A House in Kalinganagar

 

I had a desire to build a house in my village, and settle there after my retirement from government service. I had a plot of land measuring twenty guntha or a little more than three-fourth of an acre in my name by the roadside in my village. I had made a plan of my house in my mind. I would build a small house, there would be garden of flowers in the front. I would plant trees on the backyard, make a small orchard. The orchard would have mango, jackfruit, guava and other trees.  I would dig a pond and do pisciculture. I would eat fish whenever I wished from my pond. There would be banana trees on the ridge of the pond. I might keep some hens and cocks. I would wake up in the morning with birds’ chirping or cock’s crowing.

But, under certain circumstances, I had to part with that plot of land. My father had taken advance from a villager to sell that land to him, and forced me to register the plot in his name. I could not resist. My dreams of a house in my village died.

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I applied for a plot of land meant for middle income group (MIG) people when Bhubaneswar Development Authority advertised to sell plots of land under its Kalinganagar Plotted Development Scheme in 1990-91. I got a plot in the lottery held to allot the applicants. But I did not have the courage to go for building a house. I did not have enough money. I was residing in a rented house in Cuttack. I had already stayed there for fourteen years. We had developed a very friendly family relation with the family of the land owner. My children were small when we rented their house. They grew up, went to the college and completed their education. The house we had rented fourteen years ago became small and inconvenient to accommodate us, with our grown-up children.

I did not want to reside in a government quarter for personal reasons, but when we found difficult to manage in our rented house, I suggested my wife, to shift to the government quarters. A quarter was also lying vacant since the occupant had retired, and gone to his own house at this time. But my wife did not want to shift to the government quarters or to any other house. She told me to build a house in Kalinganagar in our land and we would shift to our house from there. I decided or rather, was compelled to desire to build my own house.

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I wanted a transfer from Cuttack where I was posted, to Bhubaneswar to build my house; but the government did not listen to my request. It was not only painful, but also a costly affair, for a person like me, to stay in Cuttack and build the house in Bhubaneswar. My neighbour, Amerendra Jena and Sandeep came to my rescue. Amerendra Jena belonged to the village, nearby to my uncle’s. I had studied in their village school for six years, till I passed Matriculation. They helped. My son was then residing in Bhubaneswar. He also looked after.  I did not have any savings. I availed government’s house building loan and also withdrew money from my GPF to construct the house. The built-up area of the house was 950 in a plot of 2400 square feet, leaving the remaining 1450 square feet unused.

I came to reside permanently in this house from August 1, 2012. It pained me when I decided to live here. I had a dream of building a house in a land of twenty guntha, amidst garden, orchard and a pond, but here I had to live in a land of less than one and half guntha. The first day, being tired, I went to bed soon. Birds’ chirping woke me up early. I sat on the balcony. I saw two mongooses moving in my front plot. I had kept one mongoose when I was a child, in the primary school. It was with me for some years. It went away after a few years and saw it moving in our backyard in the village; but it did not return to me. It was with another mongoose. My elders told, perhaps, our mongoose met a female partner. The two mongooses I saw reminded me of my childhood.

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Kalinganagar did not have many houses by 2012 when I came to stay here. Many people allotted with plots had not built their houses. The park was there, but it was not opened for the public. Once there a report in the newspaper: a few thieves had looted in Jatni and were distributing the booty inside the unused park. The police, on receipt of information from some sources, raided and caught them. I was going for morning walk on the road. Sometimes, I came across jackals rambling near the nursery of the forest department, behind the park. In 2011, I started constructing the house. My son was looking after the construction. He told me when our house was under construction, he sometimes spent the night in the incomplete house. He used to hear jackals howling in the evening as I used to hear in the village in regular intervals after evening. But I had not heard jackals howling after I stayed in Kalinganagar in 2012. One day I met Col. Rao during morning walk. He told he had once happened to see wild elephants on the same spot I saw the jackals. Col. Rao had been living in Kalinganagar a couple of years earlier than I.

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My house, as stated earlier, stood on the plinth area of 950 square feet in the land of 2400 square feet, leaving 1450 square feet unused. A bel tree (aegle marmelos) sprouted and grew up without our noticing it in the backyard. I wanted to cut if off. But my wife resisted and said, “Not good to cut a bel tree; the tree is auspicious). The tree has grown up big, touching the roof of the house and covering substantial area in the backyard. I planted three mango trees and one jackfruit by the side and also a gold mohur (delonix regia) and three bokul (minusops elengi) trees in the front of the house. The trees grew up. Birds visited; their chirping every day woke me up early in the morning. I sat on the balcony and brushed my teeth. The squirrels were climbing up the tree, a crow was sitting on the electric wire. By the time I retired from government service, I had built a library. When I sat on the chair at the table, I looked at the bel tree, its branches touching my window. Sometims, a haladi basant (golden oriole) came to the bel tree and jumped from one branch to the other in the green foliage of the bel tree.

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Fani, the cyclone devastated coastal Odisha on 3^rd May, 2019. The districts of Puri and Khurda were severely affected. There was heavy rainfall and strong wind, the speed of the wind being more than 150 kms per hour. The cyclone uprooted bokul trees, broke the branches of the gold mohur, shredded completely the leaves and branches of the bel tree. The birds and squirrels disappeared. There was power cut, the electric poles and wire being damaged; the outage continued for almost a fortnight.

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I again planted trees. The trees grew up. The leaves of the bel tree sprouted up. The birds, mongooses and squirrels reappeared. I don’t know whether the birds and squirrels are the same visiting me before the Fani. I hope they are.

******

TALIBAN

 

 

(I had written an article on meeting the challenges of Corona which the daily newspaper, The Prameya published in its editorial page. An old gentleman, aged seventy plus, had heated arguments with me over telephone. This piece, a story is written on his telephonic conversation, published in The Sambad under the title TALIBAN)

Sajay was sitting in the balcony and looking at the road. It did not rain for the last two days, though it was rainy season. The afternoon sun was sliding behind the distant mountain. The authorities had opened the park for the last two days, but people were still afraid of going to the park. There was fear in the air. Covid infection, in its second wave, was receding as the government statistics said, in the state and the country, but the number of corona infection and casualty did not reduce, as expected, in Khurda district. There was also talk of the third wave coming. The government had assured the people of its preparedness to meet the challenges of the third wave, if it came. Since the denizens did not go to the park, they did their walk on the road or on the rooftop, in the morning or in the afternoon. Most of the people who were going on the road by his house were known to Sanjay. They looked at him sitting in the balcony, and few of them also talked and exchanged pleasantries with him.

A gentlemen rang him up. He picked up the call. The gentleman said, “I read your article published today in the newspaper.

That day, Sanjay’s article on meeting the challenges of Corona was published. Many known and unknown persons had been telephoning him and appreciating the article since the morning. A few readers were also discussing on the issue on the points raised in the article. Sanjay said, “Thank you! Where are you calling from?”

(Meeting the Challenges of Corona)

The gentleman said, “Speaking from Cuttack, but why are you dragging the God into your article?”

The article criticized against ringing bells, worshipping Corona as a Goddess, performing Jajna or any kind of religious rituals to ward off the Corona virus. Sanjay said, “The purpose of the article is not to believe in superstitions like worshipping Corona as a Goddess, but to have faith in science, in doctors, in heath workers. The scientists and doctors will drive out corona, not any kind of religious rituals or occult practices.”

“It’s okay. But why did you write not to have faith in God?” the gentleman asked. He seemed agitated.

To argue against superstition, and in support of science, Sanjay, in his article, had quoted Dr Rieux of the famous novel The Plague of Albert Camus. Dr Rieux said at one place in the novel, since the order of the world is shaped by death, it would be right not to believe in God. Rather, we should struggle with all our might against death without raising our eyes towards the heaven where the He sits in silence.

“Yes, I have quoted Alber Camus, from his novel, The Plague. Albert Camus has won Nobel Prize for literature,” Sanjay said.

The gentleman said, “So what, if he has won Nobel prize? Knowledge of a man is not complete. He belongs to the western world. He may be wise and learned, but he does not have any idea on Hinduism, does not know Sanatan Hindu Dharma. He does not understand the God.”

“By the way, what’s your age?” asked Sanjay.

“I am at seventy-three.”

Sanjay said, “I am sixty-two. At this age of ours, I can’t change your views, nor can you mine. Better we should not argue. If you don’t like the article, just throw it away. You must be reading good as well as bad writings. It’s a bad story for you.”

“No, I can’t simply throw it away. It’s a nice write up, your arguments are convincing,” said the gentleman.

Sanjay said, “You contradict yourself. You say it’s a nice write up and on the other hand, you question why I should drag the God into it. The article is on the God and Death, beliefs and science, of course, with ref to Corona.”

“The article does not have any impact on me, but it may influence the common man,” said the gentleman.

The arguments of the gentleman irritated Sanjay. “I can’t help you. I write what I believe. I desire to influence the people by my writings. If my writings have any impact on the people, I consider, I am successful in my effort,” he said.

The gentleman was furious. He shouted, “No, you can’t write like this. I hate the talibans. But I think now, we need talibans in our religion to protect our culture and religion, to keep faith of the people in Hinduism. Hinduism should have talibans of its own.”

Strong wind blew. Black clouds gathered in the sky. The light went out. Sanjaya came from the balcony to his room. He closed the door. He cut off the phone.

Talibans had already formed government in Afghanistan. The Taliban government had declared there would be no democratic rule in Afghanistan. Saria law would be in force, the women could not come out open without covering their face with burkha. The Talibans had killed a woman for wearing skin fitting dress. They cut off the hands for alleged crimes, beheaded accused, without a hearing in the court.

There was rain and storm outside the house. There was no current; the room was dark. He did not know when the power would be restored and he would see the light. Sanjay was sitting alone in the dark.

                           *****

 

 

 

A Ghost at Afternoon

 

(Book release at Senior Citizens' Forum, K-8, Kalinganagar, Bhubaneswar)

‘Aparanhara Bhuta’, published in 1999, was my first collection of stories. In fact, it should have been my second book. It was not easy to publish a book then, in 1990s, as it is today. I had given fifteen stories to a publisher in Cuttack for a book. The traditional Cuttack publishers take a long time to publish. In the meantime, the publisher of ‘Nijaswa Prakashan’ of Puri evinced interest in publishing one book of mine, and requested to give him a few stories. He published the book ‘Aparahnara Bhuta’ before the Cuttack publisher did, and made this my first book of stories.

The Sunday magazine of The Sambad had published my story ‘Kalibudhi’ (Black Woman). In the nineties of the last century, the television did not have so many entertainment channels, mobile phones were not in common use. One of the major sources of entertainment was still reading books and magazines. People who liked a story used to write letters to the author. I received a number of letters for the story Kalibudhi, and one of the letters was from Dr. Prafulla Kumar Rath.

He appreciated the story, but suggested, since the story was on a beggar woman and the woman was of the lowest strata in the society, uneducated and uncouth, the language of the story should have been the language spoken by them. Of course, the story was on a beggar woman. A young officer every day met the woman on the street when he went to the office. She cleaned the street and the shop fronts, and begged or demanded something in return, though no one had told or employed her to do the job. One day she died. I replied to Dr. Rath, though the story was on the beggar woman, but it was narrated by the officer, an educated man; hence the language of the story was chaste Odia as spoken by the educated class. The matter rested there.

In 1998, I attended a story workshop organized by NBT in Rourkela. I met there for the first time Dr. Prafulla Kumar Rath who had gone to Rourkela to participate in the book fair organized by NBT. I came to learn there he had a publishing unit called Nijaswa Prakasan. He suggested me to publish my book, and I readily agreed. I had been writing for the last seven or eight years, but had not published a book.

I was staying in Cuttack and Dr Rath was in Puri. I was working for the government and he was teaching in a government college. We are far away from each other, a distance of nearly hundred kilometers, having little communication between the two of us. Neither he nor I had the time or scope in my case, to proof-read. He published the book without taking much time, but a lot of printing errors remained. The errors in the book dampened joy of having my first book in print.

(The audience)

Despite clumsy printing and poor get up, the book sold. After two /three years, I happened to meet a poet-friend. He told he was reading my stories and showed me the book. The book he showed me was a paperback, but the original book was hard bound. The publisher had published a paperback edition without my knowledge. The book had been out of print for many years.

I wanted to reprint the book and publish the second edition. The book had only twelve stories, containing eighty-six pages. I added three stories and made the book of one hundred- and sixty-pages. The original twelve stories were written before 1999 and the three stories added now were of 2020. So, a reader can have taste of the writings of my youth, and of mature days, and compare between the early and later writings.  Thanks to Paresh Patnaik and shalandi.books for publishing the second edition.

(The Book)

There is an impression and also the writers and publishers allege; books, particularly Odia books are not sold; the number of readers in Odia is decreasing. It’s a fact; sale of Odia books has declined, but reading habit has not gone away. The Odias, educated in English medium schools, prefer to read books in English. If a person has taste for literature, he will read both in his mother tongue as well as in English. I believe, if a reader knows about a book and the book is available easily, he will buy the book and read. He will definitely enjoy reading a book in his mother tongue. The reader who loves books also wants to keep the books in his home or personal library.

All the copies of Aparahnara Bhuta, displayed at the time of its release, were sold out; had we more books on the day, a few more copies would have been sold also. A few readers had to return disappointed for the stock exhausted on that day. We did not expect so many copies would be sold.

The book was released on 9^th March, 2024 in the Kalyan Mandap field of K-8 under the chair of Girija Prasad Mahapatra, the President of Senior Citizens’ Forum, in its event of Sahityacharcha. Swaraj Misra, writer and columnist and Paresh Patnaik, writer spoke on ‘Writings, Writers and Readers.’ Dasarathi Sahoo, the secretary welcomed and introduced the guests.

*****