অসিত বিশ্বাস

Shiva-Vision: Asit Biswas

Shiva-Vision

My friend Pratap Pal is a Development Officer of Life Insurance Corporation of India. New job brings new comfort; along with this, however, new instruction each day from the manager sahib of the new branch to sell newer policies. Surpassing all these is the pressure of the new Memsahib, that is, of Mrs. Pal with new conch-bangles and new sarees. Under job pressure, pressing the bundle of documents to himself with the old intention of selling new policies Pratap rushes towards a character from the Purana. A coal seller and his agent Goldardabluffed a bit. He informed that the customer’s name is Mahesh Sarkar. That may be the reason why Pratap is well positioned with all the pomp and power after selling a great number of policies. Policy costing two lakhs turned both of them lucky.

I have heard that if a man of work does not find any job to perform, he mixes paddy and rice only to separate them after. Lacking the package of experience, I am also in the same position. With Pratap’s experience and my ignorance, I have decided to visit Sarkar Sahib. Let me take an interview. If by printing this in a newspaper I receive some money. So,one day keeping pace with Pratap, I have risen from the plain land to the uneven land by Assam, that is, Darjeeling.

Having had lunch lying a bit on the bed of the hotel, I thought about Pratap’s policy holder. Suddenly Pratap entered wearing gentle attire and said, “Let’s get outside. Thus we can both feast our eyes on the tea garden and fetch teacups.” So,tucking in the cotton shirt we walked towards the tea estate. He suddenly asked, “Want to have tea, sure?” I replied, “What hefty?” Producing a strange weird noise with tongue and teethPratap said in an annoying tone, “Arre, asking you whether you want to drink tea. Tea, tea.” I asked, “Why should I go tee-tee?” Making an uncouth grimace like that of an evaporating kettle Pratap said, “You rascal, don’t you know what world-famous product is found in Darjeeling? Have you jeopardized everything of your Geography knowledge?” Finding me helpless he toned down his voice a bit and said, “Will you sip? sip?” I then turned a complete sheep myself. Two daring Darjeeling damsel traders who were watching us from afar heard this with their two ears and served us two teacups to bring an end to both the dealing of dubious meaning of words and the desire for tea.

Tasting the unsought-for tea I said, “You promised to show me Kailash.”

“Carcass? Why didn’t you say it before? Would have taken you to the dumpyard then.”

“Dump you’re! Why am I to be dumped?”

Arre who said you to get dumped? In that case you would only get engaged in endless dialogue with others in the devil’s den. I am talking about dumping ground. Where carcassesof different types are thrown.”

I don’t have any craving for the carcasses. I said, “Shall trip to Mount Kailash. Give me only the route direction.”

Taking the route map from Pratap and some roti from the restaurant I rushed towards the shrine of God. After rambling for one hour or two I suddenly heard the ringing of a bell. While walking thus contemplative, a temple came into my notice. A dreadful doorkeeper with long beard was standing at the door. His two grisly red eyes are almost the microscopic vision of kaunch seeds.On his forehead there was perhaps the blood mark of the sacrificed goats offered to the God. I felt palpitations in my heart. Trembling, I floundered to the foundation and said, “Excuse me, brother bearer.”

“What did you say? Beer? Am I, a priest, your friend that I should bring you beer?” harshly the priest demanded an answer.

And hastily I rectified myself, “Not exactly, actually I meant to say I was searching for something unorthodox, Sir.”

“Ox? Whose ox? Maheshwar’s?”

It’s as if pox on me. Applied my ready wit, “Yes, yes, I have obviously come in search of his ox.” The ox will surely be available in the shrine of Maheshwar, and Maheshwar Saheb will be seated on its back.

Looking straight in the eye while carefully closing in,the priest said in a grumpy sinister voiceas if doing direction for a play, “Go, go, go towards that north.” Nodding to what he said I came down. While walking felt like hearing, “Go, search in the Bhabani Bhavan.” I realized that perhaps in Kailash too there is a Bhabani Bhaban. It is presumably the place for receiving the fax messages of missing ox and missing fox. The priest presently thus helped me greatly.

Could not remember how much time I spent while pondering over this at the time of walking. Suddenly noticed a great wooden structure of a house just in front of me. And several canopies of unknown leaves. There is a heap of coconut husks on the right side of the yard. On the other side there is ample dry kendu leaves. By its side along with a burning lamp there was a lecherous type almost twenty five year old youth. In the right hand wrist he had red sanctified thread of goddess Bipattarini and a heavy steel bangle. The black goggles were placed on the crown. There was a thick black thread chain in the neck. He wore black jeans with two large brass squares in the back. The sleeveless black vest had red borders. A red belt of two and half inches was there around the waist. The hairdescended over the ear and the neck. The hair at the front part was dyed red. Sitting on a small log he was preparing six inch cheroots. There was a burning cheroot held in between his lips too. Some cheroot butts were strewn beside. Now only the significance of the lamp here could be understood. Approaching further noticed that there was written in bold red letters on the back, “Kiss me Quick.” A thought just came to my mind that by striking out “kiss” I might as well make it “kick” so that it could rhyme well with “quick”. But my life had not yet been insured by Pratap.

Suddenly came into my notice a wooden plate not far away. Most part of it was covered with cow dung cakes. By its side in plain English written “Bhabani Bhaban” in tar. Just below it subscripted in smaller fonts, ‘Goddess Bhabani’s Bungalow’. Now I knew this was the right place, but no missing ox or missing fox, rather Miss Saraswati or Mrs. Laxmi and the likes could be suddenly encountered here. Decided, let’s enquire it from none other than the cheroot smoker. Hesitantly asked, “Hey dada, can you hear me? Mr. Mahesh….” As soon as I turned arounda pair of spine chilling globe-like eyes shot with much hemoglobin caught my eyes. Expanding those round eyes further and fathoming me cap-a-pie in a capricious manner he transferred the burning cheroot from mouth to the left hand and raising that same cheroot directed towards a great sand paper tree a little way away. Expressing thanks quickly I moved away from the cheroot-mouthed to the intended route.

As soon as I neared the moss-covered sand paper tree, all my senses seemed to go astray. Who was he sitting there with all eyes closed and leaning his back on the tree? Is he none other than that Sarkar Babu, contemplatively posturing in lotus position on a big nest of baya weaver? There were striped shorts imprinted as the tiger skin on him, with cheap talcum powder smeared on the rest of the body. His face was as if an enormous overripe coconut. There was one chain of rudraksha round the neck, and the other one was most possibly a plastic made snake. Hair was like the dirty clutter of coppery coir. In absence of regular oil and shampoo some shagof it had turned to the tails of langur as if straightened well with fevicol. Some of the matted hair had coiled to a bun on the crown. Some were weltering on the rocky soil by the both side of the body. A cheroot in the hand. It could be assumed that it had not been smoked for a long period of time since there was almost two inches long ashes still stuck to the frontal part of the cheroot. A big coconut shell cum ashtray was there on the right side. A thick smouldering string was hanging on the left. Near it on the ground almost a dozen cheroots were kept in a teak leaf. Two huge oyster shells were beside it. One contained a little honey, the other one perhaps had basil leaf extract. The noble man was as if breathing hard with eyes closed. His ribcage was rising and falling like bellows and a melancholic grating sound or a sound produced as if with a cracked bamboo flute was coming out of the throat. It seemed the beard was not shaved for last few days. The barber perhaps did not show up. The skin near the throat got slackened. Almost transparent. The livid veins and the sub-veins making the entire throat bluish could be easily discernible from outside. The appearance was rather gloomy. And awfully pathetic. One could not help shedding tears looking at the condition of that dotard. But I came to take an interview and should not in any way give in to emotion. So took great pains to control myself. Clearing the throat a bit said, “Excuse me, Sir.”

Languidly it was with much effort that the old man’s eyes opened. A pair of grey lack-lustre eyes. With great difficulty he scrutinized me from head to toe. And I knew from that very instant that he could not but be Pratap’s policy holder. So enquired, “Isyour honour Mr. Mahesh Sarkar?”

Sound of clearing the throat a bit. Then in firm voice threw the question, “Where have you got the car?”

“Where is the money to buy a car? I have travelled on foot only.”

“Stupid, on whose instruction have you attached ‘car’ to my name? My name is “Mahesh Chandra Swar”, in short Maheshwar; you can also call me Mahadeb.”

“Sorry for the mistake, brother.”

“How dare you address me ‘brother’, you donkey? Don’t you know how to properly address the people of your father’s age? I am even older than your father, bastard! However, say, what brings you here? Do you want any charm to seduce girls? But I don’t deal in such trifles.”

“Excuse me, uncle. No, no, not these things. I have dropped by only to get acquainted with you. If you kindly allow me some time…”, embarrassingly I responded prompt.

“Why uncle? Can’t you say it like a Bengali?”

“Actually I am an English Hons, perhaps that is why…!”

“Does it give you licence to call your relations in English?”

“No no Jyethu, that is not the case.”

“If that is not the case, what it is? These are such English-taught Sahibs, these scoundrels will contort their faces to alter even the words at the slightest excuse. In such a High Tech age a few English words can be allowed in conversations. But does that require you to call your relations in English terms? You have a ready reference in Rabi, the son of Jorasanko’s Deben, did he know any less English than these louses? He translated Shakespeare’s Macbeth when he was just thirteen years old. Have you gone through Songs Offerings? Have you noticed his craftsmanship in language? Will you ever be able to write Songs Offerings or Shesher Kabita?

“No Jyethu, we are not even fit to hold a candle to the bard.”

“Yet Rabi had never addressed Deben as daddy. Moreover, he was such unlucky that could not even address his mother properly.” Maheshwar’s voice seemed to choke a bit. Paused a bit. Then said affectionately, “Why are you standing there, take a seat. When at least you took pains to call on me. Nowadays you younger people rarely enquire of older generations.”

After touching his feet in reverence I sat in an unhurried manner. After all these I felt a bit composed about myself. I noticed that the cheroot in Maheshwar’s hand had extinguished. Picking up another cheroot he stretched it out to me and said, “Take this. Smoke some hemp.”

Thrown into a tizzy! A cheroot from Maheshwar, to smoke! I was not that plucky. My legs already started trembling. Hurriedly interrupted, “No no Jyethu, I don’t smoke hemp. None of my age….”

He did not let me finish my sentence. In a serious tone asked, “Where did you study?”

“In Kalyani”, timidly replied.

“Do you know whose hand is behind the hemp shops in Kalyani?”

“Shops selling hemp? In Kalyani?” I became quite surprised.

“Is there any tea shop near the Police Station?”

“Yes, of course there is one.”

“Do not there some of your hostel mates halt their bicycles for a while and ask for two rupee Ganga or Jamuna?”

I gaped at him.

Reprovingly said, “Do you have any idea what is Ganga, Jamuna in original? Packets of hemp. The boys bring those packets to hostels and replace the tobacco of the cigarettes and bidis with this hemp before smoking. Some scoundrels even share them with their darling wenches. One of your friends too shared it. Then when the wench was almost on the verge of bursting in laughter, didn’t he bring the medicine of headache for her?”

Strange! He even kept records of my friends. Being surprised I said, “But by the Police Station….”

Gesturing with hand he denied, “No Police Station dear, they are all places of prayer. Where all the plunderers lie prostrate. All sorts of immoral acts get approved once you offer prayer to such places. Can’t you see that there is no end to such evildoings in the name of offering prayers to me? Each year these scoundrels throng to Tarakeshwar trilling slogans in the name of offering prayers to me. Then as soon as they notice any lovely lass on the lane, they slower their pace to stop slogan and start Hindi songs instead. And I am accused for no fault of my own. Who asks these scoundrels to pour water on my head? Can’t they pour it on their father’s head? What to say, I have caught cold because of getting drenched at this rate. It’s my good luck that Bhringi has brought me this basil leaf juice and honey. You know, I am a chainsmoker. Since sitting here Nandi prepares the cheroots, the expense is managed.” He lit the cheroot in hand with the help of the burning string.

Oh, then the Jeans-Vest gentleman is surely Nandi. Said, “Nandida’s dress….”

“Who will convince him, dear? But, is he really at fault? You call it careless beauty or something like that. Otherwise one does not look that smart. And the girls care a fig about the unsmart boys. These wenches will all fall prey to the lures of loafers, only to be ditched later. Still they will die to fall in love with them. They even petition before me, you know? Brazenly begs, “Babaplease catch that black glasses wearing red haired beau for me, please, please.” Let them all go to hell. You won’t smoke hemp then?”

“No Jytheu, you are a paternal figure, sorry, God, in front of you….”

“Well, well. But do you still revere someone of your father’s age? Rather you call them bad names everywhere. Even you ask for matches from the aged persons.”

Jyethu, won’t deny what you said. Many of them take resort to such misdemeanours. But how do you know these, especially the information about Kalyani?”

Arre, have you forgotten that I do have ten eyes? Though I cannot see properly now. How can I deny that I have grown old? But the news reaches me by any means. Nandi very often visits Lake Park or Picnic Garden in Kalyani.” He craneda bit at back towards the yard. Then looking at me lowered his voice to say, “He goes to feasts with newer girls each day. It is not only feast, rather it is more like frolicking and flinging. Besides, Saraswati was even a Part-time Lecturer in the Kalyani University.

“Mother Saraswati?”

“Can Jyethu’s daughter be anyway called mother, idiot?

“Sorry, Jyethu. But why should a lady like Sarswatidi do Part-time? Something permanent…”

“What more can she do, say? Even after completing Masters in sixteen subjects she did not get any job. Is there any job still in the country? She would get four hundred rupees per month by doing Part-time. Even that is now lost. Your UGC suddenly ruled thateven Part-time cannot be continued unless one qualifies NET or SLET.” Maheshwar let out a deep sigh.

I asked again, “Sarodi then is sitting idle?”

“No, not exactly, trying to get a job and in the meantime doing tuitions going to the students’ houses. Still difficulties are aplenty. The loafers pass lewd remarks while preparing quid. Boarding a bus or train is even more taxing. Some middle-aged men even cross all limits. Moreover, the students do not want any less than the school teachers as their tutors. Oh yes, Sukanta came from Heaven that day, to discuss Modern poems etc. with Saraswati. His nephew or someone like that has perhaps become minister in the earth. He is rumoured to pass a law prohibiting private tuitions of the school teachers. In case that law is implemented properly, my daughter will be able to earn something.

To comfort the old man I said, “If Sarodi would have done Ph.D.”

“Do you think she has not attempted that? Requested a Professor of the University. But is he at all a Professor, or rather a pilferer? He asked for half of the money of the Research scholarship. Moreover, research for a beautiful girl… let’s keep mum, it will not do any good to you.

To change the topic I said, “Why aren’t you trying to arrange marriage of didi?”

“Marriage? Even there are many troubles.”

“Why?”

“My daughter is adamant not to marry any nincompoop. No groom with less than sixteen M.A.’s is acceptable to her. Found out only one such groom. A legendary educationist of your Kolkata. But to say the truth everything about him is concocted. He rather has studied very little. But you may feel it hilarious, higher Degrees in study demand higher dowries. Going through several feminist books my daughter has even pledged to never marry in exchange of dowry. Being feminist thus she excluded men form her life.

“What that is like?”

“Everything has gone awry for not getting a groom.”

I decided to steer away from Sarodi. I have already said many words lacking civility. Now let’s move to the discussion on Lakshmi. Said, “Jyethu, how are Lakshmidi and Narayanda doing?”

“Lakshmi’s condition is not even anything promising. A rustic farming girl. Worried more about the son-in-law. A four-handed fellow. But he does not have the ability to earn a single paise, only knows how to avoid any work. Talks to me, his father-in-law in the tone of a fiend. Again he alone knows when suddenly he will dress up as a guest to a family’s utter annoyance. The condition of farming is depreciating too. Who knows what ghost possessed the cerebrum of your Central Government, oddly being checkmated by no one knows who it decided to import rice from abroad. That here in the country the livelihood of the farmers has gone amiss, they have no worry over it. No one knows what bug has bitten them that they have withdrawn all the subsidies in things like pesticides and fertilizers and turn the country lifeless in twenty years by leading all to death. Lakshmi now weeps day in and out, you know?

Maheshwar’s eyes started glittering with tears. Then decided to ask about the sons. They are at least established, I expect. I said, “Kartikda is not hopefully sitting idle.”

“Yes, he is not sitting still. He is handsome no doubt. Only hangs around the girls like hoopoes and buys them hot dogs. And the hussies make him pay the bill for the biriyanitoo.Again I have heard that he does not have a bad market among the childless women.The devil has sustained by selling either amulets for the birth of children or the sanctified anklets. I am even ready to attend meetings against such cheating fraudsters. A black sheep indeed!

To console the old man I said, “Then it is Ganeshda who is running the family?”

“Running? Rather say,ruining.”

“How?” I was taken aback.

With a fixed look Maheshwar started saying, “His aim from the very childhood was to do business. With that aim in mind he said, ‘I will do MBA.’ In the rat race of the Marwaris Ganesh too participated with his own rat. Returned from Bombay rather being a buccaneer. Said, ‘I have done MBA. I have done MBA.’ Don’t know exactly whether he has done MBA or married a Mem. But the wretched did not even get a job. All say that there are plenty of such jobless plump like him. Yet it does not mean that since he did not get a job in a Private company, he did not receive any fewer gifts some days.”

“What!” I became confused.

“Didn’t you understand? He used to advise the shopkeepers about the business. In return they would gift him two or three sugar balls. But can that little amount of food fill such a large belly as he does possess? So what can he do else other than extracting money from one shop to another. The Burrabazar market is much burned up on him. And if any shopkeeper denies to pay him he simply pulls him by ears and pounces on him.”

“What do you say? Don’t the police take note of it?”

“Police? I can see you are too foolish, otherwise do you ever mention their name? Arre, don’t you remember last time your Chandraswami or God knows what cockamamie on a certain day secretly called up Ganesh to save himself from the mass outrage. Don’t you remember Ganesh had gulped down gallons of milk under the garb of offerings from innumerable people that day?”

“Yes jyethu, who can forget it?”

“Then imagine, where so many children go milkless every day, this old enough Ganesh was more than a beast to consume cans of milk; there had been confusions in every house, regarding who would first offer milk, don’t you think this had gone too far? Many scintillating scientists, Judges of High Court, even many bullheaded bureaucrats attacked the temple with tins of milk. Tell me what Police can do to it. It is rather Police now which has given him lease to collect levies.

I became a bit depressed. I thought the God should receive only what we can offer willingly. If that means deficiency in His storeroom He should stooge around to other places. I said, “Ganeshda can easily find out another means.”

Sighing heavily Maheshwar continued saying, “Now he is trying that. Saying that he will study astrology. Your Government has been heard to put much emphasis on the study of astrology.”

“Yes, that is so. But we, the communists are protesting against this.”

“This is your habitual fault. You communists even do not commitany less crime. Are you protesting at all? You congregated at the centenary hall of Calcutta University. So many intellectuals turned up. Twisted their tongues while whetting their intellect. All raised their hands to say unanimously that astrology is unscientific. But have you looked at those raised hands? Most of them were shining with rings with precious jewels.” There was silence for a while. Then drawing a slight line of sarcasm across the lips he said, “What? Even you seem to turn to stone. Lift your face to say something!”

I remained seated with my head bowed in shame.

As if in a bit aggrieved tone he continued, “Arre,that these stones are all fake, I also know. Look, I am sitting atop the Himalaya. There are so many sapphires, rubies, topazes, emeralds underneath it. Why, have these stones stopped my tear? Has my luck altered? None of my sons and daughters has got a job. Nobody even cares to show any respect to me. I am an old man, almost dying while coughing, but not even a single boy has brought me a jar of Chyavanprash, nobody has even asked me, ‘Father, how are you?’”

I felt as if something pounded heavily on my heart. “What are you sayingJyethamoshai, none of your sons takes care of you?

Tears started dripping from Maheshwar’s eyes. Not paying any heed to my questions he rather continued saying stoically, “I said to Kartik, you travel all around with your bow and arrows. Can’t you kill a tiger to bring its skin to me so that I can wear? That day my only wearable tiger skin got damaged in the fire from a burning cheroot. Seeing that singed skin my own son started reciting the lines from William Blake’s “Tyger” tauntingly— ‘Tyger tiger burning bright’ and left. I am only an illiterate old man. I should not have any sense of honour and prestige. My eyes got filled with tear. Seeing that Nandi has brought me this Bermuda, I don’t know fromwhere.” He paused for a while. Then again said, “Is not there a hospital in my namein Madras?”

Gazing fixedly at Maheshwar said in a low voice, “Yes Jyethu, Shankar Netralaya, Private Hospital.”

Mahadev continued. “I said to Ganesh, ‘You are acquainted with so many businessmen. Can’t you take me to Madras? Since I am your father they may treat my eyes free of cost, they are businessmen too.’ But do you know how he replied?He can take me to an old age home only if I wish so, not anywhere else.Because I am a decrepit old geezer, he is ashamed of introducing me as his father.” Pressing the right hand to his breast while pulling his hair with the left hand insanely hestarted howling. Seeing him cry I did not know when my own eyes too got filled with tears. To console him I said, “Please don’t cry Jyethamoshai. Not all disrespect you. You have a virtuous wife in your house.”

“What did you say? Virtuous?” With eyes almost exploding Maheshwar puffed furiously, “Do you have any idea what revelry she is doing in the name of women emancipation? Making use of polite tricks she has even introduced politics in my inner chambers. She has named my house ‘Bhabani Bhaban’. It is she who is at the root of all the disasters that have happened to our children. When the mother herself is shameless, what will happen to the children, say? That Durga has gone to distant places to transform to the naked Kali and tread even on my chest. Again, it cannot be said openly what she has started nowadays. All the hooliganism, pressure for money, bombing everything happens during only her puja, is she unaware of these? Then, don’t you watch your own Maa Kalis on TV? Is there any advertisement possible without showing the skin of the young women? Can one with any sense of shame be ever a model? It is Kali who is constantly cajoling them to get naked before their own kinsmen, sometimes even children. Fie! Fie! Fie! Was it in my fate at last? Uff!” He again broke down in tears beating his forehead.

I said, “Jyethu, don’t you do any protest?”

“Protest? No, those days are gone. Now any protest to the immoral acts of wives will inadvertently cause the imposition of 498A, a case on cruelty meted to a married woman. At last such compromise with the self-esteem! Worthless laws are these all!”

“But Jyethu, are not married women often really tortured?”

“Who is saying such cases do not happen? But do they who really are the victim of domestic violence ever go to file a case? Does Lakshmi have to go through any less hazards? But she will never go. Were it Manasa, the slightest chance to file a case would not have ever gone amiss. The law was implemented to help the tortured Lakshmis, but its benefit is best reaped by the Manasas. Which law will save thehusbands like me who are being tortured every day, say?”

I remained seated there for a while with my head hung in silence. I could not believe myself, is this the same God of destruction Nataraj, who being utterly struck with grief at the death of Satee took her corpse on his left shoulder and moved his feet to the dance of destruction in his frenzy with the trident in his right hand? In the face of whose fierce appearance thirty three crore gods got afraid and took resort to Narayana to protect the creation? Being engaged in the nursing of her leper husband a virtuous woman once cursed the Sun god, ‘As long as there will be leprosy on my husband’s body your rise will not be possible.’ Then to protect the law of universe when the legion of gods wanted to destroy the Satee, with trident in the hand someone with all the pride of valour said in a thunderous tone, ‘Listen you gods, to protect the law of universe even if you thirty three crore gods are intent upon doing harm to this Satee, to safeguard the chastity of the Satee I alone shall always be there by her side.’ Was the man sitting right in front of me the same trident holding Nataraj? It did not seem so. Rather he appeared as if a much known ill-fated, neglected father of the jobless, licentious children of the twenty first century. I did not know the words to console him. Who am I to console Him who himself is the comfort of the whole world, whom everybody knows as ‘Bhola’? When I raised my face I saw him panting with his back on the sand paper treewith closed eyes. Little bit of tears were still dripping from his eyes. I gently called, “Jyethamoshai, Jyethamoshai!”

He gently opened his eyes. I said humbly in an unhurried manner, “I did not want to trouble you, Jyethamoshai. I came here to take your interview.”

Heaving a sigh Maheshwar languidly said, “You have already taken my interview. But what will you do with it?”

“If I get some money by publishing it on newspaper.”

“Will they give you money?”

“There is a possibility.”

“Where will they get money themselves?”

“The readers will give.”

“Then the price of my interview will be provided by the readers, say?”

“Yes Jyethamoshai. Exactly so.”

He seemed to have thought something keeping his head down for a while. Then he gradually lifted his head to hesitantly urge with a yearning look, “Please write in a way so that they also contribute something in my name.”

I was stunned. What did Maheshwar just say?I knew Maheshwar was a beggar. But did not imagine him to stoop to such a level! Asking for money for just an interview! Perceiving well what was going on in my mind he said drawing a gentle smile in his lips, “It is not what you are thinking. You need not come to Kailash to give in my hands. Even you should not visit any temple. Don’t you have your own old father in the house? Don’t you see wizened beggars in streets?Give some money to these people. Taking care of your own old father and offering me prayers are the same things.” He paused for a moment and said again, “You will write I hope, won’t you?”

“Yes Jyethamoshai, certainly I shall write.” Saying that when I layprostrate in front of him and was just about to get up, then Lakshmi’s loud shrill pierced my ears, “Hey Badshahda! Wake up! Still asleep?”

Waking up in hurry-scurry in the bed I turned wonderstruck.Indeed there was Lakshmi before me. Holding two glasses of black tea by the bed, there was Pratap’s petite wife Ramanalakshmi with an ever elegant smiling face.

That day I promised Maheshwar in my dream. So, today I writeit down.

Lord Shiva’s words are like nectar,

Vile Badsha says and the virtuous hear.

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