Translation into english of story. by gowri patwardhan

It was a hot summer afternoon. A group of six-seven children were roaming around the Brahmagiri hill. There was a very strong wind. It was difficult to walk barefoot and the children were hopping around their ears blocked by the wind.

A few children were throwing pieces of rags into the valley. After going down a little the ball of rags was coming up and the children would run to catch it shouting, ’hai,hai’.

They were fighting for a chance to throw another ball of rags intothe valley.

Sometimes a kid would loose his balance while throwing a rag-ball with some force and then shudder with fear only to laugh again after gaining his balance. ‘Throw it well’ said one of the kids to him.

The Sun has gone down considerably now. The breeze is gentler too. Children have dispersed, tired after playing the whole day. Some are watching clouds and others are throwing stones in the distant valley. some are trying to explain why the rag-balls don’t fall down straight into the valley.

Is there transformation(Parivartan) in exixtance(astitva)? Or is that only the layers interchange? Did Phalke regain his sight that he had lost or had his sight been only been subdued for some period of time? Is the fact of losing and gaining sight only symbolic(of something) in- the internal processes and changing perspective?

DEFINITION OF SCOPE-

Our way of looking at things, our ideas about life and the compromises we make while living, significance of time, confusions and the loneliness born out of that- what will emerge if we put all of this in a cooker adding water (of reference) and giving tarka of desires(Vasana)?

Phalke bahar nikala/ para! What next? This was the question facing him. Should I start photography again? The plague is not going to visit every time. Kamala disappeared suddenly(and unexpectedly)…. Phalke was disturbed thinking of Kamala-his first wife.

That incident appeared before his eyes.

Godhra was a small town then and the railway had not reached there yet. When Phalke was associated with Baroda principality he was (working) in Godhara as a photographer. That is when plague broke out in that town. Very few people have the strenght (Virya-semen) to fight the ‘Apatti’(problem) big enough to destroy them. Rituals like Sacrifices to goddesses , Yadnya s were proving useless. Fear of death and helplessness were visible on the faces of people. At such a time someone saw a young man holding a strange object and putting it to his eye.

‘This not a curse of a goddess but someone has done black magic’ He remembered these words of a sorcerer. He ran after that ‘Saitani’ man with the strange object, carrying a stick in his hand, to kill him. Now there was a big mob running after the man running for his life, holding the heavy camera in his hand. The mob wanted to kill him. He fell down , rose and started to run again. Someone pulled at his shirt given him by the King. The shirt tore but the man got away. He dared not stop even after crossing the town boundary .He knew what his fate would be had the mob got hold of him instead of his torn shirt. But he couldn’t imagine why such a big mob was after his life. He didn’t remember when the heavy camera slipped out of his hands. He could only hear his own heartbeats. The muscles of his shoulder were moving as he was heaving. He was quite convinced that it was impossible for him to continue living in this city. On his way to Baroda, a drop of his tear fell on the photographic film in his hand while thinking of his losses in the city of Godhra.

A big wave broke on a rock, and sprayed Phalke with drops of water, bringing him to his senses. A deadpan silence filled the air. It was still hot although the sun had gone down considerably on the horizon. With gushes of wind, waves were breaking on the rock. Their movement seemed dead. Everything appeared meaningless. It was as though the mind was numbed by the onslaught of sensations. It was difficult to sit there any longer. Phalke left.

Something unexpected happened today at teatime. A distant relation (Uncle)of Kamala paid a visit at home. This was not unusual in Bombay. People traveling abroad by sea always stay with relatives in Bombay. But Dhurandhar Kaka was here for a specific reason.

I was lying down after taking lunch when he came and sat down before me. I got up immediately. ‘let it be’ said he. ‘No, its alright’ I said. For a few moments we just looked around, avoiding meeting each other’s eyes. “when does the boat leave?” I asked him. “ Tonight” he answered. That means he’ll have to leave around 4 in the afternoon. I was worried about having to accompany him to the jetty because I wasn’t earning anything those days. And I possibly couldn’t confide in him. He was after all Kamala’s Uncle. What would he think of me?

Perhaps Dhurandhar Kaka understood all this. “ Please don’t bother …I am here for something else” He said wiping his face. “My son-in-law has been invited by the Nizam to take charge as a Deewan of the state of Hyderabad. He is going there on the 3rd of the next month. He will get a good salary and enjoy a good status. Would you like to go with him? They need a good photographer. He has to just put in a good word and the work will be done. He is going alone since my daughter is pregnant with a child for the third time and she is staying back here. So you will have a place to stay there, what do you say?” I was confused. I certainly wanted a job. But photography?(again?) After leaving Godhra I hadn’t done any photography. It wouldn’t be appropriate to refuse his offer.

“ Its alright. There is no hurry. You think well and write a letter to me. Only let us know before the new moon. Shall I take a leave now…..?” His sentence broke abruptly. I could see his dilemma over how to address me, as a ‘Jamaibapu or just Pant/Rao(sir)?’ I went out to see him off till the gate.

After Mahadeo went to sleep his mother asked, “ are you going to Hyderabad?” I was amused. Kamala’s uncle had offered me a job. Will I drift away from Saraswati by accepting it? I had no answer to such a question. I felt her cheek and shook my head to say ‘no’.

That night Phalke and Saraswati were awake till 3 in the morning. Saraswati always felt

a bit nervous to speak with her husband when he immersed in work. She was worried that husband may be annoyed now that there was no work. After Kamala’s uncle’s visit her fears increased.

“I will never go away from you” I was trying to assure her. “Uncle did not mention Kamala” I told her. Whenever I remember that incident, I shudder with fear. Did these people believe that I realy had satanic powers? After I ran away from Godhra, kamala disappeared. Some say that she died of plague. How can it happen over just two days? I had returned on the third day to bring her away. Sometimes I wonder if there was indeed some such power residing inside me. Kamala and camera left me on that day. When I came to senses, Saraswati was crying, her head resting on my chest. Her tears were cooling my body. To feel such coolness in summer…I shuddered. I fell asleep.

Not that, I was busy looking for work every single day. Sometimes I would just go wandering- on the sea front or in the market. Once I was walking around in the market.

The high tide wasn’t that high and the water hadn’t risen much. The fish was more than usual but not too much. There was still some time for mangoes. I heard someone call “Gopya”. I was startled. I looked around. When I was working at Lakshmi Press, Gopinath used to do odd jobs of cleaning, serving water etc. Purushottam Dada used to call him ‘Gopya Dada’. Although Purushottamdada had a pleading tone, he couldn’t hide his cunningness. I smiled to myself remembering it. Then I realized that I was in the market. But the smile lingered on my face still. A man was staring at me as if at a mad man.

I tried to control my smile but it was still inside me. Om my way to home, tired, that call, ‘Gopya’ was ringing in my ears and the smile returned again and again. Summer in Bombay is something else altogether. There was no summer in Tryambak. There was either winter or rainy season. No body ever fainted with a sun stroke etc. Baroda was quite hot but that was dry heat. Here in Bombay it’s your real test, to survive summer.

I loved to sleep under the open sky. I liked to eat mangoes after dinner and then roll my bed in the open and sleep. My father was a star- gazer. He would tell us names of different stars, and about their birth, life and distance etc. and also the folklore of the astronomical world. I would fall asleep listening to his stories. Once while telling about Moon he recounted the story of ‘Samudra Manthana’. I was running a slight temperature. He had cooked Daal and Rice for me. To my surprise I ate it with relish. I don’t know the name of that dish but I remember eating it, trying to stay awake in my fathers lap, listening to the story of Samudra Manthana while rubbing my burning eyes. I cant forget it.

Some moments in life make you richer in experience. I had a feeling that hearing that story had enriched me this way. Many such youthful summer nights in Bombay, under the open skies, I have spent recalling tales from Puranas, of Rama, Krishna,Shankara and Bhasmasura. These tales are part of me. It is my own history, etched on my mind in the moments of happiness and fun when I was a young and impressionable person.

My mind was tired with so many thoughts and my eyes closed. Since I am a free bird these days, I can afford to rest whenever my body demands it. While working day and night it did tire me. I enjoyed my work then, now I was enjoying resting. I turned om my side. I could hear my heartbeat. There is a completely different world inside the body. While concentrating on those sounds I fell asleep but the sound wasn’t leaving me alone.

I saw a dream that night. Before I narrate my dream I want to point out that I hardly had such dreams before I left Lakshmi Press. My friends used poke fun at me and say, “ You are lucky. You guys print ‘Lakshmi’, so you don’t need to dream.” Jokes aside, I don’t remember when I lost this world of dreams. I had a dream after such a long time. Has my childhood returned or am I behaving childishly? Why did I see myself as a kid in the dream? It was a strange dream indeed.

It was really quite strange(Chamatkarik). I may not be remembering everything but whatever I do remember seems very strange. As if in the world of magician or some different world….we are not ready to face those things that scare us in real life. I saw Shiva dancing Tandava in my dream. There is thunder and lightening when he dances. Darkness spreads. I saw photogenic frames of him dancing in the glow of that lightening. I was seeing his energetic/powerful performance but that was not ‘me’. I had become a child of six. I turned my back to that powerful thunder and lightening and Tandava. That made me even more attentive to the sounds of Shankara’s movements. The sound of thunder startled me every time it happened. But as I became more and more helpless that sound seemed to reduce. Still scared, I opened my eyes. I still did not dare turn to look at Shankara.. When I turned to look at him I found him sitting, quietly-actually sleeping. Soon he was fast asleep and I went closer to have a better look at him.

There was a real moon in his hair locks. The crescent was very sharp. A trickle of water was flowing from his hair locks. My feet started sinking in the slush. Slowly the ‘keechar’ increased and I began sinking deeper in it. ‘A lotus in Keechar’ …some such thought came in my mind. The cobra around Shankara’s neck came down and started moving towards me. How could he move so fast? He started climbing on me and I shut my eyes hard. At that moment I heard Kamala’s feeble voice….

When the cobra went inside my dhoti I woke up, startled. I immediately made sure that there was neither cobra nor any ‘keechar’ around and was grateful that this was only a dream.