Yakshagni - An odyssey of unbroken devotion - II

1) Successful Debut

The extra hour of jogging invigorated Dharma and the cobwebs in her head began to clear. She paused to take a long breath. Usually, she jogged for half an hour but this morning, her adrenaline rush urged her to vent more energy beyond the stipulated half an hour. It was probably her interaction with Maurya last night that made her restless and craving for an alternate expulsion of built-up energy. As his token of gratitude to her for saving him from the falling tree, Maurya had dropped her home. However, he had spoiled the gesture by chiding her for putting her own life in peril. She had reflected on his strange behaviour and kept recalling the times they had met. Consequently, she hadn't slept well. It was also Show-time for buyers. Checking the time, she hurried to her hostel.

***********

Rashika was a skilled but fast driver. Many times, Maurya had warned her of over-speeding but right now, she let out her frustration and anger on her car. She had had a violent row with Maurya the previous afternoon, over their trip to her native town. He had refused to accompany her family to the annual festival. Rashika had hoped that he would change his mind at the last moment but Maurya had been adamant and she had no excuses to give her parents.

It was true that the workload was high but there were efficient executives who could manage in Maurya’s absence so why had he declined to go with her? After their quarrel, Maurya had stomped out of his office in temper. This morning, her mother once again pestered her to convince Maurya to go with them and she screamed at her mother in frustration.

As Rashika sped along the outer ring road, her temper was stewing to a boiling fury. She had always done what her mind willed. There had never been an occasion when her wishes or needs had been unfulfilled. Her love for Maurya was never easily detected and with her sweet temperament, she had managed to make him propose to her. But now, things were different. She was reluctantly realizing that Maurya was so headstrong that at times, she felt like a clay pigeon.

She slowed down at the sight of the pile-up of traffic. She had followed her aunt's advice and had beseeched her father to give her a chance to work with Maurya and learn the ropes of the business. However, Maurya had placed her in the post of managing director at Index Fashions. After a month of joining Index Fashion House, she realized the complexities of running a company. Her foremost aim had been to salvage her sinking relationship with Maurya but working in Index fashion did not permit it. The only way to earn his attention now was by hook or crook.

Her phone buzzed. It was her best friend, Arjun.

************

Dharma waited at the stop for her regular bus. She planned to take the finished garments at around 2 in the afternoon. The models would be reaching the hotel directly and she had given specific instructions to them on their hairstyle. Dharma believed in the overall look to enhance the appeal of the outfit.

The bus was late, and by 9.10 she was fretting. The bus usually arrived at 8.50 and she would reach the office by 9.30 but today she was going to be late. The rattly blue vehicle, finally, made an appearance at 9.25 and Dharma took the usual seat. At the next stop, Mrs Singh boarded the bus and took the seat beside Dharma. The older woman and Dharma had become good friends over the days and Mrs Singh invariably brought her some snacks to munch. But that morning, she looked weary and Dharma pointed out, "You look tired!"

"Yes, slight pain in the chest. Sorry, I did not bring anything for you today except these roasted peanuts."

"That is alright. Did you show it to a doctor?"

The bus conductor diverted Dharma’s attention and she searched her purse for coins to pay him. When she turned around, Mrs Singh's head had slid to the window. Her arms had become limp on her lap. Alarmed, Dharma shook her shoulders but Mrs Singh had blacked out.

Dharma called for help and one of the passengers sprinkled water on the unconscious woman's face. Another man asked the driver to take the bus to a hospital. As soon as they arrived at the outpatient station, Mrs Singh was wheeled into the emergency room. Waiting in the lobby with Mrs Singh's belongings, Dharma searched for the older woman's husband's number in her phone. She learnt that he was in Sonipat at work. He requested her to wait till his sister who lived in Delhi reached the hospital. Dharma checked the time. It was already 10.30 and she had to be at the office by at least 1.00 to take the garments. Nonetheless, she decided to wait in the hospital for the doctor's diagnosis.

The hours flew and at 12.30 noon, the doctor told Dharma that Mrs Singh had suffered a minor stroke and that she needed to be under observation for at least 24 hours.

Stressed over her show and anxious about Mrs Singh's health, Dharma paced the lobby in tension. Around one, she called Sonia and informed her about her whereabouts. By two, Mrs Singh's sister-in-law showed up and she apologised profusely for the lateness. Bringing her up to date about Mrs Singh's health, Dharma left the hospital after one brief look at her friend.

Hailing a cab, Dharma was constantly on phone, guiding the assistant girls and models. By the time she reached the luxurious hotel, it was almost 3.30 and she rushed to the reception, recalling that she had forgotten to ask for the number of the suite. Again, she called her assistant who, breathlessly, informed her that Maurya Verma had arrived. Panting and perspiring, Dharma knocked on the door of the suite, and to add to her woes, it was Maurya who opened the door. He ran his eye over her slouched figure and queried, "Are you alright?"

Nodding, she strode to the dressing room in a hurry. Lekha, with her holier-than-thou attitude berated, "Where the hell were you? The buyers are here. Do you know how late you are?"

Despite the other woman's annoying attitude, Dharma answered with a calmness that surprised even her, "I know I know and I am sorry. It was an emergency."

Rashika, who was part of the group discussion with the buyers, excused herself and peeped into the dressing room. She glared at Dharma, "How irresponsible are you? Have you forgotten that you are supposed to be here by 2? It was Lekha who made all the arrangements before you showed up."

"I am sorry! There was an emergency." Dharma replied, rattled by Rashika's aggression.

The young models in a quiet gesture of support for Dharma, unwrapped other garments and helped her to dress them up. Dharma made sure that they donned the right footwear, minimum accessories and matching hairstyle.

The exhibit of apparel got over quickly and when Dharma took a look at the guests, she was relieved by the subdued excitement on their faces. At least they were not disappointed. The girls who modelled apprised her that the buyers seemed satisfied with the collection.

After another round of discussion, the buyers left with Maurya. Rashika, once again charged at Dharma, "How could you be so late on an important occasion like this?"

"I told you I had an emergency."

"Just because you are designing for this event does not mean that you can do as you please! I will not tolerate such scant regard for the higher authority."

Dharma regarded Rashika's crimson face and simmering grey eyes. She would have taken undue pleasure in putting Rashika in her place but good manners stalled her and she tried to answer with as much politeness as she could muster, "Everyone has emergencies. No one will want to be late on purpose."

"Oh, be quiet! Don't you dare take that arrogant tone with me!" Rashika snarled.

The door opened and Maurya entered. Taking in the scene, he raised his eyebrows.

"Guess what?" the ghost of a smile appeared on his face and scanning their faces in one quick look, he announced, "We have got an order for 30,000 pieces of each design."

He glanced at Dharma, "Congratulations Dharma! All your three designs have been selected."

Dharma's face turned sanguine at his announcement. She wanted to whoop with joy and holler to the world.

"Are you serious?" Rashika asked with reluctant surprise.

"Yep, it is the biggest order Index has got since god knows how many years!"

"Congratulations Rashika, you have done it!" Lekha's greetings drew Maurya's attention and he glanced at the two women sceptically.

Rashika's elated eyes encompassed Maurya and she placed her head on his shoulder with a contended sigh, "Thanks, Lekha! It was indeed a tough job."

Dharma's opinion about Rashika as a spoilt brat was reinforced after Rashika accepted the credit without any qualms. A miffed Dharma collected the scattered garments and began to fold them.

"Dharma..." Maurya's voice halted her actions and she glanced at him. Rashika scowled at Maurya while Dharma ignored the woman.

"Yes?"

"Make an appointment with Rita tomorrow. We will work out the details for the bulk order."

With a stiff smile, Dharma nodded and marched back to the dressing room. Maurya stared after her, ruminating over the gleam of anger that he detected in her eyes.

***********

Maurya and Rashika had dinner in a restaurant attached to the hotel after Dharma and the others left. Perusing the menu card, Rashika complained, "You know, Dharma spoke very rudely to me when I asked her why she was late. She almost jumped at me for asking."

Maurya lowered the menu card, "What do you mean by rude?"

"I mean she was almost asking me to mind my business. How dare she, Arya? Does she not know that I am the boss here? I think she wants to follow Sonia. I have seen the way they are so chummy with each other. First, she comes late and then she has the nerve to be rude."

"She must have had some important work. Anyway, she reached in time for the show and she worked hard on the collection. Her androgynous designs were loved by the buyers. They said they had been looking for such creations from Indian designers for a long time."

"Why are you defending her Arya? I agree that she is talented but have you seen her attitude? She struts around as if Index Fashions is on her shoulder. Poor Lekha!"

"Why poor Lekha? The woman has no sense of aesthetics in her. Her designs are over the top and crass. The only thing I see her do is sit in your office and gossip."

"That is not true Arya," Rashika cried, regarding him with hurt eyes.

The waiter appeared just then, quite miraculously for Maurya, who smiled at him gratefully. He hoped that Rashika would drop the topic. Somehow, he was uncomfortable discussing Dharma with Rashika.

Taking note of Maurya's discomfort, Rashika dropped the subject but she decided that she would soon teach a lesson to Dharma.

"Arya, Arjun is hosting a party at his farmhouse on Saturday," Rashika observed Maurya over the wine glass she was sipping from. She also noticed many women in the restaurant giving Maurya discreet looks. The light from the table above cast its glow on his face, turning his handsome features aristocratic. Rashika's imagination ran riot as she placed him on a royal pedestal where he would easily fit in.

Maurya was aware of Rashika's steady stare but he didn't look up from the menu he was studying. His thoughts were entangled in a mesh. There was a desperation to flee from the restaurant but he couldn't find a reason. He was physically present with Rashika but his thoughts were far away, disturbed over the cause of anger that had gleamed in Dharma's eyes that afternoon.

**************

After returning the garments to the office store and making notes of the same, Dharma called Mrs Singh to enquire about her health. Her husband answered and Dharma was relieved to learn that Mrs Singh's condition had improved and that she was conscious and talking.

"Thank you, Dharma, for helping her to reach the hospital in time. The doctor was saying that if she hadn't reached the hospital in time, the attack would have crippled her."

"It was no problem. Other passengers helped me on the bus."

"But you were the one who brought her to the hospital. My wife was saying that it was also an important day for you at work. Hope you didn't face a problem there."

Dharma recalled that she had discussed the showing with Mrs Singh casually on their bus ride, "No, it went on smoothly. Please convey my wishes to her. I will try to visit her tomorrow."

"Sure! Take your time. Come home sometime. My daughter would be happy to see you."

"Thank you, I will definitely do that."

Reaching the ground floor of the office, Dharma came across Sonia sitting alone in the reception area.

"Hi, Sonia..."

Startled, Sonia looked up with a vague smile. Dharma studied the puffy eyes and the wet tissue in her hand...

"Hi Dharma, still here?"

"Yeah, checking and returning the garments."

"Oh yes, I hear that it was a very successful show."

"Yes, we got a big order. You didn't come. Why?"

Sonia shrugged, "I don't think I was welcome."

"Why not?"

With a woebegone face, she replied, "Rashika and Lekha didn't want me there. They feel I am interfering with their work."

"Did Rashika say something to you?" Dharma frowned as Sonia sniffed once again, her eyes filling with tears.

"I don't know Dharma. I think Rashika has definitely taken a dislike to me and she finds every reason to ridicule me in front of Lekha. And here I thought Lekha was my friend since we have been working together for so many years," Sonia blew her nose, saddened by the turn of events.

"I am sure it must be some misunderstanding."

"I don't know Dharma. I am definitely going to talk to Maurya about it."

Dharma didn't think it was a good idea but she didn't voice it. Instead, she tried to cheer Sonia, "I am sure everything would seem better tomorrow. Have a good sleep and things would appear brighter."

Sonia eyed Dharma, "You are a good person Dharma, and with good people, only good things happen."

Dharma smiled faintly, thinking of her childhood when the caretaker woman had abused her. Nevertheless, she did not mention it to Sonia and together they left the office.

**************

Alighting from the auto, Dharma waited for the driver to return the change. It was then that she felt her skin prickling. She looked around but she could not see anyone in the dark. She put the coins into her wallet. The auto drew away and she noticed the speck of light behind the tree. Someone was standing behind the tree on the opposite side of the road and smoking. She peered at the figure but the surrounding darkness made it impossible to pick out the person. Dharma shook off the eerie feeling and strode into her hostel.

  *****************

Yakshagni - II

An Odyssey of unbroken devotion

                                                              

PROLOGUE

Each interaction on earth leaves a significant impact on us– be it with another human, another love, a stray creature, or a fading star. The synergy of that intercommunication leaves one with distant memories and heartache; however, it can also grip one with conflicting thoughts, a sinking feeling, or an indefinable ache. Why and how does this happen? Do the stars decide the outcome of such interplays or do the communicators absorb the energy from the interaction and give it a conclusion?

Ekveer and Hanneli gave up their lives for their kingdom but Yaksha Amogha believed that their odyssey would continue through time to another age. True to his belief, Yakshagni had embraced them and carried them to a new era and a newer world.

In the new and unfamiliar world, will Ekveer and Hanneli unite? Or will they have to wait for another span of time to be together? Were they always foreordained to seek love and then lose it?

If the mighty River Yakshagni, which had carried Ekveer and Hanneli to safety, had shrunk to an interconnecting stream of water, then, is there hope for Ekveer and Hanneli to meet and fall in love once again?

What is in store for them? Will Maurya and Dharma remember the lives of Ekveer and Hanneli?

Let us find out...

Book Review - Shalimar the clown by Salman Rushdie

It is quite daunting to write a review of a novel as brilliant and captivating as Shalimar the clown. Nevertheless, I mustered enough courage to write one so that I could share the joy of reading it, with others.

Where do I begin? It is true that some books leave you with a tinge of sadness, some make you feel good and others appeal to your literary sense. However, for me, Shalimar the clown made me go green with envy, owing to the fact that I can only dream of possessing such story telling skill and command of language.

The novel was published in the year 2005. As engrossing as a crime novel, as lugubrious as an elegy, and as lyrical as folklores; the story draws you gradually into its plot and its characters. Be it the village head or the clown, the American ambassador or the dancing girl, the characters impress you with their uniqueness not to mention their ordinariness. Like the lament of a lost lover, the story echoes the bereavement of losing one’s beloved land. Kashmir, the main protagonist of the novel is portrayed so lovingly that one cannot help but fall in love with it. I was infatuated for a brief spell. Moreover, I visited Kashmir a week after finishing the book. Armed with some knowledge of the region, I was indeed spellbound by the lushness of the landscape.

Coming back to the novel, Shalimar the clown enunciates the state’s history, enlightens you about the sequence of events that ultimately lead to the chaos, and eventually, it strengthens your vocabulary; which I believe is the intent of most authors. The political turmoil, the insurgency and the advent of terror have been written with absolute unbiasedness; without fear or favour. There is no political or religious leaning. There is only the gushing love for the imposing beauty of the valley. The brief glimpse into the tragic love story of poet, Habba Khatoon persuaded me to dig into her and Yousuf Shah Chak’s lives. During my visit to Gulmarg, when the tour guide began to narrate that the town was earlier called Gowri Marg, I, proud of my recently acquired knowledge from the book, quickly butted in to add that it was Yousuf Shah who changed the name, thereby amusing the guide and my husband.

Shalimar the clown is music to the soul, joy to the sense and challenge to the mind. Every line, so sinuously woven, is worth memorizing and not to be missed. Added to the appeal, is the author’s witty references to politics.

To quote the author, ‘A book is a version of the world…’ How true! Shalimar the clown paints a version of the world that is painfully disturbing at the same time deeply moving.

The novel; its mellifluousness, its tragedy and its broken chords gave me a wholly enrichening experience.

I am not sure if I sympathised with the clown, Shalimar; or hated him or empathised with him but in the end when………

Well, I won’t spill the beans! Read it yourself.

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Stranger than blood, Closer than stars...

 Sharing one of my favourite stories on this Valentine Day!

https://www.wattpad.com/793052505-stranger-than-blood-closer-than-stars 

KUNDALAKESI'S RANTS

                          Ungrateful Bonehead

I hate it when a man tries to blame a woman driver for his 'miss by a whisker' escape. Why can't he ever thank the woman as his timely saviour? Have you ever heard a man say, if it was not for her, I wouldn't be alive now! I bet that is very rare indeed!

So, once it so happened that I had the misfortune of travelling with a painfully opinionated man who was lamentably my friend's husband. We were travelling from Delhi to Jaipur for a wedding and I had to endure three hours of his balderdash on; you guessed it right, the current political scenario of the country. While his indignation rose, the needle on the speedometer too moved up. I nudged my friend to check his speed. 

However, to my utter dismay, he dismissed her warning and continued his diatribe. 

Far ahead of us, I noticed a road from the left joining the highway. There was no traffic signal at that point. Unless our car slowed down, there was every chance of a crash if a vehicle drove from the left towards the highway. I was quite tense and hoped that the dimwit would slow down. I even cautioned him with much wariness. He tossed an unpleasant glance at me through the rear-view mirror, reminding me that I had no knowledge of the controls of that particular car which was apparently imported from Korea. 

I sighed gloomily, wishing I had opted for a solo trip in a state-run bus or Uber or Ola or whatever... other than this. My friend turned around, giving me a conciliatory smile, which led to another train of thoughts. Why should a wife be apologetic for her husband’s behaviour? Heaving a long sigh at my never-ending rage, I kept quiet, smothering the turbulent thoughts that were clamouring for release.

On the edge of my seat now, I hoped that my friend would plant some sense into her husband's thick head. Because I pointed out that he needed to slow down, his chauvinistic mind refused to comply. Instead, he pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. 

As we inched closer to the intersection, (my heart praying that no vehicle shows up), a white and sleek beauty whizzed past us, forcing our man to slow down. The driver of the Maserati, yes, you guessed it right, a woman, raced across the intersection, once again forcing the driver of a station wagon which was coming from the road on the left to brake his vehicle. While both the male drivers swore aloud, the Maserati surged ahead happily, oblivious to the fact that she had saved an otherwise imminent collision between two vehicles.

All the way to our destination, my friend's husband kept calling the woman driver names; and accepted dismally that if he had owned a car like that, he too would have driven like her. However, his masculine ego was not willing to accept that a woman drove much skilfully and splendidly, and saved all of us from an undoubtful crash. 

Who could tell an obstinate man like him that a car is not just a man's toy? A woman too can play with it. 

I suppose she had evoked his envy and male desire to own and control something as untameable as her or her Maserati. Before we reached the destination, I called him all kinds of names... of course in my head; only my consideration for my friend stopped me from saying them aloud.

Like you guessed, I avoided the return trip with them. I took a cab whose driver, to my horror, declared that all women drivers were a menace on the road. I wanted to bang his head on the windshield. Luckily my rage did not spill over and I reached home in one piece. So much for much needed break from my work!

Now, those of you who know my name must be wondering who this Kundalakesi is.... Well, that story is for another time...

Till then, stay safe....

 

 

  

Honoured and grateful to receive the Sharing Stories Book Award for 'A Blue Moon Interlude' 

Across the other side...

 

The warm ocean waters tempted Hemadri to dip herself into its depth and luxuriate in its abyss. Often, Hemadri and her boyfriend, Rauf had swum in the sea. A wistful sigh escaped her as she wished that Rauf was by her side. At once, she censured herself for the self-indulgent yearning. How wicked could she get?

Turning her face away from the ocean, her gaze fell on the flock of birds that were taking off to another place. These birds followed the coastline to migrate. They had no borders or boundaries to cross. They moved freely and nested in a place they could survive. Hemadri wished humans too had similar freedom. With an indulgent smile, she watched the flock till she lost sight of them.  

She crossed the verdant stretch of land that was home to the rarest flora and fauna and came across River Ichamati, the river that formed a natural border between India and Bangladesh. The trans-boundary watercourse meandered its way through parts of India and Bangladesh forming a natural boundary between the two countries. Hemadri did not have to worry about crossing the border because the boundary did not exist for her. She was happy to wander in a borderless world where one did not have to fill endless forms or count on the officials guarding the boundary, for permission.

As an immigrant in the UK, she had faced innumerable difficulties. Like they say, adversities impel humans to migrate and seek shelter elsewhere. Similarly, around the time when the Windrush generation fled the Caribbean countries to the United Kingdom, Hemadri’s grandparents too sought refuge, escaping the terrible aftermath of a newly partitioned India. United Kingdom had then formed a new act which gave right of settlement to any native migrating from a British colony. Hence, Hemadri had grown up in an environment where she was not certain if she was a Brit, a British Indian, an Indian or an Indian Briton. She had spent her school years trying to fathom her identity. Consequently, she began to dislike questions on her ethnicity despite having friends from all races.

Hemadri’s social network profiles showed her location as Planet Earth. In one forum, she wrote her current place of location as somewhere in the northern hemisphere of the planet, and in the column where she had to write her home-town, she wrote ‘hailing from the youngest ranges of mountains on the earth.’ Her parents had named her after the mountains. Her profile described her as homosapien, for she believed in the human species rather than the nationality. 

Hemadri’s radical beliefs often sent her on a warpath with her peers, colleagues, and sometimes even her mother. Hemadri wished that instead of creating more boundaries, the world would unite as one to save the planet.

Rauf hailed from Bangladesh. He was an illegal immigrant in the UK and struggled to get a proper job. His family lived in Bangladesh. Often, when Hemadri and Rauf met, he would describe his homeland with nostalgia. His village was located on the banks of the river Ichamati and he would lovingly draw a picture of the river for Hemadri. His parents longed to cross the boundary and move to India so that they could earn a better life. Many a time, Rauf had voiced his frustration at the boundaries created by the prevailing politics. With boundaries arose conflicting needs to gain access to natural and mineral wealth. When borders were formed, some were stranded in nations left with nothing and others were nurtured by the fortunes that rose to abundance in their part of the region. Ultimately, it resulted in one being in the right place at the right time.

A year ago, Rauf’s parents died as their boat capsized in Ichamati river while trying to enter India. Rauf was detained at Heathrow airport immediately upon trying to leave the country for his parents’ funeral. He was taken to a detention centre and Hemadri hadn’t met him since then.

Now, as she sat on the banks of the river, she remembered the terrible year with forlorn agony. Unable to watch her parents’ depression, she had travelled to this part of the world. Thoughts of her family directed her to her mother’s explanation about borders. Hemadri had been an excellent artist and she used to make rangolis with admirable skill. Her mother had initiated her into the art of making rangolis. And whenever she had made them, her mother would insist that she draw a border around the rangoli.

Hemadri and her mother used to argue about the border. Hemadri would claim that borders take away the beauty of the art and her mother would snap back that borders ensured that the drawing was not marred by any external disruption.

Each time they debated about it, Hemadri would end up losing the argument. Hemadri could never discern her mother’s logic. So, to prove her point, Hemadri would take part in rangoli competitions conducted by the Indian diaspora and draw designs without borders. Ironically, the only time she won the contest was when she had made a border.

That day, her mother had explained, “Beta, we draw borders to discourage aggression. It would not give others freedom to walk over our space.”

Hemadri had not been convinced. Her mother had been naïve enough to rely on the notion that borders kept one safe but Hemadri believed that one’s safety was violated by one’s own homegrown reign of terror. And she had not been wrong.

Hemadri’s dream to travel in a borderless world was fulfilled soon. No margin stopped her now. She looked at the Earth as one country; the countless borders and boundaries were not visible to her.

She wished even Rauf and her parents lived in a borderless world like her.

Six months ago, in a terrorist attack in London, Hemadri’s young life had ended, liberating her soul to enjoy a borderless world.

****************

Picture credits: Akshaya 

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