all that is happening. Anyway, tomorrow is going to be a school holiday for sure.

……………………………….

3. The Vidyalaya

A conversation between a teenage son and his father.

Why are you standing at the window since morning?

I am watching the destruction the floods have caused, Nabin.

Dad, thankfully our house is at an elevation and water has not entered here. We have not lost anything.

I have lost everything, Nabin. The school was my life. I had built it with your mother, brick by brick.

I know Dad how you and Ma are feeling now. But think of the positive side. Our lives are saved and we can once again repair and build the school.

Your mother and I used to teach in a government college in Kathmandu. It was a good and stable job for both. We had been married for just over a year and your Ma was carrying you. We came to my parent’s home here in Nuwakot on a vacation and we saw that the children did not have a proper school to go to. We immediately decided that we must do something for the children here. We went back to Kathmandu, resigned from our teaching posts and came here. Fortunately, your grandfather owned some land here and we started our primary section under a tent.

Don’t cry, Dad. I know how much trouble you and Ma have had to go through over the years to create the permanent school building. You initially paid the other teachers and the staff from your savings in the early phase.

Now that things had improved and we had even applied to the authorities to allow us to expand the school to matriculation level, this flood has wiped out everything we had built. In just one big swoop, the school went under the water and the debris. Look down over there Nabin, the water has somewhat receded and you can see the school terrace and the water tanks. The ground floor is still submerged in the debris that the water carried.

I have seen it, Dad. I am sure we will get help to clean up the place soon.

Don’t worry about me, Nabin. Go and talk to your mother who has not spoken a word or eaten a morsel since yesterday. She is completely in shock. It was she who had inspired me to to take the plunge into this school project and that is why when the building got constructed, we named it after her. Manisha Vidyalaya is her baby who has now fallen sick.

Dad, I know all about it but then we are all helpless against the forces of nature. Why it happened on the 26^th of August is for others to find out. For us what matters most is life- the children are all safe and so are the teachers. It was your quick thinking that saved all their lives. You heeded to the disaster warning and immediately asked everyone to evacuate the school. They all fled to the upper regions and then within minutes the floods swept down with ferocity unseen before. Now we will have to build the school afresh. This time Ma and you will not be alone. The villagers have over the years seen your good work and how the school has changed the lives of their children. They too will join in the efforts to clean up and reconstruct.

You are right, Nabin. There is hope. Send out messages to all the parents that we will be starting the school after a week from the terraces of homes in the upper slopes.

…………………………

Epilogue: Nepal: Official records say around 1500 dead, over 6000 reported missing and a trail of unimaginable destruction.

Picture courtesy: Internet

For how long will the wanton destruction of nature by ‘cannonballs’ of development continue? For the answer to this question, I am sharing a few lines taken randomly from an immortal song by Bob Dylan:

How many years can a mountain exist

Before it’s washed to the seas

Yes, ‘n’ how many times must the cannonballs fly

Before they’re forever banned?

The answer my friend, is blowin’ in the winds

The answer is blowin’ in the winds.

SS

Big Gondogol in Old Kolkata

Mr. Ghosh returned from Kolkata on a Saturday afternoon. By evening, he was feeling uneasy and post a light dinner, he spoke to his GP Dr. Dave.

“Daktar saheb, mera pet mein bahut gondogol ho raha hai.” (Doctor, there is some major trouble in my stomach).

The doctor on the other end knew his patient well and his Bhindi (Bengali-Hindi) language even better. He asked Ghosh babu to come to the clinic next morning.

Mr. Ghosh was more than punctual, and along with his wife, reached the clinic even before the staff there had opened the clinic door. The doctor came dot on time and immediately took the patient and his wife to the examination room. He made Mr. Ghosh lie down on the examination table while he started to probe with his stethoscope. Whichever part of the patient’s belly he touched, the man often cried out…

“Oooh…aaah… udi baba… bahut darad hai Daktar saheb.” (It is very painful Doctor)

“Hmmm… Seems something serious. I would like to examine you with an ultrasound machine once before I diagnose and prescribe the next course of action.”

Mrs. Ghosh was very worried. “Sir, I remember the ultrasound machine being used almost regularly during my pregnancy. Why do it for him now?”

“I want to see the inside of his belly to make sure there is nothing serious.”

The lady just nodded her head and agreed to the course proposed by Dr. Dave who pulled the ultrasound machine closer to the bed, applied some gel on Mr. Ghosh’s belly and started moving the probe while looking intensely at the screen.

“Mr. Ghosh, it appears that your stomach and intestines show heavy signs of battering in the last few days. You seem to have gone overboard on gorging such diverse items in such quick succession that I can see the week’s full course ‘mahabhoj’ clearly. Let me recreate the timeline and the menu card while you can confirm if my deductions are correct. I shall skip the details of the few light meals and fruity breakfasts.”

Mrs. Ghosh was quite amazed, “How much technology has advanced. The machine for maternity can also detect gastronomy!”

“You had a huge chunk of steak with veggies and bread roll. This one looks really nice and special.”

“Yes Saar, that was at Mocambo’s on Park Street. I had the steak while my missus had Chicken Pavlograd. This is a dish similar to Chicken a la Kiev but has, in addition to molten butter, cheese and vegetable fillings inside the ball like serving.”

“Hmmm… interesting, indeed.”

“Saar, even more interesting was the Don Giovani’s shop outside Mocambo’s. We expected it to be serving nice Italian pizzas, pastas and macaroni but they had so many specialties displayed outside on the front window that would make any Italian exclaim, mamma mia!”

Dr. Dave smiled and said, “Mogambo khush hua.”

“Mocambo and not Mogambo Saar. This restaurant was opened in 1956 by Shivji Kothari who recruited an Italian chef to give the customers the original Continental taste and the interior décor, done by a German architect, has remained unchanged since then. It was the country’s earliest nightclubs with live bands playing, something that was discontinued since 1970s.”

The doctor probed further, and with eyes widened to their limits, exclaimed, “Special gosht biryani with mutton bhuna is the next speciality inside you Mr. Ghosh!”

“You must try these delicacies at Arsalan, Park Circus. That’s the original place. With the smiling little Md. Irfan opening the door to welcome you and the aroma of the biryani cooked just right for you with the egg and the potato tucked inside every plate, the food here transports you back to the times of Wajid Ali Shah and his famous khansamas who arrived at Calcutta from Lucknow, bringing with them the best of Awadhi cuisines.”

“Mr. Ghosh, there is one lunch which simply stands out. This was quite a combination of Bengali traditional food along with a slightly westernised ending.”

“I know Saar what you are referring to. This was the day we went to College Street. We were feeling hungry and someone knowledgeable recommended us to eat the traditional food at Putiram’s. This is a sweet shop that is over a century old and possibly has not changed in all these years. It is a small shop with some sweets kept in glass showcases in the front and a few ancient wooden table-chairs kept in the back-end where customers can sit and eat. We ate a plate of dal kachori with chholar dal and alu sabzi, topped it with four varieties of their special sweets that ranged from rajbhog, jalbhora, amriti and shorer nadu. It felt very full but then my ginni (wife) said that we have to go to the Indian Coffee House, a place associated with the city’s adda culture since 1942. We went there for a nice cup of hot coffee but could not resist the fluffy butter toast with a sprinkling of sugar on top. Having studied in the college opposite to the place, for her this was sheer nostalgia as was the visit to the Dasgupta Book Store on College Street that started way back in 1886.”

“Mr. Ghosh, after the heavy bombardment at College Street, there seems to be one section of slightly less heavy continental food.”

Picture courtesy: Internet

“Yes, that is our lunch at the famous Tolly Club. One of our friends had invited us there. This is a 220-year-old club, ranked amongst the world’s finest, which was started by Scottish banker William Dixon Chuickshank. It has an eighteen-hole golf course and serves some lovely continental delicacies. We chose the grilled fish and chicken cutlets and more than the food we enjoyed the company of friends amidst the serene nature where birds walk up to your table  freely and the greenery all around fills your soul, something we miss dearly in the cities.”

“Quite impressive Mr. Ghosh. But not as two power packed meals of Bengali maach-bhaat!”

“Yes, Saar. They were the two Mama Barir Adorer Khabar which is difficult to translate but in simple words it means that the maternal uncles pamper their nieces and nephews the most and feed you with love when you go to their homes. The first one was my daughter’s mama bari where mamaji took us to a special place for a huge spread of fish and begun bhaja (aubergine fries), moonger dal with jhuri bhaja (crispy potato fries cut fine), ilish machher tel jhol, chutney and butterscotch ice-cream topped with gulab jamun. As if this was not enough, when we visited my maternal aunt’s place, she made sure we had four different types of fish which included a crispy bhetki fry from Machhali Baba (the latest rage among the Calcuttans), lotya maach (bombay duck), hilsa and rohu and a special delicacy of mocha bhaate (mashed banana flower).”

“Amazing that you ate all of this and so much more. I can additionally see traces of many varieties of sweets, momos, pizzas and dhaba food inside. It is quite surprising that your belly did not explode and you have escaped with just a pain. Now tell me, the week you spent at Kolkata, was it just spent in eating or did you do anything else?”

One afternoon I was humming the song from 1942 A Love Story which goes… Kuchh na kaho, kuchh bhi na kaho. Mrs. Ghosh thought that I was telling her to stay quiet. She got very angry and dragged me to the Word Museum at the National Library to make me realise the importance of written and spoken words. The Museum of Words, also called Shabd Sangrahalay, is spread over nine galleries. A remarkably curated museum with so much to see and learn. There are touch screens to play around with, sound platforms where you get to listen to audio from above, 3D musical visuals and history of the written word over the ages from all across the country. With a huge number of exhibits, this is a must-go-to place. Having seen it all, I have since erased the troublesome swan song of RD from my playlist forever.”

“Ghosh babu, I am going to prescribe you some medicines,” said Dr. Dave as he got down to writing on his letterhead. Mr. and Mrs. Ghosh were worried that the intense and long check-up and ultrasonography would cost them a bomb. Dr. Dave, with a naughty smile, pushed forward the letterhead and attached another short paper with a pin. On it was written…

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ghosh.

I wish to go with you to Kolkata for a week and taste the food there. I am told that there is much more to the street food and fine dining in the city than you will find anywhere. Attaching a blank cheque for you to buy the tickets for the trip and the hotel stay.

SS

Chhoo Mantar- Part 2

 This is the second and final episode of the story Chhoo Mantar. Please read the first part for continuity (https://punctuationsandmore.blogspot.com/2026/08/chhoo-mantar.html  ). The story so far in brief:

The Kingdom of Kano is in the evil grasp of Bela, the witch, who has control over some magic berries that keep the sick princess alive. She is impersonating as the queen after banishing the real queen to a faraway place. The witch has a twin sister, Leela, who tends to her grandson Rumi, the shepherd boy. The two are planning to rescue the kingdom from the evil clutches of the witch.

.......................................................

“So, Dadi what is the plan? I am sure you have already chalked it out in your mind last night,” asked an excited Rumi, rubbing his eyes and smiling cheek to cheek.

“Keeping in mind who we are up against, we have to act with speed and stealth. The whole operation must be completed flawlessly in three days flat. If our plot gets busted, the enemy will come down hard not just on us but will also strike the two weak points of the royal household- the banished queen mother and the sick princess.”

“Dadi, when you talk of we and us, you mean we will have more people on our side while doing this rescue mission?”

“No. It will be just the two of us to maintain utmost secrecy. I will do the planning and provide some help; the difficult part of execution will have to be done by you alone. Are you ready to undertake this dangerous mission?”

Rumi’s face became serious and his eyes gave a piercing look. He went silent for a few seconds and then thumped his right fist on his chest and shouted, “I am ready, Dadi.”

The two sat down together for a long time, and while Dadi spoke, Rumi kept listening to her attentively. He was memorising every step, every detail that the old lady was sharing. She was scribbling something on pieces of small papers which looked like maps with markings. He kept nodding his head once in a while, and by the time she was done talking, the young lad once more gave her a big smile, stood up and then bent down to touch the old woman’s feet seeking her blessings. She pulled him up, gave him a tight hug and kissed his cheeks while tears kept flowing from her eyes. She knew what dangers lay ahead.

Day One

Rumi took his flock towards the side where his Dadi had told him of the place where the real queen was being held captive. As he came near the place, he saw that a cluster of huts but one of them looked different, secluded and protected. When he saw a number of armed guards hiding carefully behind boulders and trees in the periphery of that hut, Rumi was sure that he had arrived at the right place. He went slightly away from the spot and asked one of his sheep to lay down and bleat aloud as if in great pain. The loyal sheep did as was told and then Rumi started running towards the village shouting, “Help, help…tiger, tiger…”

Hearing his shouts, some villagers picked up wooden sticks and ran towards the spot. Rumi went to some of the guards and asked them for their help. They consulted each other and immediately abandoned their posts and joined the villagers to drive away the intruding tiger.  Rumi took this opportunity to run to the queen’s hut where he saw that the main door had a sort of a tray slot at the lower end and was merely bolted from the outside without a lock. Rumi unbolted the door and the moment he saw a lady in simple clothes, he went down on his knees and bowed to her in complete obeisance.

“Who are you and why are you here?”

“I am Rumi and am here to take you away from this prison.”

“I will not go anywhere because if the witch comes to know about my escape, she will kill my only daughter.”

“You have to trust me. My Dadi is the twin sister of Bela, the witch, and she will help us in defeating the evil woman. She knows the good magic that can defeat the dark one but before that we need you on our side.”

“I have heard about Bela’s twin sister but have never met her. Why should I trust you?”

“Look at this bracelet on my wrist.  My Dadi knew you would not believe my words and so gave this to me. Their father had got this unique pair of silver bracelets made for the two sisters.  Tell me, is this not the same bracelet you would have seen on the witch’s wrist?”

“Yes, I do remember having seen bracelet like this on her wrist.”

The boy looked innocent and the queen got convinced. Both of them rushed towards the entrance door where a woolly sheep stood, munching and smiling at them. Rumi, pushed the sheep inside the hut and bolted the hut and the duo ran towards the back of the hut which was in the opposite direction to where the guards had gone. He followed the route that his granny had drawn for him and made an exit without the guards realising that a daring escape had taken place right under their noses. The two ran for a long time and when they felt that no one was following them, they stopped near a flowing stream to drink some water and rest a while. The queen asked the boy, “Why did you leave your sheep inside the hut?”

“My queen, the guards will be sliding the meals meant for you through the slot in the door and later pulling back the empty plate periodically. The woolly inside is a great muncher and will make no noise as long as he is kept well fed. He will gobble up the food and the guards will not come to know that you are missing from inside. All we need is three clear days to execute our complete rescue plan. The woolly sheep is our Trojan Horse in this Odyssey.”

“That’s quite an ingenious plan!”

They reached the granny’s house where the queen felt the safety of a home after years of captivity. The Day One task had been accomplished successfully and all felt happy.

Day Two

Rumi hardly slept that night. He was feeling very happy at having accomplished his first task. He had been giggling a bit in his bed when he remembered his woolly inside the hut and how he had fooled the soldiers who did not know whom they were feeding. He, however, knew that today would be a much bigger day of ultimate daring action.

Leela accompanied Rumi to the banyan tree and waited for the horseman to arrive from the castle. The horseman was surprised to see an old lady and a young lad as he began disembarking.  The moment he got off the horse, Leela drew her wand, pointed it at him and the man turned into a woolly sheep. She then pointed the wand towards Rumi who now turned into a tiny mouse. She carried the Rumi to the wet patch where she released him. Rumi went beneath the surface and realised that there was a proper tunnel going deep inside. He kept on sliding lower and lower till he hit a hard surface. As he fell, the bell around his neck, which was originally with the horseman and later given by Leela to him, made a jingling noise. Even though the bell had been turned into a miniature to match his own size, the noise it made was pretty loud which led to the dark chamber below getting magically illuminated. Rumi got very scared as he saw that the place was swarming with snakes. Rumi knew that the snakes loved eating rats and mice but he kept moving forward bravely. To his utter surprise, the snakes started moving aside hearing the bell ring thereby allowing him to make his way to the middle of the hall where a bowl with large number of red berries was kept. Rumi crawled up the bowl and put two berries in a pouch kept ready there. The original horseman would normally carry one berry a day but Rumi was following his granny’s advice. He now started pulling the pouch slowly but steadily towards the tunnel opening from where he had come inside the dark hole. Just as he moved upwards, the lights went off and he felt a twirl of hot air that pushed him upwards towards the surface.

Rumi came out of the hole and Leela quickly changed him back into the shepherd boy and took the pouch from him. They went to their hut where the queen had kept dinner for them. The two ladies kissed Rumi many times and said that he was a very brave lad.

“Dadi, how will the berries help our cause?”

“You sleep well tonight and tomorrow we will have the biggest day.”

“But Dadi, I was hoping to fight the enemy with swords and spears. When will that happen?”

“We are fighting an evil force that is working with trickery and magic. Swords and spears are needed in a different sort of combat arena. We are fighting trickery with our intelligence and want peace and love to flourish in the Kingdom of Kano without much blood being spilled.”

“That’s so wonderful Dadi. Good night.”

Day Three

Rumi had slept well on the second night and he felt fresh when he woke up. He was also excited for the action-packed final day that lay ahead. The sun was shining bright and he looked out of the window. He was completed bewildered when he saw outside a patch of land with many tall vines with bunches of red berries hanging from them. He turned around and saw his Dadi smiling. She said, “I used one of the berries you got yesterday and created this garden overnight. Magic can surely be used for good purpose. Now with these berries freely available, the princess will not have to depend upon the witch and her soldiers for survival and that will free King Hano and his kingdom from her control.”

After having a sumptuous breakfast, Rumi and Leela went back to the banyan tree where the horse and the sheep stood. Leela used her spell to make Rumi look exactly like the soldier in full uniform and asked him to go to the castle with the remaining red berry. She told him that she will also be coming to the castle herself separately.

As Rumi, in his soldier disguise, closed in on the castle, he was unaware of the events developing in other parts of the kingdom. The woolly inside the hut was enjoying the hospitality so much that it had an urge to seek more food. The sheep started ramming the door with his head from inside which caught the attention of the guards. After a while they opened the door to find that the queen was no longer there and an ill-tempered sheep was in her place. A guard quickly jumped on a steed and spurred away to inform the witch in the castle.

Bela, the witch, came to the elevated balcony of the palace and saw a soldier coming to the castle. She thought it was the regular soldier who was bringing the magic berry for the princess waiting at the entrance to the palace. Unaware of the rescue act that was taking shape, she went to take her leisurely bath. Meanwhile, Rumi got off the horse at the palace gate and saw the princess for the first time. She looked simply heavenly beautiful. He put a finger on his lips signalling her to keep quiet as he pulled out the berry and a diamond ring that the princess instantly recognised as one that belonged to her mother. Rumi told her in muted voice about the queen’s escape and asked the princess to eat the berry and ride out with him without further delay. The princess wanted to go to her father once but Rumi said that time was of utmost essence and her safety would be the key to force open the witch’s vice-like hold over the king. The princess climbed on to the saddle and sat holding Rumi who asked her to cover her face with a veil.  He kicked the horse to a gallop and gained speed in a short time. As he was exiting the castle gate, he saw another horseman entering and shouting, “She has escaped… she has escaped!” Rumi knew something had gone wrong somewhere so he pushed his horse harder. While speeding away, he got a glimpse of his Dadi slowly making her way into the castle.

Hearing the horseman’s shouts, Bela came back to the balcony hurriedly. She could now see at a distance the princess riding away with a soldier. With both her hostages having escaped, a furious Bela decided to capture the princess back. She ordered her guards to get her Flying Fury chariot ready immediately while she dressed herself in full armour with a sword and the magic wand tucked in the belt and a trident in her hand. The chariot was a special one drawn by six white horse that could outrun anyone on land, air and water. She took the reins in her own hands and charged towards the castle gate. Seeing the queen in her chariot coming, the guards went to open the big gates when Leela stepped forward. Bela was stunned seeing her twin sister after so many years.

“So, it is you who is orchestrating this plot against me? You will fail miserably, Leela.”

Leela gently drew her magic wand out of her cloak. Seeing the wand, Bela exclaimed, “You are here to fight me with a fake wand? This one cannot be father’s special wand for it was with him when he died.”

“Father had given me his real wand saying that I could use it just once in my lifetime. I had kept it safe for so long waiting to use it only at the darkest hour to save our land. I am sure, today is the day to defeat the empire of evil that you have created.  I am going to stop you from doing any further harm to the royal family and to the people of Kano.”

Bela picked up the trident and threw it with all her power at Leela who just pointed her wand in its direction to have it blown to smithereens. Bela knew that the conventional weapons would not work in this fight. The battle would have to be the ultimate Wand to Wand Fight (WWF). She pulled out her wand and was about to cast her deadliest spell when a sword pierced her from behind and she collapsed. It was King Hano who had caught Bela by surprise. He had heard the conversation of the two sisters from his chamber and with the two loves of his life safe, he took to arms and delivered the fatal blow.  Blood oozed out profusely from Bela’s body and soon her eyes shut. Hano pushed Bela’s corpse out of the chariot and boarded it himself. He asked Leela join him and take him to where his queen and princess were being kept.

Hano and his family were reunited and there were big celebrations in the kingdom. Leela broke her father’s magic wand and took care of the berry garden while Rumi refused to accept any gifts from the king. He moved around with his flock, playing with the animals and living a simple life with his granny. He was always invited to the royal household on special occasions and given a place of honour.

And they all lived happily ever after.

SS

Chhoo Mantar

Rumi, a young shepherd boy of ten, returned home where his grandmother welcomed him with a glass of cool buttermilk. He gulped down the drink in no time and was about to start his daily prattle when the old lady put a finger on her mouth signalling him to stop talking. “First freshen up, eat dinner with me and then at bed-time we will talk.”

“Ok, Dadi.”

After dinner, the woman cleaned up the place while the boy rolled out their bedding on the mud floor of their hut, the thatched roof of which had quite a few uncovered patches. When the weather was dry, the two would admire the clear starry skies through those gaps, but on wet days the bed had to be moved away and pots and pans had to be placed strategically to collect the rainwater.  She was too old to repair the hut herself and had limited resources to get it done by someone. But, somehow, neither of them complained. They were happy in their simple lives, in each other’s company.

“Dadi, I have been seeing something very unusual over the past few days. Sometimes, around midday, I see a horseman in full armour galloping down the castle path. He jumps off his horse under the big banyan tree, ties the animal to the tree trunk, and then starts running towards the middle of the field. He normally runs for a short distance and then with every few steps he shrinks in size till he reaches a small wet patch. By the time he reaches the spot, he has already shrunk to no more than a small creature like a mouse which then jumps and vanishes into the soil. The last few days I have tried to follow him, hiding behind the trees and the bushes, and have also tried digging the soil at the point where I have seen the man vanish but it always turns out to be a dead end. All I find there is soil and more soil and no trace of the man or the mouse or whatever he had become. Later, I end up filling the hole that I have dug and levelling the ground to its original state. You have lived for so long here, do you know what this is all about?”

“How many times have I asked you not to take the sheep to the side where they grow the grains? You should take them to the other side where there is only grass which is good for the animals. Stop going to the other side and go to sleep now. I don’t have answers to all your silly questions,” said an angry and disturbed Dadi.

“Your anger tells me, Dadi, that you know about this vanishing act and you want me to stay away from it. Tell me, Dadi, what’s the mystery behind this?

The old woman went silent and the little one’s reply calmed her down. She now spoke with a quiver in her voice.

“What you have been seeing is trickery and black magic and getting close to it means you will get sucked into it and, finally, it will devour you brutally. I know who is doing this black magic and how dangerous that person is. I want you safe and so am asking you to avoid going to the other side and observing whatever is happening there.”

“I get your point Dadi but what is this ritual?”

Fed up with his constant questions, the old woman broke her silence.

“Long ago there lived in these lands a man who was, possibly, the greatest magician of all times. He had twin daughters who trained under him for years together. The younger one, Bela, was very pretty and was loved by all in the Kingdom of Kano. The king had a son, Prince Hano, and when the time came for him to marry, he ignored Bela and married the only daughter of the neighbouring king. Everyone was invited for the celebrations at the castle. Bela never forgot the slight and envied the woman who was to become the queen. As time passed, Hano ascended the throne. Bela, meanwhile, took to dark magic and slowly mastered it. She would practise the dark art on the villagers. Some people simply vanished; others were found badly mauled in the mornings as if some wild animal had attacked them. The master magician, on realising that he had helped create a dangerous entity, tried reasoning with the girl to mend her ways but she refused. One day the sad father, who blamed himself for the actions of Bela, jumped off the cliff and was never seen by anyone again. Bela’s sister was heartbroken and decided to give up magic altogether and cut off her ties with her twin.”

“Why then did the magician teach Bela the art of black magic?”

“Magic is neither good nor bad. It is how people use it. Some use it for entertainment, for creating something good while others use it for harming others. The father was just passing down to his daughters the life skills he knew hoping that the knowledge would help them in life.”

“What happened to Bela then?”

“What I am going to tell you is something unknown to anyone in the land. So just listen carefully but make sure you do not share it with anyone or it will get you into trouble. People who want to keep this a secret will go to any length to ensure it is never revealed.”

“I promise Dadi, I will not talk to anyone about it. Tell me.”

“King Hano and his lovely wife did not have a child for many years. And then, finally, they were blessed with a daughter. However, the little one was very sick from the time she came into the world and doctors tried their level best to keep her weak heart beating. Bela came to know about this tragedy and saw this as an opportunity to change her fortune. She went to the king and told him about her magic powers to cure all ailments. The king and the queen were very happy to hear this but then the witch spoke…

‘’I have a garden full of magical berries and if the princess were to have just one berry a day, she would have no issues with her health. She would be able to live a normal life. But I have a condition that you must fulfil or else I shall destroy the garden forever.’’

The king and the queen said that she could ask for anything for they treasured their daughter more than anything.

‘‘I will bring one magic berry a day for the princess and no more. No one will try and search for this garden of mine. In return, the queen will have to be banished from the kingdom and I will have to be given a place on the throne beside you.”

The king was about to put his hand on the sword when the queen stopped him and said, “We agree to your demands. As long as my daughter lives to be healthy and you stay on the throne, my going away is a small price to pay. My only concern is how Princess Sumi will take to a new mother?”

“You need not worry about that for I will change my appearance to become an exact replica of you. No one except the king will ever know.”

In the middle of the night, the real queen was put in a carriage and taken away by soldiers who appeared loyal to Bela, and by the time the sun rose in the morning, a silent coup had taken place in the palace.”

“So, you mean to say the queen in the palace is actually Bela. Where is the real queen now?” asked Rumi.

“She lives somewhere in a small house in the direction where you usually take the sheep out to graze. The house is guarded by soldiers and she is not allowed to step out of the house. Her daily requirements are provided for by the soldiers from time to time. She is under what you might call a total house arrest.”

“Bela is an evil woman. Why can the king not kill her?”

“The king is helpless. On the one hand the life of his daughter is at stake, and on the other his wife is held in captivity by an impersonator. It is like in the game of chess where he is in a checkmate situation.”

“Dadi, you always say that evil must be defeated and forces of good must come together. Why don’t you do something now?”

“How can I fight Bela, the witch? She is far too powerful.”

“Dadi, I have seen a picture kept inside your iron trunk. You had a sister who looked exactly like you. It means, you are the twin sister of Bela and the good magician who your father trained as well. You definitely are the only person who can match her in this art.”

The old woman froze and had no heart to refute the boy. She softly said, “Rumi, I have not practised the art of magic for years now and do not wish to get involved. I have one purpose in life now and that is to take care of you.”

“Dadi, now that I know the story, if you refuse to rise to the occasion, then you have to teach me the art. I am willing to step forward.”

“You are far too young and learning this art will take you years. Why don’t you go to sleep now while I think over this? I will let you know my decision by tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, Dadi. Sweet dreams.”

As Rumi slept soundly, the old lady opened up the big trunk. She first looked at the picture of her with Bela and then she saw one photo of her father performing on stage. She remembered him and his final words, “The world is a place to love and live and magic must play its role in keeping it like that.” There were books inside which had not been opened for long and some pieces of ropes, magic wands and other props of illusion, possibly meant to be used on stage during live performances.

She closed her eyes and asked herself a few questions and the answers that came to her mind:

a.      Is Bela doing wrong?  Yes

b.     Should she be stopped? Yes

c.      Do I have the ability to fight Bela? Maybe not, for I am rusty and old.

d.     Should I take her on? Maybe not, it is not my fight after all.

She slept off after a while and in the morning was woken up by the gentle hands of Rumi who was pushing against her shoulders.  When she opened her eyes reluctantly, he kissed her on her cheeks… “Dadi, please say yes.”

She could not say no and simply nodded her head and the boy jumped with joy.

To be continued.

SS

History's Child

I confess I am not a big football fan. I played football as a kid with friends in the colony, was a decent defender and managed to kick the basketball more often than dribble it on court. My following of football remains limited to watching David Beckham on and off the field and following the World Cups every 4 years. Over the years I have become a Messi supporter. My interest in tonight’s World Cup Final remains BTS’ half-time performance. Ironically, I also happen to be my father’s daughter, who, if the blogs over 11 years have not made it incessantly clear, is mad over football. And while he has written many a tale of his love for the game, this one is from the eyes of a heavily biased witness.

In my father’s world of insurance, the agents and brokers who procure the businesses for the companies are often pampered, with majority of them being in possession of heavily stamped passports. Many a times, the insurance companies also send a few of their own people from sales and business along with these partners on these jaunts. The year was 2018. Based on a business contest, a bunch of such people were selected to go to Russia for the World Cup. A few employees from the sales side who managed these partners were also shortlisted for the Argentina vs. Nigeria match that was to take place in St. Petersburg, Russia. As the Business Head, my father’s seat on the flight and stadium were all assured and booked. Being a student of history, to be able to visit the historically rich city of St. Petersburg, that too, for a World Cup football match was almost too good to be true. I was in Delhi, preparing for the final MD examination. I could hear the unfiltered, childish joy in his voice over the phone. So when he asked me if I wanted to come with him, the answer was obvious. Even if I did not have a ticket for the match, visiting Russia was a no brainer. And my exams would be done and dusted by then. Alas, every crime committed, deserves an equal punishment. The crime of joining the white coat army, comes with its set of trials and for me they came in the form of the announcement of the potential dates for the Senior Residency exam at AIIMS around the same time. One day I was sure that examinations are the cause of all ruin and there was no way I was going to sit for this one; the next day I would urge him to go to Russia without me. While heated telephone conversations and emotional wars waged for a few days, peace prevailed in the form of the most unusual circumstances. One night, one of the youngsters in his team from the Kolkata branch office called him up expressing his wish to go for the World Cup match since he had played a large part in achieving the business target. Seeing much logic in his demand, my father took up his case with the higher ups. But there was no way an extra person could be added to the list of travellers to Russia in view of the budget control. The boy was completely heartbroken when he told him that his request had been turned down. Next evening when I called, my mother handed over the phone to dad, “Your father wants to talk to you.” “M, the Russia trip is not happening. I have written to the organisers in office nominating the Kolkata boy to travel to Russia in my place.” Before I could launch a set of attacks, he continued calmly, “I could hear the boy crying on the other side of telephone. I have been fortunate to travel across the globe on work related assignments and there will be more in future. Besides, I can watch the matches on television.” And here I was claiming the martyr’s role, sacrificing either a trip or an examination. He watched all the matches, as usual, without an ounce of regret, pity or complain. The boy got him a beautiful Russian doll. It sits inside the glass cabinet of our living room, handled with care. Dolls are more fragile than a champion’s heart.

From childhood, I have heard the Man-U chant every English Premier League season, seen the ecstasy of the wins and the sulking face at the losses and poor performances. For an ardent fan, going to Manchester, the holy land of Manchester United, is a long nurtured dream. Exactly a year later, in the summer of 2019, India was to play Pakistan in a World Cup cricket match at Manchester. Once again, my father’s place was reserved. More than the cricket match, he was excited to visit the Manchester United stadium and kiss the grass that had produced some of the finest players under the watchful eye of Sir Alex Fergusson. Once again, history decided to do an action replay. This time, it was a member from the Delhi team who made the request. I rolled my eyes, mom mocked him as Karna, the giver. Nothing changed, except the name on the tickets. In years to follow, having visited Anfield and Wembley and clicked pictures with the busts of Liverpool legend Bill Shankly and Roger Moore, the captain of the 1966 World Cup, he still wishes to set foot on the haloed grounds of Old Trafford. Coaches and players retire, fans never do. 

One thing my father has taught me is that when you give away something, something even better comes your way. I would have said I have learnt this from life, but I was never one to believe in self-help gyaan. In 2022, my father finally boarded a plane to Qatar and saw Lionel Messi in the opening match of the World Cup against Saudi Arabia at Lusail Stadium. He won as he watched the GOAT score a goal, even though Messi lost the match. Messi went on to win the World Cup 2022. 

“Look who we are, we are the dreamers
We make it happen, 'cause we believe it.
Here's to the ones that keep the passion
Respect, oh, yeah
Here's to the ones that can imagine
Respect, oh, yeah.”

Now, as a retired person, he is the only one able to enjoy all the matches this year. He wakes up dot on time for the matches, mind you, without an alarm, does not feel sleepy for the entire 90+ minutes, clicks photos from the television screen to send me and watches the highlights with an unquenchable enthusiasm. “Jet lag is when people feel tired and yet find it difficult to adjust to sleep cycles after a long journey in a plane to a place with different time zone. I am unable to find an equivalent word for my state now after sleeping intermittently for the last 6 weeks. I will have no match to watch. Should I call it Soca-lag? Footlag?” Tonight, history may or may not repeat itself, but for history’s child, the football dreams will continue. 

MS

David

 You are hundred

And I have lived five times your age;

I was carved

But you created.

 

They said the marble could not be carved

Yet my master brought me to life;

You chronicled life in the deepest of oceans

And dense jungles never ventured before.

 

The Giant, I am a symbol of liberty

Trapped, an exhibit to flashes and eyes;

You are free, you travel at will

And capture the beauty of the wild.

 

My muscles taut, my stance erect

An epitome of anatomical perfection, they say;

The unfurling wings, the trembling earth beneath lithe paws

Nature through your lens is more balanced, I say.

 

My lips are pursed, sacred silence to Goliath’s screams

Yet they read my thoughts, I know not what or why;

A mother’s fear, a hungry cry, a triumphant roar, a joyful screech

You voice their tales, with humility and grace.

 

My eyes are alert, focused, assessing

Yet I cannot spot assailants with hammers in plain sight;

You offer a view of the best of beasts

A prey in flight, a predator in fight.

 

I felled Goliath

An inspiring tale of victory of the underdog;

You fall and frolic with Gorillas

Save and preserve the underdogs, you said.

 

You are hundred

And I have seen five times your age;

My marble mind bends to none

You mould minds to care a little more.

 

Man created me, a masterpiece

But man destroys;

You, mortal, are the David I wish I could be

For your savages are better than mine.

Michelangelo's David at the Galleria dell'Accademia, Florence

(Image courtesy: By Jörg Bittner Unna jbittner@web.de - Own work, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=109721344)

Sir David Attenborough

(Image courtesy: https://www.wwf.org.uk/about/ambassador/sir-david-attenborough)

MS