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.

                           *****

 

 

 

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.

*****

Some Truths, A Few Stories

 

 

(Some Truths, A Few Stories)

I have witnessed and suffered a number of cyclones; like Titli, Phailin, Huhhud, Fani or Amphan. The first cyclone I experienced when I was in Class VIII, in 1971. I was thirteen; staying in my maternal uncle’s house, and studying in their village school. On 29^th October, I was sleeping after my night meal. My uncle woke me up. Severe storm lashed, the old house of mud and thatch was shaking. He took me to a small thatched two roomed house he had built the same year; one room was for the kitchen and the other used for the guests, and my study. Then all the villagers of my uncle’s village had mud walls and thatched house except Jagabandhu. Jagabandhu was relatively rich in the village; he had a house of bricks and cement with tin roof. The strong wind had flown away his tin roof; the first man who suffered loss in the cyclone. He along with his family had already taken shelter in my study room. In the morning, I saw many houses had been damaged, cows dead and trees uprooted including the lonely banyan tree in the school playground. The long hall, partitioned to accommodate four classes, of our school had also fallen.

The official death toll of persons stood at 7397, but unofficial sources gave the figure much higher. It was a Friday.

(Review of the book in the Sambad)

Twenty-eight years later, in 1999, I was in Cuttack. As a mere coincidence, my daughter was in Class VIII. It was also 29 October and a Friday. This time the government had warned about the imminent cyclone, but people did not heed to the warning. In the morning, the rain had started. I was preparing to go to the office. The rain increased. I waited. The rain took the form of heavy storm. I decided not to go to the office. I changed my office dress to casuals, and sat on the balcony.

I was residing in a concrete building, and had no fear of the cyclone. On the backyard, there were two mango trees, one Jamun (black berry) tree and one simuli (silk cotton) tree. In the night, birds including a few parrots rested in the trees. Their chirping woke me up every day in the early morning. On that day of heavy rains and strong cyclone I watched the trees falling down one by one. It pained me to realize birds would never come to rest, for there would be no trees, and birds’ chirping would no longer wake me up in the early morning.

The official death toll was 9887, besides thousands of cattle died. People say the actual death toll was more than forty thousand. This was called super cyclone.

I had written one piece and captioned ‘aktobarar dui asubha sukrabaar’ (Two Black Fridays of October), which was published in ‘Sambad’.

(Review in the Prameya)

The cyclone Fani hit Odisha on 3^rd May, 2019. It was also a Friday. I had already retired from government service. The people had become conscious after super cyclone of 1999 and heeding to government's warning. In the meantime, they had also witnessed Titli, Phailin, Huhhud. The Government had evacuated people from near the sea coast and low area, and settled them in the temporary shelter houses. The death toll was 64. But power supply had been cut off; electric poles and wiring had been damaged, many trees uprooted in Puri and Bhubaneswar. The government took more than ten days to restore power supply in Bhubaneswar.

I had written my experience of the cyclone, ‘Fani: Sei dasa dina’ (Fani: Those Ten Days) in the magazine, ‘Teera Tarang’.

*****

The full name of Rupa was Ester Rupa Sahu Jyrowa. I asked, “Rupa Sahu seems to be an Odia name, Ester is Christian and Jyrowa seems to have some connection with a tribe. How can you have such a name?”

Rupa said, “My grandfather was an Odia, my grandmother was Assamese. My mother is from Meghalaya. My name contains all of them. We are Christian.”

I asked, “Your husband?”

She said, “He is a Hindu."

Rupa is talkative.  We were returning from Kamakshya temple on the zigzag road of the hills. From the hills, the city of Guwahati looked like a postcard painting. I asked, “Yours was a love marriage?”

She said, “Yes."

I asked, “Didn’t your husband’s parents object?”

Rupa said, “When we knew each other and our friendship grew, my would-be husband told, if his parents would approve, we would proceed further, and marry. One day he invited me for tea to his house. On the first meeting itself, his father agreed, and then we married.”

“What does your father-in-law do?” I asked.

“He is a member of the RSS, now a leader of the BJP.” She replied

 

Normally the members of RSS were staunch believers of Hinduism, believed to be conservative and Hindu fundamentalists. But her father-in-law was broad minded, perhaps, because of the liberal cultural tradition of Assam. Rupa said, “Sir, you are a Hindu, I am Christian and our driver, Rehman is a Muslim. This is real India.”

I added, “You are truly a representative of our pluralistic Indian tradition.”

[From the story, ‘Brahmaputra Bakshare Gangara Pratidhwani’ (Echoes of the Ganga on the Heart of Brhmaputra)]

The book ‘Kichhi Sata Kichhi Gapa’ (Some Truths, A few Stories), published by Shalandi Books contains thirty-six stories. 

*****

Memories are Not to Throw Away

 

                                                      (Memories are Not to Throw Away)

Harihara and his friend were returning by foot to Puri after visiting Chandrabhaga. They came across two/three British sahibs on the way. They stopped them and one of them asked, “Do you swim?” Harihara replied, “Yes, we do, but can’t swim sea or an ocean.” Those were the times of the second world war; the war continued between UK and Germany. Those British soldiers were, perhaps, coast guards, and they mistook Harihar and his friend as German terrorists. Harihar’s friend said, “We are students of Cuttack C.T. School; we had come for a visit to Chandrabhaga.”

India attained independence on the 15^th August, 1947, but the kings of garjat (princely states) felt freedom from the British rule, and behaved like independent countries. They hoisted their own states’ flags, not the tricolour national flag of India. Rajendra Narayan Singhdeo unfurled two flags; one Indian tricolour and the other, the state flag of the Patna kingdom. He announced, “We, the garjat kings of India are now free; we have not yet integrated with India. Lat’s us see what happens next.” 

Harihara was then a teacher in Patnagarh’s Ramai School.

Historiographers are of the view that incidents described in an autobiography can be taken as historical facts if those are buttressed by other historical evidence. Public persons, persons established in the society, such as politicians, ministers, governors or president would not write anything of their lives that the society or the people in general will not approve of. They would not reveal their weakness and wrong deeds. They also tend to write good deeds, sometimes, they write false, to glorify themselves and also try to rationalize anything wrong they had done, and been criticized.

Harihara Misra is a common man, an honest, sincere and an affectionate teacher. In his autobiography, ‘Smruti Ta Nuhen Kebe Phingibaar’ (memories are not to throw away), he has written the life of the common man, his life and time. He has not written anything to show off himself big or a man of high moral standard. He has portrayed the events and personalities he has come across in his life’s journey honestly from the prospective of a common man.

Born in 1922, he was twenty-five when India attained independence. Orphaned in childhood, he was brought up by his maternal grandparents. A man from the garjat area, he studied in Cutack C.T. School with scholarship from the king of the Patna state. He did his intermediate and graduation and D.Ed. as a private candidate. He struggled to set foot and establish him in the society, but has never described his pain, never expressed distress in his memoirs. He was at 89 when he started writing his memoirs, but has written only forty-five years of his life until 1969. He did not want to burden the readers, as he says, making the book voluminous by writing his success story, his happy life.

                                                                  (As I have Experienced)

‘Dihakar Katha’ (As I have experienced), is the memoirs of Raseswari Misra, wife of Harihara. She has studied up to standard four only. She has been brought up in a cultural and educational milieu. They have always guests, for Harihara is a sociable person, and he loves to treat his guests. Besides, they have eight children. On some says, Raseswari has to cook for thirty people. Despite all her busy life, she has never neglected her pursuits of learning. She starts writing poetry at 88, recited poems in literary gatherings; the AIR has also broadcast her poems.

A reader of the books will find the life of the common man in the garjat area, the customs, traditions, culture and beliefs of the garjat people before independence. Written in a simple and lucid style, the books are readable, and are useful for the scholars engaged in research of garjat states.

*****

 

Man in Body, Woman in Heart: A Transgender’s Travails

 

Meera and Sadhna looked like two sisters. Meera was in a saree, and Sadhna wore salwar and kameez. I had met Sadhna, once. Now when I saw both of them together, I felt like seeing them somewhere earlier. When I told, Meera said, “Many mistake us as two sisters. After ‘Subham’s Story’ was telecast in OTV, most of the persons who meet us, say, we are a married couple.”

I remembered. After Delhi High Court legalized same sex relation in 2009, ‘Subham’s Story’ was telecast. ‘Subham’s Story’ was a documentary film on love and relationship between two males. Meera and Sadhna acted in that documentary.

In a historic judgement on 2 July, 2009, the Delhi High Court legalized same sex relationship and pronounced section 377 of Indian Penal Court as violative of Articles 14, 15 and 21 on the Constitution.

The judgement had encouraged and boosted the morale of the LGBTQ fraternity.

“No actor was interested to act in Sobham’s Story, we had to act,” Meera said.

Sadhna added, her family members were infuriated after ‘Subham’s Story’ was telecast. The newspapers also published their photographs. It was the time of Rathyatra. They had gone to Puri. The manager of the hotel was amazed at seeing both and told, they had, perhaps, gone to Puri for honeymoon after their marriage. The manager sincerely believed it.

Aiswariya had taken me to Meera and Sadhna. Aiswariya addressed Sadhna as Sadhna Ma.

Aiswariya worked in our organization. I knew her from the day she joined, since I trained the newly recruits. Then, she was ‘he’; had not done Sex Reorganization Surgery (SRS), and changed by affidavit his name from Ratikant to Aiswariya.

(Aiswariya with the book, receiving from Debashish, Proprietor, Aditya Bharat Publications)

One day, I happened to meet Ratikant in a marriage reception. He was in a woman’s attire; in jeans with kurta, and covered his chest with a stole. He wore small, star shaped ear ring, and lipstick on her lips. My colleague and her batchmate, Deepa Nayak said, “He is a transgender.”

I did not know much about transgenders or kinnars. I did not have favourable impression on them. By kinnars, I meant, the hijras begging on the train compartments. Males in female attire would make lewd jokes and behave lecherously with the male passengers. I gave them a few rupees out of fear, just to drive them away from me, if they approached me in the train. But many men travelling in the train also enjoyed their lewd and lustful talks and acts. They enjoyed cracking jokes with them.

Next day, I discussed about this with my friend and colleague, Sambit. Sambit said, “They are men in bodies, but women in hearts.” To know more about them, he gave me a book, ‘Lady Boys’ of Susan Aldous. He had been to Bangkok, and purchased this book from Bangkok airport.

Kinnar is a man in body, but woman in heart and mind, in other words, woman trapped in man’s body. A boy becomes aware about his femininity when he is eight- or nine-year-old. He behaves like a girl. He loves to wear girl’s dress. Ratikant (or Aiswariya) says, when he was in his village, the boys brought wood from the jungle on their shoulders, but he carried on his head like the girls in their locality did. He preferred girls to boys to play with. When his sister was not home, he wore her dress and looked himself at the mirror.

The womanly qualities of a transgender get prominent as he grows up. He does not understand his sexuality when he compares him with other boys and gets confused. Mayadhar (Meera’s name before he did SRS) says, he thought at this phase of his life, it was a disease. But he could not confide in anyone. Had he consulted a doctor or a psychologist, they might have cleared his doubts. But Mayadhar’s father was not educated. Mayadhar’s health was alright, having no symptoms of any illness, why should they go to a doctor? Mayadhar had also not confided in his father any kind of inconsistency in his personality since he did not understand himself, and was confused.

Mayadhar’s father had a small hotel in Bhubaneswar. He left his village and stayed with his father. He was going to learn dancing from a dance teacher. He met there a boy like him, having similar traits. He could not ask him nor he had the courage to ask Mayadhar. He had always misgivings in his mind as to when boys were attracted towards girls how he was attracted towards boys?

(Book Release, Sadhna standing at extreme left.)

People call ‘maichia’(effeminate) or ‘chhaka’ when a boy behaves like a girl. They easily fall victims to sex exploitation. Ratikant (or Aiswariya) says, in his childhood older boys forcibly took him to secluded places and used to ravish and rape him. Meera says, eighty percent of kinnars must have been raped by their teachers in their school days. The society’s reactions are not strong for rape of a ‘maichia’ as it reacts to the rape of a girl. People say, why a boy should behave like a girl? They take them to be boys, and do not give much importance of any sexual assault on them.

The society, divided between man and woman, does not recognize a kinnar as a different/special gender. His parents also do not accept if their son behaves like a daughter. All the kinnars born in middle or poor class have, more or less, the experience of neglect and torture by their parents and siblings. Father of the kinnar feels birth of a son having feminine qualities is a slur on his manliness. Ratikant’s (Aiswariya) father castigated him saying a goat was born in the family of a tiger. His brother used to beat him for no reason, sometimes, practicing boxing with him using his body as punching bag. His disillusioned father did not object.

Under the circumstance, being subject to neglect and torture by the family and society since the very childhood, they develop constricted personality. Those who are born in lower middle class or poor families cannot even go to school or college. Since their personality does not develop, they cannot get proper education, they adopt three professions: Badhai (Blessing), Begging and Prostitution.

The people of Ajodhya followed Ramachandra when he went to the forest for fourteen-year- exile. He requested the citizens of Ajodhya at the border to return to their homes, and he went to the forest with his brother Laxman and wife Sita. He returned after completing the fourteen- year-exile, and found some persons were sitting at the border. He asked, “Why are you sitting here?” They replied, “We had come along with others when you went to the jungle for the exile, fourteen years ago. Here, you urged the people to return and said, ‘O! My beloved ladies and gentlemen of Ajodhya, please return your homes from here, and allow us to follow our principles and discharge our duty.’ But we are neither ladies nor gentlemen, neither man nor woman. We are kinnars. Such direction was not applicable to us. We did not have your direction, neither to follow, nor to return. So, we are here.”

Their devotion overwhelmed Ramachandra. Pleased, he granted them a boon: they would have the power of badhai for the newlyweds or newly born babies; they could bless or curse. Their curse or blessings would have effect on the receivers.

In the north and western India, people believe kinnars’ blessing or curse has results. But in Odisha, people don’t have such faith except the non-Odias and Marwaries living in the state. In Odisha, they don’t earn much from badhai; in other states also, they cannot live on badhai alone. They have to resort to begging and prostitution in order to survive.

Kinnars worship Bahuchra Mata.

The husband did not go to the girl in the night after her marriage. Instead, he went to the jungle riding a horse. All blamed the girl. They accused; the girl did not have traits of a woman to attract the man. There might also be a reason that the man had a concubine, and he went to her in the night.

One day, to know the truth, the girl followed the man. She did not have a horse. A jungle cock, realizing the helplessness of the girl, volunteered to help her. The girl followed her husband riding the cock. She discovered her husband, in woman’s attire, behaving like a woman in a secluded place inside the jungle.

The sight enraged her. She said, “If you are like this, why did you marry me?” The girl turned into the goddess, Bahuchara when she was angry. The man trembled with fear. He told his family members forced him to marry. They wanted children out of the marriage that would further their family lineage.

Goddess Bahuchara was sorry for the pitiable condition of her husband and said, “Men like you will have to castrate your male genitals, wear woman’s dress and worship me.”

The temple of Bahuchara Mata is situated in Gujrat.

Castration of male genitals and initiation into Kinnars’ community is called Nirvan or salvation. In Budhism, freedom from bondage, sorrow and the reasons of the sorrow is called Nirvan. In similar vein, freedom from the males’ body is called Nirvan in Kinnars’ community. They get a new identity and respect after Nirvan. The kinnars have a kind of hatred towards their male bodies, and they desire to get rid of it by castrating the male genitals.

(Report in the newspaper on book release)

The kinnars have desire to marry Iravan. They want, at least, to visit the temple of Iravan situated in Koovagam village, Kalkakurichi district of Tamilnadu, once in their life time. It’s a sort of pilgrimage for them.

On the eve of the great war of Mahabharat, the Pandavs heard the voice of Goddess of War that they had to propitiate the Goddess by human sacrifice. There were only three perfect males from the Pandavs fit for sacrifice for the Goddess. They were Srikrishna, Arjun and Iravan. Iravan was the son of Arjun from the princess of Nagas. Neither Srikrishna nor Arjun could be sacrificed as it was impossible to win the war without them. Iravan had to be sacrificed. Iravan agreed for the sacrifice on one condition: he would marry, at least, for a day. “For, what is the meaning and value of life, if no woman weeps for the death of a husband?”

But no woman agreed to marry Iravan for a day to become window, the next day. At last, Srikrisna agreed, turned into Mohini, a beautiful woman, and married Iravan. The next day after Iravan was sacrificed before the Goddess, Mohini became widow, and wept for the death of Iravan. She wept so much for the death of Iravan that no woman had ever wept for death of her husband.

Every year, on the full moon night of Chaitra, a festival is organized in the Koovagam village of Tamilnadu. Thousands of kinnars assemble there, marry Iravan and suffer from widowhood.

The kinnars, from their very childhood, have been subject to parental neglect, injustice and oppression, and also fall prey to sexual exploitation. Their personality does not develop, and they suffer from inferiority complex. The Supreme Court, in a historic judgement on 15 April, 2014, has recognized them as third gender and instructed the governments to provide reservations for them in government services, and take welfare measures to bring them to the mainstream of the society. The Supreme Court also, in its judgement on 6 September 2018 has decriminalized section 377 of IPC, and legalized sex between adults of same sex with consent.

We were discussing SRS (Sex Reassignment Surgery) or castration of male genitals. Advanced method in hospitals is expensive, beyond the means of kinnars who live on prostitution or begging. The traditional method of castration is risky and painful. In the traditional method, even anesthesia is not used for surgery. The person is given opium or alcohol. He is told to bite his long hair and chant the name of goddess Bahuchara Mata. Two or three kinnars hold him tight, and his male genitals are cut off with a sharp weapon. There is also a belief excess flow of blood drains off masculinity of the trans-man, and transforms him to her.

I said, “Is SRS or castration necessary? This is painful, besides being risky. An awareness should be created against this tradition.”

“Giving birth to a child is also painful,” Sadhna said and added, “you people cannot understand the pain of a woman trapped in a male’s body. Only a kinnar realizes, no one else.”

The governments, both Central and state governments, after the Supreme Court decision, are taking steps to uplift the conditions of the transgenders. Laws are made. But will the society accept them? It will take time for social acceptance. Awareness should be created among the people.

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An incisive inside story of administration

 

(Book Release: From left Sadhana Misra, Swaraj Misra, Paresh Patnaik, Baishnab Charan Mohanty and the author)

This is a memoir of an officer about his professional experiences in a government organization which the Supreme Court has once termed one of the most three corrupt departments in India. The book is a revelation of the difficult situations that an honest officer typically has to face. Due to his bold and blunt behavior, he has to face five transfers in a span of a decade, and finally the authorities bring him to the head office. He has to stay his twenty remaining years of service here, where no officer wants to work; the job he is assigned is dry and drab to others.

                                              (The news of book release reported in the newspaper)

The author gets his first posting after his training in a check gate where he has to check the vehicles to prevent tax evasion. Very soon he realizes dealing with real life situations are totally different from the induction training imparted in the institute. He wonders how his education, a masters in history, his studies of Marx and Hegel, Russian and French Revolutions or Indian history, help in dealing with truckers, anti socials and tax evaders. The training imparted in no way helps one in the field when a goon brandishes his knife and threatens him to take his life. At one place, a few people barge into his room forcing him to do unethical things, the MLA pressurizes on behalf of a BDO with whom he is hands in glove, to do something beyond the rules and procedure. He has to handle these situations.

Not only from the field, but his seniors and colleagues in the office are also no help. The concern of the people he has to work with is primarily to please the boss and earn by fair or unfair means. Their rent seeking attitude is in conflict with the author’s nature and they do not miss an opportunity to put him in a soup. His seniors, not being satisfied, harass him, for he does not collect booty and share with them. He has to deal with these elements in administration.

Being part of the policy making, he has been an integral part in the formulation of policies in the state in both the tax systems, namely; VAT and GST. He is associated with reforms in indirect tax system in the state and country, involved in drafting and implementation of VAT in 2005, and subsequently, GST in 2017. He has firsthand knowledge of making the law. Though the law is passed by the legislature after approval of the GST Council, that is, the ministers of the states and Centre, the law is, in reality, drafted by the officers. The tax officers’ main objective is to maximize taxes and protect their fraternity, not to see the interest of the taxpayers, and often ignore the business interest and taxpayers’ comfort. The result, the GST Act and Rules have been amended forty times within first two years of its implementation. The Council is yet to make a simple return form. The memoir is, in fact, an inside story told by an insider.

The author is an acclaimed writer; he writes fiction and non-fiction, both in Odia and English. He has used his skill of being a fictionist in writing his memoirs that will be read like a novel and appreciated by all sections of the society. Lucid language and reference to day-to-day life are the USPs of this book. The book divulges some aspects of administration, particularly tax systems, usually not known to the general public. The book is an interesting read.

(By Deepa Nayak, in The Pioneer)

                                                        (Review of the book in The Pioneer)

The memoir in Odia, Anichhuk Prasasak (A Reluctant Bureaucrat) was published in October, 2021. The book has registered encouraging sales and received rave views. Parambrahma Tripathy, poet and writer has posted the following in his Facebook timeline during Akshara Book Fair, Bhubaneswar:

 

[There is a demand for a book in the Akshara Book Fair. The book is Anichhuk Prasasak (A Reluctant Bureaucrat) of Sahadev Sahoo. Readers are buying this book. Perhaps, this is the Odia best seller during the last five years.]

On request from non Odia speaking people and to reach wider audience, I wrote the book in English, published by Shalandi Books.

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