Who sculpted those perfectly symmetric and gorgeous monolithic figurines?

The stone sculptures still amaze me, as they did, the day I saw them.


I grew up near the hills, in a valley surrounded on the three sides by hills to be more precise.

The hills, if not lofty certainly were mysterious, their mystery enhanced by the story about how gods descended from heavens to earth a couple of thousand years ago, and decided to make the hills their earthly abode.

The day was a fairly good one. We had gone on a class-picnic to one of the many ‘hill resorts’ that abounded the hills. My classmates, my teachers and I had just consumed our lunch. The teachers decided to take a siesta and did so, after ordering us kids to do the same. We students however were too young to be forced by a heavy lunch into a state of sleepiness. The boys got up to play a game of cricket. The girls huddled together, and started playing Chinese whisper. I tried playing with the girls for sometime before getting bored, moving over to the area where the boys were playing and begging them to allow me to play with them. The boys seemed too glad to include me; the only catch was that I had to do the job of a ‘ball fetcher’ for two ‘overs’ before I was allowed to bowl or bat. I hesitated for a couple of seconds as fetching a ball in such hilly terrain as the one I was treading on, would certainly involve some dangerous rock climbing and jumping. The urge to play, however got better of me, and made me agree to the condition

The first over passed off more or less without me having to fetch the ball, as the fielders performed their jobs adeptly, restricting the scoring rate to less than two runs a ball. The batsman managed to get better of the fielders in the penultimate ball of the second over. The ball penetrated the circle of fielders and started running off towards the nearby precipice. I ran after the ball, slipped and almost fell into the precipice myself before stopping the ball’s and my descent in time. The boys who saw me slip came running towards the spot, saw to their relief that I thankfully was unhurt and miraculously had the ball in my hand and shouted out to me to throw the ball, so that the game could resume. Grimacing at their selfishness, I threw the ball back with such a force that I staggered, slipped and went tumbling another ten feet down before regaining my balance and getting back on my two feet.

Feeling disgusted with myself for having tumbled down the way I had, I brushed the dust off my clothes and started climbing up the steep incline. Half-way up, I spotted something that made me stop in my tracks. It was an opening in the nearly sheer wall of the cliff that opened into a cave, which to my amazement was strewn with massive stone sculptures. I abandoned my climb, crawled towards the cave and entered it to have a closer look. The sculptures were those of Hindu gods; they were sculpted to perfection, giving those sculptures a life-life appearance. It was magical; If someone told me that those were gods who had taken stone forms and would get up any time and walk out, I would have believed them. I walked to the mouth of the cave and shouted out to the boys to come and join me in my discovery. A couple courageous ones did and experienced similar wonder as I did, if not more, at those beautiful figures lying there, untouched by human hand. Closer inspection of the cave revealed more wonders; for example, there was a natural fountain that spouted off the head of one of the gods and pooled around the feet of the other.

We stood there marveling for a few minutes till one of the boys started getting jittery about the possible punishment we might have to face if the teachers came to know of our little adventure. Agreeing with the boy, we all climbed back to the level ground where the others were huddled together, casting furtive glances in the direction of the still sleeping teachers.

I walked over to the girls, narrated the findings to them and was all set to take some of the more adventurous of them with me to the cave, when one of the teachers woke up and starting shouting at us for all the noise that disturbed her beauty sleep. Her yelling woke the other teachers, who quickly instructed us to huddle together for a roll-call, which was followed by a snack session after which it was time for us to head back home.

Looking back, I still marvel as to how those statues withstood erosion for centuries under the continuous flow of water. I also wonder who sculpted those figurines and how they managed to carry or move those massive nearly twenty feet long monoliths into that cave. I once mustered up enough courage to ask my mother about those. When I wondered about the sculptor, she replied that he or they most probably were divine and godly beings, who could do anything. My heart says she is right, for it cannot think of any other answer till date.

A walk down the memory lane

I took a walk at yester dawn

into the world of warriors bygone

The world where might was right

Differences settled in a battle or fight

The world of lovers asunder torn

A death at battle, honor to adorn

Tales of valor from the sad lovelorn

Sung aloud to children unborn

Walked back calmly to present life

Calm and seemingly devoid of strife

Anger calmed and faces serene

Fights too rare, battles unseen

       Noticed the bubbling unrest within

       Hearts screaming, patience growing thin

       Coil strung, volcano waiting to erupt

       Against the unjust and the world corrupt

I am not sure how long the truce can hold

When the dams shall break and the coils unfold

I agonize about the impending flare

Inferno of ire, the moment of despair

The living dead

She sits there staring at nothingness, oblivious of my presence


What moved her to that recess, to gape blankly thence?

Was it a youth of extreme abuse, or an unfaithful beau?

Was it a life of pain and disuse, or a moment of overwhelming woe?

She responds not to my words benign, or my efforts to rouse her

Of life, her breath is the only sign, her spirit has gone for ever

Shadows From the Past

Carrying a spirit broken by abuse

She stood under the tree, hurt and in pain

She was told, without money she was of no use

She felt worthless, thus abandoned in the rain

Is she still rooted to that desolate spot?

Waiting for an open door or even a window?

To go and Check on her, I really dare not

For I am that broken soul’s heartless shadow

Lonely lady at the bus terminus

She was of an undeterminable age. She used to sit next to the pillar at the bus terminus. In the evenings,

she reeked of alcohol. In the mornings, she used to be sitting out there, looking lost, staring into

nothingness. Once or twice as I passed by on my way to some meeting or back, she would hail me and

ask me for some money. Strangely, I never saw her begging or approaching anyone else for any favors.

Once during lunch time, I walked out and noticed that the spot she normally occupied was vacant. The

next couple of mornings I continued to notice her absence. Assuming that she probably had moved, I

stopped noticing. A few days later, when was on my way to work, I saw her. She was walking into the

bus terminus, with the aid of a cane. She seemed to be in pain. My instinct made me approach her and

hold her hand.

She looked up to me and smiled. I noticed for the first time that her eyes were blue and her other facial

features were quite sharp. She probably would have been very beautiful in her youth. I asked her kindly

where she had been. She replied that she was unwell. “My son came and took me home”, she said. “She

does have a family. Why then does she live here”, I wondered.

Before I could voice me question, she herself went ahead and explained. She was from a well to do

family and had a large house and some lands in some prime location of my city. She had two sons and

a daughter who died in adolescence. After her husband passed away, a dispute arose between her two

sons on what they should do with the lands that they had inherited. The dispute turned ugly and one of

her sons stabbed the other one to death. When this lady tried to interfere, he stabbed her as well; she

collapsed and probably went unconscious from her stab wounds.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a hospital; the son who killed the other was sitting next

to her. He begged her not to tell the police that it was he who killed his brother. “As a mother, I could

not lose both my sons”, she said, “So I have stayed quiet all along. But I cannot bring myself to stay with

a murderer. So I punish myself by staying here all alone. A couple of times, I tried to take a bus and leave

this place for good and go back to the village where I was born. I have relatives there; but this place pulls

me back. I have to stay here till my sin is atoned for. You look a lot like my daughter. I hail you and ask

you for something or the other, not because I need something from you; I just love to hear your voice

and see your smile”.

From that day on, I started spending a minute with her every evening on my way back from work.

Sometimes she would be reeking of cheap liquor; she would apologize for being drunk and say – “sorry,

this is the only way I can lay my pains to rest”. Sometimes she would hug me and weep; sometimes she

would just hold my hand, close her eyes as if she is thanking someone out there for such moments.

Then one morning, I saw her holding a small and really pretty child. She took me to the corner where a

young woman lay. “She gave birth to this baby last night”, she said excitedly. I took her to the hospital

and helped her in her delivery. I asked her who this lady was and who the father of the baby was. She

replied that the newly delivered mother was dumb; she (the old lady) found her sitting next to the

public conveniences, a week ago, looking completely lost. “She had another daughter with her”, she

added, “One of the guards took her and thankfully has adopted her. This young stupid girl just smiles

when I ask her who the father of her daughter’s is. Don’t worry. I will take care of her”.

For the next month or so, I saw the two ladies sitting together, taking care of the young child. The

old lady seemed to have found something to live for; she started smiling and wishing me cheerfully

whenever I went to the corner which she and the other lady now occupied. Then one morning, I

again saw her all alone. “The young lady went off on a pilgrimage with her child”, she said. I was

surprised. “How will she manage with her young child”, I asked. “God will take care of those who are too

helpless to take care of themselves”, she replied mystically.

The next morning, I noticed that the lady was missing from her usual haunts. I never saw her, ever since.

Did she finally feel that her sins were atoned for? Did she find her daughter in that young mother and go

in search of her? Did she go back to her son? Has she found peace? I do not know.

Are we really alive?

A magician thinks all his magic is just tricks, similar to a trapeze artist who thinks that it is sheer practice and nothing else. There is a small anecdote I wanted to narrate. I had gone on a trip to Shivpuri and was trekking out there with a few friends. I saw a pretty local woman walking around brandishing her stick menacingly. I told her that we were simple trekkers who were not out to harm her. She blushed and said that she was looking for her daughter who ran away after breaking the put and that she did not realize that we were walking around. “Many trekkers come here. For them we are just part of the landscape. They really do not take any notice of us, nor we of them”, she added. Lost in thoughts about how it is normal for us to not take cognizance of things that we are not familiar with, I wished her a good day and walked on.

A few paces ahead, I saw three young girls hiding themselves in a tiny crevice in the wall of the cliff. The crevice was so small that even a small child of four from the plains would be too big for it; but the girls had twisted and compressed their bodies so much that the three of them remained well hidden from normal passersby. I would probably

have been oblivious of their presence, had I not heard their whispers and giggles and put two and two together.

I went and asked the girls what they were doing. The eldest of the three tried telling me not to tell their mother that they were there. “We were dancing and did not realize that the pot was kept there”, they added innocently. I smiled and continued my trek. A few paces down, we came across the river, which we had to cross using the stones that were strewn across its shallow breadth. “Try not stepping into the water, said our guide, “the current is too strong and the mud below too soft. You might get stuck, might fall and break something”.  Aided by our guide, we all started crossing the shallow river, when I saw someone come running from behind. It was one of the girls. She was followed closely by her mother, who seemed to be laughing as she chased the girl down the stones. I watched them spell bound as they seemed to be flying over the stones. Their feet hardly touched the ground as they jumped over the ledges and stones, reached the river and within moments, crossed it. Their crossing also seemed magical; their feet seemed to bounce off the water, even if they used the stones, they did it so naturally and subtly that It was nearly unperceivable. I asked my fellow trekkers if they saw what I did and described the whole thing to them. They responded that they were not fools like me to go meddling with local folk where ever I went, they were tired and sore and wanted to go back to the camp for their drink as quickly as they could and were in no mood to watch people running.

This made me wonder – How many times in a day do we in our force of habit miss all the magical events that come across our way? Are we really alive?

HEAL - A Short Story

 

Time is the ultimate winner, the king and the master. Time never stops and never turns back. Be it a moment or a millennium. Millennia are made of moments, and in front of some special moments, millennia stay dim.

 This is a story of such special moments.

She was tired, after a heavy morning, an abusive morning. Her cheek still smarted from the slap of her husband who was angry because she did not earn enough. Her hands felt leaden, her nerves screamed from the agony of being stretched through the night, when she carried her young sick son, in her arms to keep him quiet so her husband could sleep in peace. Her head reeled under the weight of the basket of brooms. She felt faint. So she stopped at the bottom of the stairwell for a minute and leaned against the edge.

Amit and Anin were standing at the top of the stairwell on the 12^th floor, smoking. They were dropping cigarette ash down the stairwell and admiring Amit’s new mobile. The mobile had a camera, touch screen etc., the works!! Amit felt that it was worth every pie of his six months worth savings he pumped into buying it.

All of a sudden and oh all of a sudden, the mobile slipped out of Anin’s hands and fell not on the stairs but into the stairwell. For a split second, they were too shocked to react. Then Amit started screaming. He was wild and livid to put it mildly. Anin ran to the lift. Amit ran after him blindly like a mad man. Thankfully for both of them, and the lift was there on the twelfth floor. They raced into the lift.

The moments when the lift descended to the ground floor were the worst and the longest ones in Anin’s life. Amit was screaming and begging him to undo the moment when he dropped the mobile. He felt like the scum of the Earth. He wished he had never touched the blasted phone.

The moment the lift reached the basement and the doors opened, the duo raced out to the bottom of the stairwell. They were too scared to imagine the sight that might await them there.

They were shocked!! There was not even a single speck that could remotely resemble a broken splinter of a mobile there. It was almost as if Amit’s mobile fell and disintegrated into invisible pieces. They started running around in circles, trying to find something - anything in fact. Suddenly they heard a voice asking them in the vernacular – “Sir, are you looking for something?” “His mobile it fell down the stairwell. Did you see it”? Anin responded mechanically without looking up. “Is it this one sir”? she asked. Amit looked up and exclaimed – “Where? How? How”? He was stunned because it was his phone and it was intact!! “It fell into my basket sir. Luckily I sell broomsticks. If my basket had something hard, it would have got broken” she replied to his unasked question.

Amit ran to her and grabbed his phone eagerly and busied himself examining it. Anin looked at Amit with the mobile in his hands behaving like a small child who found his favorite toy in his crib after looking for it all over the house. He then turned towards her and looked at her for the first time, the woman who saved his friend and friendship. Impulsively he ran to her, hugged her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She felt like an angel who had just handed over manna to him. She looked a picture of perfection, like the goddess of beauty.

The moment of impulse followed by many moments of embarrassment, which combined statements of outrage by the woman, apologies and self reproaches by Anin. Apologies, expressions of gratitude and offerings of money by Amit, her refusal and finally ended in those minutes when the duo ran into the lift to go back to their office and talk about their experience.

When the duo were finally in the lift, and after the doors of the lift closed, she quietly lifted the basket, kept it on her head and started walking. After she took four steps, her fingers touched the part of the cheek where she was kissed. There was a wistful smile on her lips.