Morning Walkers

 

(In the park after walk)

 

“Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humour, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

I started morning walk religiously after I was diagnosed with diabetes in 2009. I had unitary tract infection (UTI) and was running with high fever. The fever did not remit after taking medicines.  The doctor advised me to go for urine culture and various tests including blood sugar test. My blood sugar level was detected high. He prescribed medicines for UTI after he examined the urine culture report and also medicine for diabetes. I took medicines for UTI, but waited for taking medicines for diabetes.

My doctor friend, writer Dr. Sriprasad Mohanty, was, at that time, working in MKCG medical college and hospital in Berhampur. I rang him up. He advised me to wait till he came to Cuttack at the week end. He examined my test-reports, told me not to take medicine for high sugar level in blood; instead, he advised to regulate my food habits, avoid sweets and starchy foods, and go for morning walk every day, at least, for forty or forty-five minutes a day. After two months of following his advice and restrictions on food, he told me to test blood. His reasoning; if I took medicines and also followed the instructions on food and walk, the effect of the latter we could not know. I followed his instructions and after two months I got tested my blood sugar. It was normal. I continued with morning walk and tested my blood sugar, at least, once in six months. My sugar level was remaining normal.

I did not take medicines till 2014. After that, I had to take medicines since blood sugar level could not be controlled with regulated food habit and morning walk only. Stress and work pressure in the office told on my body and mind.

                                             (Morning walker at a breakfast meet)

Morning walk became for me a habit and later, an addiction. If for some reason, I did not go for a walk in the morning I felt uneasy the whole day. If I had been on tour or travel to other places, I would find time to go for morning walk. Before I came to stay in Bhubanswar, I was in Cuttack. I would wake up early, finish my morning ablution and start for walk by six in the morning. I would cover the Jobra anicut which is a few metres less than two kilometres.

                                            ( After walk, at a tea stall, Cuttack)

In Kalinganagar, Bhubaneswar where I am a resident, I go for walk every day to the Abdul Kalam Park, also known as Baga (crane) park every day.

Most of the morning walkers form into groups. They walk together, discussing and chitchatting, and also sit for a few minutes after the walk. Sometimes, they relax or add to pleasure, by taking tea at the stall behind the park; physical exercise as well as unwinding, if one has any kind of worry.

Our morning walk group consists of engineer, academician, geologist, administrators, bankers and police officers. Of course, all have retired. We are having ample time. Sometimes, we organize picnic. Someone or other of our group host breakfast or evening tea. What calory we loss in the walk, perhaps, we replenish in breakfast or evening tea.

                                          ( morning walker in an evening Khatti)

The topic of discussion in the group depends upon the contemporary events; maybe literature, general election, Russia-Ukraine or Israel- Hamas wars, inflation, love of the young people without fear or live-in relations, corruption in government works and of the political parties, colony politics, in other words, anything on earth. Since the members have come from different background and having varied experience, they contribute to the discussion and make it lively.

The walkers return happy after the walk and wait for the next morning to join the group and walk.

*****

                

Why I Write

 

 

A writer often faces this question; why he writes, by an editor of a magazine or in a panel discussion by the moderator in a literary meet, or even he also sometimes asks this question to himself. The question compels the writer to introspect. Recently, an editor of the Sunday literary page of a newspaper asked me this question.

I used to write stories or poems when I was in school or college; those were published in hostel or college magazines or in regional magazines having little circulation. Then, I was pleased to see my name in print only.  Later, I started writing seriously; writing became part of my life. I continued to write, and if a few days passed without I being able to write something, I felt uncomfortable; even I often fell ill. Now when someone ask, why I write or when I ask this question to myself, I think, I have, perhaps, something to say; and I express what I want to say in writing. I want to share with others my points, I want to incite readers’ feelings, stir their minds. 

I was born in 1959, twelve years after India attained independence, and brought up in a poor surrounding. My teachers in the school were all born before independence. They were directly or indirectly influenced by the ideals of freedom struggle. They had some kind of idealism, imbibed during their childhood, school or college days, and I believe, their idealism had some impact on the students like me.

Influenced by a teacher with leftist leanings, I worked for a leftist party even when I was in the school. I participated actively in the elections held in 1974, and campaigned for a CPI candidate. I wandered in the villages, mingled with common people; the farmers or daily wagers, and persons in penury. I witnessed inequity and injustice that existed in the society. I felt one among them, developed a kind of rebelling attitude. The rebelling attitude, I believe, is still with me, and I cannot accept all that was there in society and I think, that non-conforming streak in me is reflected in my stories and novels.

                                   (Published in an Odia daily, SAKAALA)

In the socio-economic conditions I grew up, I could not think of anything except going for a government job. It may appear childish or irrational now that, then I had a dream; I could influence opinion of the people by my writings, and contribute to bringing in a social revolution. I would do my job and at the same time, I would write, not stories and novels, but serious essays and features in the journals and newspapers, and mould public opinion.

After I joined government service, I learnt, an employee could not write anything critical of government policy. One senior officer of the organization I was working in, told, even if you wrote articles not critical of the government, sometimes anti-establishment views would creep in unconsciously and land you in trouble. Your senior officer, out of jealousy, might nurture a grudge and create problems for you, even for an innocuous piece.

I was disappointed. The job I was supposed to do was not to my liking; that was not giving me self-satisfaction. I was dissatisfied, anger simmering within. One day, my wife and children had been to my village; I was alone in my room. I wrote a story and the next day, I sent to a magazine. The story received readers’ appreciation; I received a good number of letters of praise. I continued to write.

I have received appreciation from the reading public; and also, the officers and employees of the organization I worked for have condemned me. Both appreciation and condemnation amused and have inspired me to continue with my writing.

*****

Tulip Garden, Lal Chowk and Elections

 

Black clouds covered the sky over Srinagar when we landed in Sheikh UL International Airport. It seemed there would be downpour of rain any moment. We rushed to the Tulip Garden. The Garden opened for public view during March-April, almost for a month. The Garden, at this time of the year, was the main attraction for the tourists.

I had seen tulips in the cinemas only. I remembered the song ‘dekha ek khwab to silsile hue, dur ek nigaho mein he gul khile hue’ of the Amitabh-Rekha starrer movie ‘Silsila’, picturized in a tulip garden. It started drizzling when we entered into the garden, and after a few minutes the rain poured. We bought an umbrella and wandered in the garden with the umbrella over our heads.

The next place we were to visit was Lal Chowk. This was a historical and much talked about place in Srinagar. Influenced by the Russian revolution, the leftist leaders fighting against the rule of Raja Hari Singh had named the quadrangle, Lal Chowk. Jawaharlal Nehru unfurled national flag here in 1948, Sheikh Abdulla stood by his side. All the parties, including the separatist leaders, held their political meetings here. Clock tower was set up in the Chowk in 1980.

This was my third visit. First time, I went to Srinigar to attend the GST law drafting committee meeting. PM Narendra Modi was scheduled to visit at this time. The Hurriyat Conference had called for a bandh in protest against the PM’s visit. Curfew was imposed; we were hardly allowed to come out of the hotel. Second time, I had been to attend GST Council meeting held in Srinagar in 2017. The meeting ended before lunch on Friday. I wanted to visit Lal Chowk in the afternoon. The liaison officer, security officer (Every delegate was provided with a security officer) and the driver of the car discussed in Kashmiri language. I could sense from the tone of their discussion, they were reluctant. I said, “If there will be any problem by going there, we shouldn’t.” The liaison officer said, “Sir, today is Friday. There will be speeches after the Namaz and the people may cause trouble after they come out of the mosque.” We did not go to Lal Chowk; instead, I went to see and buy, if I liked, Kashmir hand loom and handicraft goods. The next day, in the morning newspapers, I read there were demonstrations and stone pelting after Namaz in Lal Chowk.

The rain continued. The day before the day we left for Srinagar, the temperature in Bhubaneswar was above 43 degrees Celsius; the temperature in Srinagar was 13. Cold wind along with the rain shivered the body. I had not put on sufficient winter dress to beat the cold; we returned to the hotel. The next day we went to Gulmarg.

We went to Gulmarg, Pahelgam and Sonemarg. We were six families comprising twelve persons in our group. Of the six, two families had wide experience in travelling. Besides important places in India, they had visited Singapore, Dubai, Bali and Europe. In the fourteen-seater bus we were travelling, they dominated the discussion. Their main topics for discussion were on two; food at different places and eulogy for the PM. The rest were in agreement with the second subject. That, only because of Prime Minister Modi, Kashmir remained with India, the people of Kashmir were starving, they got jobs only for Modi; we could move in peace and without any kind of fear only for Modi, etc. Another person in the group remarked, if Modi stayed in power another ten years, Pakistan occupied Kashmir would be part of India also. He saluted every soldier on duty when he came across and said, “We travel in peace only for them.”

              (With friend Paresh Patnaik, enjoying Kahwa)

One sight a traveler from outside J & K could notice was the armed personnel guarding and patrolling the streets and establishments; armed forces were there in every three hundred or five hundred meters, covering almost entire Kashmir.  In the month of April, by the time we left Srinagar, the army had two encounters eliminating a few terrorists and, in the action, a few soldiers and civilians were injured. If all was all in Kashmir, the situation was normal, why armed forces were there in the entire state and the army had to encounter on a regular basis?

The elections in J & K were to be held in five phases. The day we reached Srinagar, on 19^th April, J & K went to polls in its first phase. The second phase elections were scheduled to be held on 26^th. But we were surprised to notice there no sign of an election in the state. No posters on walls, no bike rally, no procession, nothing, not even any political meeting. We never heard anywhere any kind of discussion on election.

I asked two of my friends of Kashmir about the absence of any kind of campaign for election. One, a retired bureaucrat said, “The people of Kashmir are unconcerned about who formed the government in Delhi. They have the least interest whether BJP forms the government or the opposition parties, at the Centre. Elections to the Assembly or local elections generate heat. But no political party of J&K promises any freebie or free schemes. They don’t bribe the voters. It’s a different matter, around ten percent voters go to vote voluntarily, the rest are taken to the booths and forced to vote.”

The other friend said, “Both Hindus and Muslims are dissatisfied with abrogation of Article 370.  They are afraid, they will lose their land. Outsiders will also take away a share of jobs in the government. Previously, J & K students were only eligible to compete for jobs in the state. But after establishment of Ram Mandir, the attitude of the Hindus seems to have changed. They are now inclined towards BJP. It’s true what Marx has said; religion is opium for the mass.”

                     (At Lal Chowk, in the evening)

A friend came to my hotel to meet me the day before we left Srinagar for Bhubaneswar. The rain had stopped; the cloudless sky was clear. I requested him to take me to Lal Chowk. He took me in his own car. The Chowk was crowded; business was going on. Everything seemed normal, though army personnel stood with their rifles, and were alert.  The clock tower renovated and lighted looked marvelous. First time, J & K was going to polls after abrogation of Article 370. I asked my friend, “What’s the impact of Article 370 on the coming elections in Kashmir?”

He did not reply; evaded my question.

(With Majdeed Ul, a friend from Kashmir)

*****

 

 

 

 

Flash Fiction: The Judge and the Lawyer

 

                                                           (Downloaded from internet)

Advocate Lalbihari Roy was known as a bail master. He could get bail for any accused arrested and thrown into police or judicial custody. Baina, an active member of Sana pickpocket gang reached Mr. Roy and requested him, “Please get bail for Sana Bhai; we shall see what can be done later. The car festival is nearing; only a week left. As you know, there will be rush in buses and trains. This is our business time. Our business will go astray, if he is not released.”

“What has he done?” asked Mr. Roy

“Pickpocketing…”

“This is nothing. I have obtained bail for persons accused of rape, dacoity, murder. Have you brought money?”

Baina brought rupees five hundred out of his pocket and offered the advocate and said, “Sir, please accept this now. This is not enough, I know. We shall pay you later. I don’t have much money with me now. Sir, you will never lose your fees due to you. Henceforward, our relation will continue and grow up. This is not a kind of one day relationship. Sir, many persons in our profession suggest you are the right person to take up the case; hearing your name from them, I came to you.”

The advocate argued in the court, “Sana Parida is a poor man. A daily wager, he has to work every day to earn his wage; if he misses a day, his family members will starve. There is no evidence he has pickpocketed. This is pure conjecture. Sana Parida was standing behind the person. You know the rush in town buses, people travel as if loaded like potato bags. One cannot stand comfortably in the bus, keeping a distance from one another. Since Sana Parida was standing behind that person, his hand might have touched him, and he has mistaken him to the thief. Once he has told him to be the thief, others travelling in the bus took him to be thief, as pickpocketing is very common in crowded buses. The people beat him and handed over him to the police. Sana Parida is innocent; someone else has committed  the crime, but the police arrested him. He is not well dressed, like an educated well-bred person, and is in a poor attire, hence, looks like a poor fellow, and accused of being a thief. Sana Parida has come from his village to Cuttack for seeking job. The police arrested him since the people mistook him to be the pickpocket. Besides, pickpocketing is not non-bailable offence.”

“What are you saying?” the judge said, “Pickpocketing is not non-bailable offence! So what? They should be hanged. Yesterday, I came from my village; I was travelling by town bus from the bus stand to my res, I was pickpocketed five hundred rupees.”

                                                    (Downloaded from internet)

The judge’s remark caused murmur among the lawyers present in the court room. A few chuckled.  The lawyers’ reaction irked the judge. He said, “You are laughing at me. A small crime in the eyes of law can land a man in disastrous situation. Leave my case; I have a job; I draw a monthly salary. Take the case of a poor man; his son is in hospital; he needs money for a major operation. He went to village, sold his property to arrange money for his son’s treatment. He is coming to the hospital by the town bus. The pickpockets stole away his money. He could not pay for his son’s operation, his son died and besides, he lost his property also. Who should we blame for this kind of eventuality?”

The judge adjourned the court. He went to his chamber. He had heard, but reserved his judgement. He would give the order next day.

Mr. Roy called upon Baina and said, “Idiots, you even don’t spare the judges!”

Baina stroked his hair and, with a smirk on his lips, said, “Sir, how can we know? The judges don’t travel in the town bus in their prescribed attire; black coat and gown. How can we distinguish between a a judge and a commoner? Besides, we don’t look at the persons, but their pockets.”

The advocate laughed. “Yes, you idiots are disciples of the great Arjun of Mahabharat; you aim at the eyes of the bird; never look at the leaves, branches or fruits of the tree!”

Mr. Roy entered into the chamber of the judge. He brought out a five hundred rupee note from his pocket and offered to the judge and said, “Sir, take back your money. Those bastards did not know you were a judge. They have pickpocketed you.”

Annoyed, the judge said, “Go away. What is this? Get out with your money.”

The lawyer argued, “Sir, when any theft occurred in your house, you lodge FIR with the police. The police, when they recover the theft property and return the goods, you accept. I am giving you back your money. Why should you think I am bribing?”

He placed a five hundred rupee note on his table and came out.

The next day, in the forenoon, the judge passed order; Sana Parida was released on bail.

*****

A Student

 

                                                (Downloaded from internet)

I was going to my village. My village was more than one hundred and fifty kms from the place where I was working, and I had to change three buses to reach my village. I started early, reached Cuttack at around 9, in the morning. I entered into a restaurant near the bus stop to have my breakfast. I was eating chhole bhature. I had not yet finished, the restaurant boy served me chhenapod, a sweet dish.

I had not ordered Chhenapod, but I would have. I had a sweet tooth, chhenapod looked fresh and alluring in the morning. I was, perhaps, the first customer they were serving after cutting into pieces the sweet pancake, cooked last night. I thought the boys working in this restaurant, perhaps, could guess the taste of the customers, and to increase the sales of the restaurateur, might be serving before the customer asked for it.

I started chhenapod after chhole bhature.

Before I finished chhenapod, the boy placed sweet curd on my table. I had also not ordered sweet curd, though I liked it also. I asked the boy, “I am not ordering, how do you serve yourself, one dish after another?”

The boy indicated a man sitting two or three tables away from me and said, “The gentleman sitting there is ordering for you.” I looked at the man. He bowed his head to wish me. The man had come to the restaurant before I, and was having his breakfast, enjoying the sweet curd. He finished his breakfast and came to me. He sat on the front chair and asked, “Sir, don’t you recognize me?”

I could not. I was trying to locate where I could have met him. Without giving me much time to think, he said, “I was your student.”

I was teaching in a college for two and half years before I entered into an administrative job. I had already left the college for more than fifteen years. The appearance of the boys changed a lot after they entered into a profession and their worldly life. I was trying to remember, but could not. I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Sir, what you once told us we would do, I am doing that. I am a bus conductor.”

I remembered. If the students were doing mischief; irritated, I would scold them by saying, you would become nothing, but bus conductor or amin (land surveyor). I used to say, “When we were students, our parents did not have enough money to spare for our education. With much difficulty we studied with meagre amount our parents could provide. The colleges were in the city, far away from the villages. The number of colleges were also very few. All the students who passed Matriculation could not get seats in the college.  Many good students could not study since the cost of staying in the city and studying in the college were beyond affordability of their parents. Now the colleges have come to the villages. You take your food in your home, walk or ride a cycle from your village to the college. You should take advantage. But your minds are elsewhere, not in studies. You are missing the opportunity. You are destined to be, at best, conductors or amins.”

I said to my former student cum bus conductor, “That was not my purpose. I scolded you since you did not read, but involved in mischief. I wish whatever you may do, you live in peace. One earns to keep living, but one should earn in honest means. Be good human beings, that’s important. You should not have any inferiority complex for the job you are doing.”

I had started sermonizing; a habit I had with me, perhaps, since my teaching days. Old habits had not died.

“No, sir, I don’t mean anything. I was joking. We did not listen to you then, now we realize. Where are you going to?” he asked.

“Going to my village, shall go up to Chandikhole now. From there I shall change a bus.”

 He said, “Then let’s go by my bus. Our bus is going to Balasore.”

My student cum conductor seated me in the conductor’s seat, his seat. He collected fare and issued tickets. He did not accept fare from me. Instead, he presented me with a pack of cigarettes and a match box. He knew I was smoking when I was in the college. Of course, I had not given up the habit.

I had heard this story from a friend. The student of a well-known professor joined Indian Administrative Service (IAS). He was posted as secretary, education department. The professor then was the Director of Public Institutions (DPI). Once, in a meeting, the director who was the former teacher of the secretary, addressed him by his first name. Annoyed, the secretary reprimanded, “You forget, you are speaking to your secretary!” The director immediately corrected himself and said, “Sir…”

The director and the secretary were both well known; two very important persons in the state.

This maybe a rumour. Some persons in the society, out of jealousy, concoct stories about achievers and established personalities; and people, for the same reason, love to believe them. Still, many have this impression; people in administration, particularly in the IAS, are also callous towards love and affection of their subordinates and people below them. They do not understand true feelings.

I believe, had my student been an IAS officer instead of a bus conductor, he would not have behaved as the secretary behaved with his former professor.

I was proud of being a teacher in the college for a few years.

*****

 

 

 

 

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.

-2-

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.

-3-

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.

-4-

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.

-5-

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.

-6-

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.

 -7-

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.

                           *****