** Chapter : 5 **
Combating my own mêlée
Finally the night had passed, morning had arrived. Somehow, I had managed one more night in this debris, waiting to get out. But, we were held prisoners as terrorists, so we had no privilege of bail. So, only hope was on the fast track court magistrate. But the trial day was far away and we had no option but to wait.
“Hey you, come out. Warden is calling you!” A female constable came in, she smelled of a cheap tobacco. She opened my cell, I came out. It took a little while, to adjust in this fresh air. My lungs had adjusted to stale air of jail cell. As she pushed me to the warden’s room, I knew it was the once again the interrogation time, same questions, same harsh treatments, same abuses and same frustration. As I entered the warden’s room – a little room suffocated with a huge table (in comparison with the size of room), papers and files were scattered all over in the room like it was the shop of some Kabadiwala. Air of the room tasted of some cigarette, a man with huge belly, clannish face was snoring there, seating on the chair and feet expanded on the table. As I entered in, from another door Satva too was pushed in. He looked tired, exhausted and weak. A few scar marks here and there evidenced harsh treatments he got into the interrogation room, a week old grown beard made him look more smudged, I was used to seeing him clean shaved. But, still the eyes were same – oozing with some vigor within. Warden’s sleep was disturbed with our arrival, he didn’t look much pleased.
“Hey terrorist, get ready for some more questions.” He said pointing at Satva
“Excuse me sir, nothing has been proven against us. Law says we are innocent till proven guilty, so better mind your tongue.” I jumped in between, Satva gave a tired smile.
“Oye Hot-shot journalist, better take care of your own ass as of now, or uske sath teri bhi lag jayegi – bina koi vajah..!”
“That I will, why don’t you mind your own bloody business, Bhenchod..!!” abuse was given in mute, in my mind only. I was annoyed, but I was smart enough not to abuse him on his face – this was his fortress. I looked at Satva, he smiled at me and before someone could see – passed a little cheat into my pocket – I wondered what that was, but it was not possible to check it now. Thus, decided to do it when no one is around.
The lady constable hurried me into the interrogation room, no one was there, and the room was empty. I took my seat, waiting for the interrogation to start. I waited for a while, no one came, and waiting was something I hated. I looked around in the room; a crushed, shabby newspaper lied in there. I took it, ‘The Hindu´ it was. I checked a title named: From Ipsa’s Pen.
The Cult and Controversy: Story of Sitaram Ashram
For the phenomenally influential religious guru, Sitaram Bapu, his 37-year-long spiritual career had never been a cakewalk and the four mysterious deaths in his ashrams here in Ahmedabad and in Madhya Pradesh and the public ire he has been courting are only the latest that he hopes to shrug off.
His spiritual domain is spread across 300 ashrams throughout India, as also in the US, with lakhs of his followers and admirers flooding his commune with funds. Sixty-seven-year-old Bapu has even delivered a speech at the parliament of world religions.
Few controversies connected with his ashrams have invited media attention the way the deaths of four children in his two ashrams — in Ahmedabad and Chhindwara — did in just one month. His ashram, in both the cases, is facing serious problems, with investigators finally getting down to grilling inmates of the ashrams in connection with the deaths.
Sitaram Bapu may not have had to look back ever since he set up his first kutia or hutment in Motera village here in 1971, but the path had all along been strewn with scandals.
Sindh-born Sitaram, who had migrated to Ahmedabad with his parents during Partition, is facing about dozen-odd cases at different places — all of them pertaining to alleged land grabbing by his Sant Sitaram Bapu Trust. One of the villagers in Motera, Ashok Thakore, has moved the court to get back five acres of his family’s land allegedly grabbed by the ashram. According to Thakore, the land is situated adjoining the ashram and was used for erecting tents on the Guru Purnima day. Permission to this effect was given by his father to the ashram. After his father’s death, the ashram grabbed it by saying that Thakore’s father had ‘gifted’ it to the ashram. However, the ashram has not been able to substantiate its claim with proofs.
In another case, Anil Vyas, a farmer from Jehangirpura village near Surat, where the ashram is facing several allegations of land grabbing, is fighting a prolonged battle for recovery of his 34,400 square metres of prime land from the ashram. According to Vyas, despite the fact that the ashram’s claim over the land was challenged in the court, the state Government regularised the unauthorised encroachment on January 24, 1997. However, the Gujarat High Court on December 8, 2006, held the regularisation illegal and decreed in favour of the farmer. The Ashram then appealed to the Division Bench against the order.
A Delhi-based widow, Sudarshan Kumari, is also fighting a legal battle against Sitaram Bapu whose Trust, she alleges, had fraudulently got some papers signed by her. The paper later turned out to be a ‘gift deed’ to the ashram. The documents say that she has gifted the ground floor of her house in Rajouri Garden, New Delhi, to the ashram. According to her complaint, on July 6, 2000, on the pretext of taking her to Sitaram satsang, she was taken to the office of Sub Registrar in Janakpuri, New Delhi. One of the inmates of the ashram, identified as Mani Kaka, hypnotised her and made her sign a number of documents, without allowing her to go through the content. The other person who signed the papers there, according to her, was Narayan Swamy, son of Sitaram Bapu. She came to know about the gift deed when officials from the Municipal Committee of Delhi came to confirm it.
The ashram authorities at Rajokri village, near Gurgaon, have allegedly forged documents pertaining to the registration of the ashram. Bhagwani Devi, a resident of Rajokri, has also approached the Delhi High Court levelling allegations of land grabbing against Sitaram’s Rajokri ashram.
Even Government agencies have levelled allegations of land grabbing against Sitaram’s Trust. A few months ago, the Bihar State Board of Religious Trusts (BSBRT) had served a notice to the Trust’s headquarters in Ahmedabad, asking it to vacate a land belonging to BSBRT, worth Rs 80 crore. And in April 2007, a retired judge of the Patna High Court had filed a criminal complaint in Kadamkuan police station, Patna, alleging grabbing of his land by Sitaram Bapu and others.
In Ratlam, Sitaram’s Trust had to vacate a piece of land after a prolonged litigation. In January 2007, power theft amounting to Rs 4.7 lakh was detected from his Rajkot ashram.
Despite all these cases and allegations, Sitaram Bapu’s popularity is on the rise — particularly among the ruling party politicians in the state. “It is due to the clout of Sitaram that no criminal case was registered against any of his ashram-members nor was anyone from the ashram arrested after the two boys of his gurukuls died under mysterious circumstances,” said a rebel BJP leader, requesting anonymity.
The popularity of Sitaram can be gauged from the fact that his photographs can be spotted in every government office across the state and even state transport corporation’s buses display his photos and messages.
When the Gujarat Government in 2005 decided to rejuvenate the Saraswati River by filling long tracts of land considered being the vestiges of the mythical river at Sidhpur town in Mehsana district, Sitaram Bapu was the chief guest at the launch of the project. Though there are other religious leaders in the state, inviting him to such a high-profile programme as the chief guest explains the popularity of the man among the ruling party.
Again, when the state Government temporarily launched Vande Gujarat TV channel, telecasting its developmental achievements on the eve of December 2007 Assembly polls, the channel regularly carried footages of Sitaram Bapu.
This explains the clout of Sitaram Bapu whose religious movement has taken the shape of a cult, having followers in every section of the society. With his influence growing, there are many politicians, including Minister of State for Home Amit Shah, visiting his ashram regularly.
Senior BJP leader L K Advani is also believed to be one of the regular visitors to the ashram. The Ashram manager in Ahmedabad, Arvind Patel, is a senior BJP functionary. With so many political connections and high popularity amongst the senior political leaders, we can only hope, even if justice is already delayed, it won’t be denied.
– Ipsa Vaidya
“Great work Ipsa, seriously. You just check any of the social networking sites; your article is in limelight.” I was seeing Satva after so many days, he was acting very defensive after that incident at Dunny, good to see him act little normal.
“Thanks, but what now?” my cheeks reddened a little, waiter left two cups of coffee on the table.
“As of now, let’s give justice to this coffee. You don’t like it cold, do you?”
As we focused our focus towards the warm delightful cappuccino, even being morning time there weren’t much people in the café, an aged businessman, one collegian couple sitting in the corner were only present except for two of us. Waiter turned on the news channel on the wall bound LCD.
“We have just received the breaking news; main culprit behind the bomb blast in Delhi is arrested by the Crime Branch just before half an hour. We got to know from our sources that, Azhar Ali, Lashkar-E-Jehad activist, was caught sleeping in his small room in the Old Delhi. Crime Branch is expectant of getting some useful information from this guy. But still the identity of the master mind behind this blast – Shahid Khan is the big question. It’s just a name that has come out, which has no face as of now. He might be there sitting amongst you, sharing even a cup of tea or coffee with you as of now. It’s time for commercial break; stay tuned with the Anytime News, Faster than the Fast for more updates.”
“Why do they arrest these people, they should be shot down on the spot.” I banged my fist on the table, whole of table trembled.
“They too are human Ipsa.”
“Human my foot..! Those killed in the blasts were human too. You are asking for human behavior with them, they should be shot on the spot; whole cartridge of the gun should be emptied from the point blank range on each of those bloody ass holes.”
“Shant Gadadhari Bheem, shant…!!” I grinned at him; he smiled in reply, Sometimes smile means the person doesn’t know what else to say.
∞
It was the eve of Diwali, mood of festivity was in the air. I was busy playing with the doll house and my friends in the vestibule of my house waiting for night to come. Nice breeze was flowing, the sun was getting diluted into the sky, and in the process it had inflamed whole sky into dark red. A few groups of the birds were singing their medley, filling the inflamed sky with the feel of composure. As we stayed in the vestibule, our house was over crowded; Bhai had invited some of his friends on the dinner tonight, they were sitting at the terrace at this point of time. Papa had invited his partner home for the dinner; mom was busy cooking the feast for the guests.
“Ipsa, Dora’s clothes are at the terrace, we left it there yesterday.” Dora was our doll’s name.
“Wait Mruga, I will get them.” I ran to get Dora a pair of her outfits as we wanted to get her ready for Diwali as well. As I rushed through the drawing room, I heard sounds of television and giggling and chuckling of my father and his business partner. I rushed through stairs made of white marble, first floor, second floor and there came the terrace.
“Par kuch bhi ho bhai yahin Ahmedabad mein baithe baithe pura Mumbai hila dala aap ne…!!” A guy on the left to Bhai spoke, he looked a bit weird, he was wearing a kurta and denim, he had long beard but moustaches were shaved, his eyes had some kind of violence, his tone was ill-mannered. He was not only the one eerie though, almost every personality present on the terrace alongside my bro was same. A Bottle was lying on the center table along with a few snacks, they were drinking, two or three of them were smoking as well.
“Abdul, wo to mere………. Arey Ipsa, what happened?” Bhai was about to say something but he stopped abruptly looking at me.
“Dora’s clothes are here, want to take them away.” I wonder why but the atmosphere made me a bit edgy and subdued.
Festivity is in the blood of the India and best of all is Diwali. You won’t find a night with so many lights that too a no moon night. Diwali involves the lighting of small clay lamps (dīpa) filled with oil to signify the triumph of good over evil. These lamps are kept on during the night and one’s house is cleaned, both done in order to make the goddess Lakshmi feel welcome. Firecrackers are burst because it is believed that it drives away evil spirits. During Diwali, all the celebrants wear new clothes and share sweets and snacks with family members and friends. The festival starts with Dhanteras on which most Indian business communities begin their financial year. The second day of the festival is called the Naraka Chaturdasi. Amavasya, the third day of Diwali, marks the worship of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. The fourth day of Diwali is known as Kartika Shudda Padyami. The fifth day is referred to as Yama Dvitiya (also called Bhai Dooj), and on this day sisters invite their brothers to their homes.
“Ipsa, keep your head away from bursting Flower Pot…!” Mom shouted as all the kids of the garth busted the crackers, all the moms watched with various crackers in a dish in their hands. We were jumping upside down as a flower pot spewed sparkles and stars and so much light in it or a wheel chakkar got mad while circulating on a ground.
“Mom, give me that green colored sparkler na…!” I rushed to mom sitting with the pool of other ladies of the neighborhood.
“Where is it, let me see..!” She inspected a plate full of crackers flower pots, chakkars, sparklers, Magic Pencils, etc…etc….etc…. “I guess I forgot to bring them.” She looked a touch disappointed, or at least she performed that look wonderfully. I just dashed to home, to get my favorite sparklers at my fastest. As I dashed into the house, loudness was the only part of the atmosphere, even bhai and his friends were now chatting with dad and his friend. As I went into the last room, where the crackers were put in, I felt some movements in the little portico made behind the house, cadenced movements of footsteps. As I tried to make something of it, I heard our front door being smashed. I ran to the main room.
“Surrender that’s the best way to remain alive..!” A guy with a trimmed moustache held the gun towards my brother, he wore a police uniform, his eyes felt as if it had drank some unexplainable vehemence within, his voice carried some grit. Every face in the drawing room turned insipid looking up to him. I was standing at the doorway of the last room, being the silent testimony of the all the anarchy to happen. The Inspector held his gun and grimy look for a while, everyone out there were counting their breaths as of now, including me. Silence was getting heavier, just at that moment someone outside in vestibule burst a 555 Bomb. Bhai took his pistol, shot at inspector, a cascade of blood sprayed out of his shoulder, he felt down on the floor. And the whole house echoed with the bullet shots, I just kept on glaring at every bullet shot, with my mouth stretched open, tears pouring down from my eyes, I wanted to shout but I was so terrified even a word didn’t dared came out. With every bullet shot, a burst of blood came out from human bodies, drawing room of the house was full of smoke, a smell of gunpowder mixed with stink of hot blood made me felt heavy, from nowhere a guy in police uniform came and got hold of me, I tried very hard to keep him away from me but he stretched me out of the place, I dropped the packet of green sparklers.
“Bhai……………….!” I managed a squawk finally, but the guy holding me snubbed it, carried holding me snugly.
“Bhai………………!” a gaudier screech, I found myself seating in the puddle of my own perspiration, on the comfy bed of the Marriot Courtyard, AC was working overtime, my past had come to rendezvous me once again. These nightmares hadn’t left me since that ghastly Diwali night. I took a glass of water, gulped whole of it at one go, my breathing was heavy. I came out in the gallery, 7Th road in the heart of Bangalore seemed unusually inaudible, somewhere at far clock tower clocked the bell thrice in the recognition of the time- 3:00 A.M, Satva was snoring in the room adjacent to mine.
“You look tired, is it the prostration of sleep?” Satva was seeping his lemonade quietly at the breakfast table
“No, it is due to non-sleep.” I took my seat opposite to him
“So, ready to move to Aihole, Sitaram bapu must be waiting for us.”
“Oh yeah babe…!” Both of us chuckled, as waiter left bread butter and lemon tea for my morning famine.
“How long is the journey?” I said taking a bite, Bread-Butter was the favorite breakfast of Satva, I liked some spicy stuff, but (many times) he preferred to dominate over me, my thoughts and my preferences. I too allowed him to do so, wonder why. I always wanted to be an independent girl, but I liked when he made me dependent on his decisions. Dependencies have tendency to become contingencies.
“Eight to Ten hours, it’s around 510 kilometers from here.”
“Oh, by the way I forgot to tell you, I had visitors at my place in Delhi before we left.”
“Visitors?”
“Yeah, last evening….!”
The evening was cool and calm, nothing much happening. Satva and I were leaving for Bangalore late in the evening; as usual I was busy doing last minute packing. I have always been organized girl in an unorganized way. Headphones on, world gone situation was on when mom appeared from the nowhere.
“At what time is your flight, Ipsa?”
“Eight thirty…!” I unplugged one ear-phone to listen to what mom was saying and one was still on, to bear with the same.
“And you are packing your bag now; can’t you do it in advance? You kept on wandering whole day, and at seven thirty now you are packing.”
“Mom, please I can manage my time and work. I have grown up, when will you understand that?”
“You will always be a baby for me. But, you won’t understand it today, that you will understand the day you will become mother.”
“C’mon mom…!! Kam shu che tare, e bol..!!”
“Some two guys have come to meet you, they are waiting downstairs.” She said avoiding an eye-contact; her face was made up of infuriation and ire at that moment. In a daughter’s life biggest villain is a ‘Mother’, ask any girly none will deny. I just decided to do, what a daughter can do best on such instances, overlook her expressions and go downstairs to check with those two guys.
I hurriedly went downstairs, didn’t wanted to board the flight to Bangalore with inappropriate luggage.
“Ms. Vaidya?” Both of them were wearing while colored kurta-Payjamas, but they didn’t look anywhere near being decent. His tone was harsh, body language was violent.
“Do I know you?”
“No, but who doesn’t know you. You are such a gifted writer, your article From Ipsa’s Pen is world famous in Delhi.”
“Come to the point.”
“Then listen, what the hell have you written about Sitaram Bapu is all wrong, stop doing such things, you are young aspiring journalist. You wouldn’t like your career being screwed, would you?”
“Are you trying to threaten me?”
“Look Ms. Vaidya, You are hurting so many religious feelings. We are just your well-wishers, or else incidents of Road accidents, Acid Attacks, Rapes have become quite common these days in Delhi, I hope you are getting me.”
“Your Sitaram Bapu is showing his true colors, good. Go and tell your boss, your coercion is futile. Ipsa isn’t afraid of such wobbly menacing.”
“Think over it young lady, hope to meet you soon.” They left the place; I stood there for a while.
“What the fu…….. They threatened you and you are telling me today. C’mon Ipsa, you should have told me.” Satva’s forehead looked bit curvy, as the worrying wrinkles appeared over there.
“Oh, good to know that you at least care for me, if not for my feelings.”
“Ipsa…!!”
“I don’t know which need of mine is high – to love you or to be loved by you. I don’t know that I want to misplace myself in you or need to re-invent myself from your existence. I have said thousand times, that I Love you, and on another hand is you nothing except utter despair.”
“ફળીછેજેજેઆશા, તેનામેંઅંજામજોયાછે. હવેદુખજેવુંકઈથતુંનથીનિરાશાથી.” – “I have seen fruits of fulfilled anticipations. I don’t regret despair anymore.”
“I guess I will never be able to get all the pieces of a puzzle called – Satva together.”
“Zindagi Kaisi hai Paheli haaaye..!!” – “Which kind of puzzle, life is?” I vehemently stretched my lips in smile at such untimely PJ from him.
** Chapter : 6 **
Love in itagi…
“Aye Zindagi hamein sohbaton ka nasha hai, yeh sohbatein yaaron ki. Aye zindagi hamein hosh ki na tu davaa de, duaa de…dua de..” – “O Life, we have the intoxication of inseparableness, this togetherness of friends. O life, don’t give us the medicine of soberness, just pray for us, pray for us.” Amit Trivedi continued his poignant voice on the FM, as we drove away on the National Highway no. 13, Bangalore to Aihole, nice evening wind was stroking my hair; there wasn’t much traffic on the way. Satva was silently driving car, I was just enjoying my favourite composer cum singer rendering one beautiful composition from a recent movie.
“Aihole – 95 Kilometres, Koppal 3 Kilometres.” I read a signage board on the left of the road, to break the silence. I could never manage the silence for more than a while, while Satva enjoyed every bit of it.
“We should reach Aihole by six-thirty, I guess.”
“Hmmm..!” I was proud of myself – I managed to get words out of this stalwart mouth refusing to utter a word unless badly needed.
I took my hair in my hand, stretched them a little and took the pin out from there, wind was almost hitting my face, my hair got all strewn over my face and a few were flickering in mid-air as well. Amit Trivedi’s soulful singing alongside striking ride on the silent highway – a perfect set up for a nice evening on your way. I noticed a biker was driving parallel to us since quite a while, he was in fully white attire, his appearance looked somewhat similar but he wore helmet, so I was not able to see his face. “Silly me, how will I know this man from Karnataka. This is the first time I am here in my life.” I ignored him, and continued enjoying the wind flirting with my hair. I was lost in my own world, Satva just glared out of my window. I guess the biker had come very much close to the car.
“Get Down Ipsa.” Satva pushed me down on the seat, the biker sprayed something from that much distance. Satva applied the sudden breaks, the car stood still.
“Ouuuccccch mummmaaa… My back is burning.” I let a cry go, whole of my back was almost scorching due to the liquid that bastard had sprayed. The back of the t-shirt – I was wearing was also scorched; I felt my bare back was sweltering into hellholes. I was able to feel each drop of the fluid shredding through stratums of my skin slowly and steadily. Satva immediately stepped out of the car, to see that biker, but he had eloped. Very next moment he got back in, took a water bottle which was icy cool – and emptied whole of it on my back at one go.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… fuuuccckckk….” I was still crying, but that chilled water helped my back a little. I just looked at Satva, his hand was injured too. He must have got it while pushing me down. I finally realised, he had saved my face from an ‘Acid-attack..!’
“You okay Ipsa?”
“Yeah..! A Kind of..!”
“I guess Koppal is just a five minute away from here, we will move there first, you are in need of some doctor and first –aid.”
“You too, your hand caught a bit of acid too.”
“It’s okay, I am all right.” I tied a handkerchief to his hand, my back was still burning, I wanted to cry – cry it out vociferously. But a strong girly within my own body was holding onto the tears, a battle was on; don’t know how long will I be able to hold on?
Koppal is town in the Koppal District in the state of Karnataka; it is surrounded on three sides by hillocks and was one of the important towns in the history of the Karnataka, popularly known as Kopana Nagar. It contains historical locations such as Koppal fort, Gavimath and the Male Mallappa Temple and it is known as Jaina Kashi meaning sacred place for Jains, named because there were more than 72 Basadis(also called Basti)- Jain Prarthna Mandir.
“Good Evening, how may I help you?”
“I need a room for tonight.” Satva spoke to a girl speaking in typical South-Indian enunciation at the reception desk of a hotel. He signed the register, with the bandaged hand.
“Room no. 312, Mr Agrawal..!” Receptionist handed over the keys to him, she was rolling her eyes over, looking a handsome guy, I frowned at her, held his hand – announcing I am with him. Satva smiled carelessly.
“How are you feeling now, Ipsa?”
“Lesser pain, after doc gave that injection.”
“I still can’t believe, that ass hole who proclaims himself to be a god man, plotted an acid attack on you.”
“Oh yeah, he did coercing to terrify me. Still, even I didn’t expect this one.”
“I was afraid Ipsa, afraid at seeing you like that. What would have happened if wouldn’t have dragged you down on the seat.”
“Why are you worrying, seeing the things that never happened?”
“Still, Ipsa, I will kill that bloody Sitaram.”
“Shant gadadhari bhim, shant…! Look I am all well, dancing to the tunes in front of you.” I don’t know what struck his mind; he just held my hand with his hand which too was covered by bandage. Signage of apprehension and concern were palpable in his dark grey eyes. My hazel brown eyes met with his dark grey. We flashed at each other for a while, after that I failed to notice who came closer, me or him, but our lips brushed with each other. I had Goosebumps, we lip-locked; we stayed like that for a little before diluting into the darkness of the room, becoming one soul. Saints in India speak of love as an elemental energy continually seeking refinement. In its raw form it is kaam – lust; with the meeting of minds it becomes prem – love; with the merger of souls it becomes bhakti – devotion. The first is a momentary union of bodies; in the second the union is poetic, deeper, but still gross; in the third, both dissolve, only the universal throbs.
I lied in there, draped in Satva’s arms, drinking the aroma of his charm. I was running my fingers through his hair, feeling his presence so close to me, someone inside me was smiling and blushing simultaneously.
“Don’t do this to me, Ipsa.” He forced my hand away from his hair, getting out of the bed.
“What am I doing, wrong sir?”
“Don’t Build a Bastion keeping the Rosy Dreams as its base, one day your eyes will open and your ostentatious fortress will be on the ground zero.”
“Can you please elaborate?”
“Don’t come this much close to me, we already have gone beyond the levels we should not have.”
“Why but Satva, why. Give me one reason and I will not even ask you once again..!”
“You want bloody reason then listen. Some people are never meant for each other, they are just made to respect each other’s differences. Same is the case with us, get that clean and clear in your head.” I took my eyes away from him, had a look at the mirror on the dressing table, I was able to see him, myself. “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.” How truly the lines were written on every front or rear view mirror in any of the vehicle. He dashed out of the room, a little tear drop drove its way down from a hazel brown eye.
∞
I was here roving in The Mahadeva Temple at Itagi, some fifty kilometres away from the city of Koppal. I didn’t found Satva in the room, after waking up. So, I decided to wander around a little, got to know about this marvellous temple built by the Western Chalukyas and decided to visit the same. It was built in 1112 CE; the same is best example of Karnata-Dravida articulation with a nagara superstructure. Since childhood, Mahadeva has been my favourite god, an omniscient yogi, an affectionate husband to goddess Parvati, an adoring father of Ganesha, Kartikeya & Ashoka Sundari, a cosmic dancer – The Natraja, a fierce fighter otherwise immersed in the deep meditation living ascetic life on the Mount Kailash. The meaning of ‘Shiva’ itself describes who he is, Sanskrit word Shiva has an adjective meaning, ”Pure and Destroyer (destroyer of ego)”. Lord Shiva is usually worshipped in the aniconic form of Lingam. Here, the main temple, the sanctum of which has a linga, is encircled by thirteen minor shrines, each with its own linga. The atmosphere was calm, I was scrupulously enjoying company of my favourite deity, when some hullabaloo outside drove my attention out from there. I got out of the huge temple premises, scene out there was hideous.
There was complete bedlam; a group of people were out crying in Kannada – an alien language to me, they looked aggravated and livid. I wondered what was going on; I hurriedly got out of the temple, to see what is going on. And the scene was the vilest; a group of people were beating a young guy in the centre of all the anarchy. He was on the ground, taking all the fists and punches, his eyes were teary, hair all messed up, his hands were joined together praying for the mercy, corner of his lips was bleeding with beating he faced over there. But the little crowd was in no mood to show any mercy on the young lad, they just kept on going some more Kannada – abuses I wonder, some more slaps, punches, kicks – just seeing that I got the pain – wondering how the guy was taking all these on himself.
“What the hell is wrong, what wrong has he done – so you are beating him like this?” I shouted to make my presence felt. A middle aged man spoke something in the alien language – I kept ogling at him with wide eyes.
“Oye, you stay out of these. Who the hell are you to speak in our village matter?” A relatively young guy with typical South Indian complexion and twang translated it for me.
“But what wrong has he done – be a little human with him..!!” Each and every eye present over there was eying me at that moment, a little more attention than normal can also get scary.
“It’s people like you and this ass hole, who has spoiled our culture.” He said pointing at what I was wearing (I guess), sleeveless t-shirt and shorts.
“And you are enriching our culture by this, right?”
“Make sure you stay away or you won’t go home alive next time.” He completely ignored me as if I wasn’t present there, one last kick in the abdominal area of guy on the grounds, a little grudge and the crowd got liquefied. I gave my hand to the guy, he gave me a tired smile, he looked totally drained. I took out a water bottle from my hand bag, offered him a little. He drank a little, splashed handful of water on his face, looked like he felt a little better.
“Thanx and sorry – I finished it..!” He gave the empty bottle back
“You needed it, it’s okay. Hi, I am Ipsa.”
“Hi, this is Amitosh.”
“So, for what were they punishing you? How did you manage to spoil their culture?”
“Is loving someone barred in any culture, I wonder?”
“No it isn’t for sure. So, Mr. Romeo, with whom are you in love with.”
“Daughter-in-law of Sarpanch, that fat ass who spoke in Kannada to you and you kept on ogling at him.”
“Holy f**k…!! Daughter-in-law of Sarpanch..!” I chuckled a little, very next moment snorted to clear my throat pretending I wasn’t smiling, but he had caught me.
“Are you laughing on me?”
“Oh, I am sorry..! Didn’t meant to offend..!!”
“It’s okay, anyone will laugh. But the reality is Sarpanch’s son had passed away when Varnika aged four.”
“Excuse me…..! Did I hear she was four?”
“Yes. They were married by their parents while they were in cradle, not even knowing what the hell this marriage is. His husband – Sarpanch’s son, died in the epidemic when Varnika was only four. Since that day she is living a widow’s life. She is living a colourless life from the age of playing with dolls and doll-houses. We were class-mates in the school and since then I was attracted to her. Why can’t she live her life, is this her mistake? Why should she be denied to enjoy the colours of the life? Just because she is a girl..! Would the scene have been same if Varnika would have died and Sarpanch’s son would have left alone?” A little spark is what it takes to blast the bomb; he let all his angst out at once.
“Absolutely agree with you Amitosh, she has all the rights to live her life, enjoy her life. So, does she like you?”
“She has never actively said anything but I know she does like me.”
“What about your family, are they ready to accept her?”
“I am the only one in the family.”
“You sure, you wanna spend your life with her?”
“Does it require any more confirmation?”
“Good, I am with you in that case, let’s get the lover birds together.” We shared a high-five, Panditji in the temple blew the conch, atmosphere filled in with Namah Parvati Patey, Har Har Mahadev………..!! It was the Aarti time; we rushed in the temple to seek the blessings of Lord Mahadev, Amitosh was limping a little, but I was able to sense infusion of new energy in him, Dubte ko tinke ka sahara hi kaafi hai.
“Where the hell are you?” Satva’s tone evinced his infuriation.
“Itagi..!”
“What? Itagi?”
“You should read the note left on the table.”
“Let it be, when are you coming back?”
“I’m not coming back, you are coming here. I have a little work of you out here in Itagi.”
“Ipsa…!!”
“Satva, Itagi is an hour’s ride. I am expecting you over here.”
“No way…Never..!!”
“Never say Never..!”
“Whhooppss… you said it twice..!!” We shared a little laugh on the call, Phew, He is back to being a little normal, I took a deep breath, disconnecting the call.
∞
“Oh, this is the matter..! So what now?” Satva, Me and Amitosh sat at a Kitli, sipping cuppa in nice clay made cup called Kuldi in a little conference, what to do, how to do, kind of stuff.
“Satva, I guess first we need to talk to Varnika. What does she think is of utmost importance.”
“But how, will you talk to her? “
“That you leave to me Amitosh…!” I winked at him.
I knew Sarpanch had seen me today morning, I made enough changes in my look so as not to get recognized by him, A nice Salwar-Kameez replaced Shorts & Tee, hair-style totally revamped, wore a nice thick framed, black specs, a more of a sincere look.
“Ahaa..! You look different.”
“Oh really?”
“Even difficult for me to recognize, how will Sarpanch do the same?”
“Hope, he won’t..!”
“All the best..!!”
“I need it..!” I swept a few drops of sweat that had appeared on my forehead.
I walked past closely built houses in the little street of Itagi with loadz of apprehension in my mind. I knocked onto the door with the nameplate Narayanmuthri Itagi, no response came. I knocked once again, I was able to hear hurrying footsteps this time, the door was opened, it was Sarpanch himself. He kept on glaring at me, a moment or two; I was petrified, my throat felt dried up.
“Is this Sarpanch’s house?” I finally managed in a shallow voice.
“Yes..! I am Sarpanch, what do you need?”
“Sir, I am RJ at a radio station in Koppal, Super FM – 97.25; RJ Ipsa. We are running a campaign for house wives. I was here interviewing housewives, from where I came to know about your daughter-in-law. Can I interview her sir?”
“No she doesn’t give any interviews.”
“Please sir..! Won’t take much of madam’s time, just ten minutes..!”
“No..!”
“We are paying Rs.5,000/- to each house wife for ten minutes interview. As you are Sarpanch of the village, I am ready to pay 7,500/- to madam. It’s a campaign we are running for how to make life better for house-wives, please sir it’s a noble cause.”
“Oh..! Hmm..! Don’t think I am agreeing for those 7,500/-, it’s a noble cause and that’s the reason why I am allowing you in.”
“Thanks a bunch sir.”
I got in the house with him; it was a nice and tidy place, traditionally built on the wooden pillars. The whiff of coconut oil was in the air of the place, there wasn’t much presence in there, place sounded much silent. Even being afternoon, the house didn’t felt the temperature, that’s the advantage of the traditionally built houses.
“Bahu…. Bahuuuuuuuuu…..!!” Second time was a scream chockfull with boorishness.
“Haan Babuji…!!” A hastening voice came from a room from upstairs.
“Bring in two glass of water, chilled…!” I heard hurrying steps, a steel glass banged on the floor, I wished like screaming, it’s okay Varnika, chill..!! In came a grim face, draped in the grief, her white saree was shouting loud about her colourless life, she looked gorgeous, a bit dusky in complexion – still a little fairer then typical South Indian complexion, her acuminated eyes were down on the floor – she wasn’t even ready to make an eye contact. I took a glass from the tray, smiled at her, she was reluctant even to reply with a smile.
“She is from some radio something, wants to talk to you. Take her upstairs with you and give proper answers to what she asks, understood?” She just nodded in the reply, how intimidating was this? We went upstairs, at a pace of tortoise. A little room it was, without much furniture, walls had pellicles of lime, seemed it wasn’t whitewashed since long. A little wooden cupboard rested in the corner of the room, a traditional bed with a limping leg was next to it, and in the exact opposite corner remained a little temple with beautiful little idol of Krishna with a flute in his hand. We got settled on the limping bed.
“Hi, I am Ipsa..!” I extended my hand for a hand-shake
“Varnika..!” She just casually replied
“I am not from any radio station Varnika, I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Mean to say?” Her expressions totally altered; her eyes spoke of the same.
“What do you think of Amitosh?” She was flabbergasted at such a direct question by an unknown face, she decided to stay silent.
“C’mon Varnika, I don’t have much time.”
“He is a stupid guy wasting his life, trying to find out an escape route for me. He is looking for a mirage.”
“He isn’t looking for mirage, you aren’t a mirage or any sort of illusion.”
“I am a widow, this is my life – this room what you are seeing.”
“You have to choose Varnika – How you wanna live. Do you wanna live confined into the limits of this room?”
“No, Ipsa. I have no choice, I can’t choose. I am a girl, how can I choose? Everytime it is someone else who decides my destiny and my destination. Was I given choice by my parents, when they got me married while I was crying in the cradle? Was I given a choice when my mom handed me a white frock and a black & white life at the age of four? Was I given choice, when my dad didn’t allowed me to go into the medical just coz my father-in-law doesn’t permit working women? Did my in-laws give me choice, when they kerbed my existence into this little shoddy room? Oh yeah, once I decided to choose, tried to take the help of police to get the freedom, how stupid was I? He is the Sarpanch..A Slap on each of my face side, a few fists, some abuses and for three consecutive days I was locked in this room, without food and only one jug of water. This is my destiny; I am supposed to live as their maid for rest of my life. And it’s better to accept when you can’t change..! ” He let all her angst out at one breath.
“Look Varnika..!! That guy Amitosh likes you truly. I met him today morning at Mahadev Temple, when villagers were badly beating him. Just talking to him, I realised I should help him. I, a friend of mine and Amitosh want you to flee with him.”
“It isn’t that easy Ipsa..! Where will we go? This village will not let us live..!”
“Where to go, what to do, comes second… First comes, are you interested in going?”
“Don’t show me dreams, since long I have stopped dreaming. Coz when eyes opens, reality itches in those eyes itself. I have stopped dreaming, stopped hoping.”
“Hope is a good thing my friend; in fact a very good thing. Keep it alive.” She stayed silent
“Should I consider your silence as the yes…? I guess I should..!” Once again response was silence. I held her hand, held with an assurance I was there, she wasn’t alone. I took out my wallet, counted seven thousand five hundred rupees.
“Be ready by today evening..!! And give this money to that fat ass..!! He allowed me in for this only..!! Arse Hole…!”
“But where will we go?”
“Where will you go, don’t worry. I have something in my mind, you just stay ready and calm..!” Finally a little smile came on to her face, I had a sigh of relief.
“Hello Satva?”
“Who else will pick my cell Ipsa?”
“Good, wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead..!”
“Don’t you think with the size of Second home growing, you need resident manager to manage it properly?”
“Why, you have anyone in mind?”
“Yeah..! C ya at Kitli in ten.”
Afternoon had ended, evening was about to start. Birds had already started their journey back towards nests. Sun had started the voyage towards west horizon, being orange shaded from bright yellow, nice evening breeze was flowing. Varnika was standing at the little hole in the wall of his room called window, still unable to believe she might escape this jail, this life of dependence. Signs of apprehension mixed with curiosity were palpable on her face, a wave of questions were rising in her mind, thrashing on the shore of her brains, getting shattered into pieces, in all these shore of her brain was getting washed of her past, maybe she was preparing herself for a new, a brighter morning tomorrow.
“Bahu, where the hell are you? Why my tea isn’t ready yet?” A bawl from downstairs got her back to reality, this was what I was doing since long, and had to continue at least for one more day.
“Aayi Babuji…!!” I hurried downstairs.
I entered into my battle arena; I was most familiar with, Kitchen. From the first rack, took a pan, poured in the water, lit the gas, pan was on the gas. As I checked the pan, water was making a little bubbles due to heat gas was putting in there, so were a few bubbles bursting in my mind as well. I took the tea- leaves and dropped some in the pan, the water changed the colour, dark brown or reddish brown may be. A little of cardamom, three-four basil leaves and little of grated ginger, I knew the exact taste Sarpanch preferred. Mixture was boiling now, nice whiff of tea mixed with cardamom, basil leaves and ginger was spreading through the air, whiff itself was bracing. As I poured a glassful of creamy milk into the tea mixture, someone knocked the main door. I hurried to the main room, it was girl came today morning pretending to be radio girl, and with her was a tough, good looking guy. She gestured me to remain silent and a look of assurance was painted on her face.
“Mr. Narayanmurthi Itagi?” Tough guy said in a little rough tone, He looked at the door sitting on the sofa in the main room, that guy too looked at him, he dashed in.
“Are you Mr. Itagi?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“Kosh Mulo Danda, is our tagline, we are Income-tax sir, please co-opearate.” He said handing over a piece of paper to his hand, his eyes kept on ogling on the paper.
“To be specific, we have reason to believe Mr. Itagi, that you have some sources of income which you haven’t disclosed – me and my colleague are here to meet you in that matter only. You must know her; she visited your place today morning – being an RJ.” He acted beautifully, as Ipsa entered the room, so do I; he came out with some abuses in Kannada.
“How many people are in there at house?”
“Me and one more person. My wife, daughter and little son are on vacations.” It’s really surprising, how people get scared of listening to Income Tax, this tax, that tax. Tax word itself is capable petitioning fright in our minds.
“So let’s get started, can you please give me the bank account statements of yours. And please don’t be smart, I want each and every one – I have list of accounts you maintain, so..!”
“Satva, while you examine Mr. Itagi, let me record statement of this lady. We need to prepare Panchnama in the end, it will be required.”
“Good, we need to finish with this as soon as possible..!”
“Yes Boss..!!”
“Hey you come with me..!” Ipsa tried to be rude, she failed miserably. As Mr. Itagi got busy with Satva, Ipsa took my hand, we dashed out.
“What are you doing?”
“Distracting your father-in-law..!”
“Mean to say?”
“We will keep him involved in income tax matters for one, one and half hour or so. Till then, you will be far away from this place.”
“But where are we going?”
“Not we, you and Amitosh..!”
“Where?”
“He is sitting in the car in the next street; Bangalore is five to six hour journey from here. He has two tickets of flight to Delhi with him, you are flying to Delhi early morning tomorrow and from tomorrow only you have to assume your duties at your office.”
“Assume my duties?”
“Yes, you and Amitosh are Resident Managers at the Second home – an orphanage and old age home run by Satva. You have to stay there and manage it, efficiently.” I kept on ogling at her, I didn’t know who she was, from where she came, but here she was about to change my life. It’s rightly said – Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans. I had no words, I was chocked to even thank her, I just had tears in my eyes to prove how I felt, she just held my hand.
“Never say, being a girl you can’t choose here is a choice I am handing over to you. Choose life, its waiting in a car, Next Street.” As she said, a group of cows passed by, in India whenever a cow crosses in front of you; it’s considered to bring good luck, isn’t it?
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