TRIPTAYAN CHATTERJEE

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DESTILOST

A COLLECTION OF FOUR UNIVERSAL SHORT FICTIONS

LOOKING FOR A DIFFERENT HORIZON

T TRIPVILL PUBLICATIONS

DESTILOST by Triptayan Chatterjee First Tripvill Edition , December 2011

C

Ellora Chatterjee

Published by Tripvill Publications

Amdiha Third by Lane Purulia 723102, India

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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PUBLISHER SPEAKS
Whats goin on is not the truth. The truth is invisible. We have to get around that invisible world to get at the truth, the real story behind the stor y being seen. Triptayans Story goes with this feelings. The stories tell that every human being has its mind with different states like conscious, sub-conscious or unconscious. But Triptayan believes that there is another state of mind between these states, may be called ultra or infra sub-conscious level of mind. So his characters in the story gets around that level and looks like doing something not normal. But that proves the universal truth of the universe. Triptayans story is entirely international. Its plots, subplots, conflicts and language is overwhelmingly accepted around the globe. The stories have already been published in the online monthly magazine TRIPVILL and got huge response from Norway to New Zealand and from United States to Fiji. We have chosen four of his large short stories which has already waved the international readers. We have tried to maintain all these stories and ideas intact and unchanged. We also waiting for this wide international response hereafter. Four stories from his writings have been taken here. The Foggy girl, The Sugarcane girl, Lubb-Dubb and A Nude Swim Night. All these four stories speak of the deep rooted psychological aspects of the mankind from the angle of analysis. We got shivered when we saw the extreme wonderful usage of the symbols to narrate the events and the characters in the stories. We believe that this usage of the symbols is entirely literary and will be able to establish him as a new era writer for the global generation. The third aspect of his writings is the socio-economic analysis of the incidents and all where it has got enough importance for getting the stories at hype.

Ellora Chatterjee

NEXT PUBLICATION OF THE WRITER

MILLION MONSOON MIND

An universal Novel that describes Time a living one and analyze the universal socio-economic evolution and peoples from an ifra or ultra subconcsious mind, where story goes flying with monsoon over the earth.

AUTHORS VOICE
Feeling hard to say something now, right at this moment. Fictions had never been any fiction in true meaning. It is an outburst of my analysis on minds, hearts and all around. In fact all that I have written is actually I have drawn with all my power and efficiency. Four short stories are the crops of this diligence. My short fictions are not really shorts. In fact I cant completely agree with the definition of this art given by Tagore. Rather I think that all these are the results of a single or a dual conflicts in a plot or sub-plot which takes place in large arena in a novel. Whatsoever, call it a short fiction or long, when I started getting well response from the international readership through Tripvill online editions, I felt, I have been able to do something, I can go ahead then and I am going on. The four short fictions taking places here are of four dimensions in four different places. But the basic theme is to get lost in some unknown horizon. As an editor of the international magazine Tripvill we have always been looking for a different horizon. The same effort you can see here too. The foggy girl, the first fiction I was inspired to write when I was travelling Bhutan to shoot my film. I felt that a man can define himself with new words and feelings in this remote places covered with clouds every now and then. So making the clouds a symbol I tried to define the reality of an human being wrapping with a fictitious foggy girl. In the way of looking this one, my hero gets lost in a different horizon. Micky Rankovich, one of my friend living in Michigan, US, told me then, I must not stop writing, and I was greatly inspired. Other three stories are of three different kinds. There I think, TIME is a living substances and there is another state of mind except the traditionally defined, conscious, subconscious and unconscious. I would like to put those in a category of ultra and infra.

LUBB-DUBB deals with the conflicts of a girl,who looks for which is more acceptable in love, body or heart. In NUDE SWIM NIGHT, the recent social status and civilization is defined as a success of being nude in every sector of life. The rest fiction THE SUGARCANE GIRL is ultimately is for looking for a different horizon of life, of society and after all the universe. Whatsoever. When my fictions got to be readied for publication as a book, I got pleasure. I dont have word to express to greet the inspiration given all the time by my friend, my mate, my all time companion Ellora, constitutionally called my wife. I am grateful to all the directors of TRIPVILL online...and the team the print edition of the mag. Am grateful to my father and mom for bringing me up to a such extent. There are many fictions I had to write, some are for film scripts, some are for mere story writing. I have always tried to remain careful regarding the maintenance of the literary value of every writings. I am also grateful to TRIPVILL team, who have always given my inspiration for going ahead more and more. Celrose said I must not stop, Jen said I must carry on, Michael said I can do a lot....I dont know how powerful I am, but I promise to go ahead with the relevant and the universal thoughts to be expressed through my creation, may be in my short fictions or may be in my novel. Many readers are accustomed with my fictions those who already have gone through TRIPVILL online editions. I would like to express my gratitude to them also, who have clicked the short stories and the ficiton page of the site frequently. This gave me message that I can, I can do. Whatever I have to contribute for the book, I did. Now its up to the readers, whether they would like or not. I am confident that they will be touched in their hearts and minds. I promise to present all my readers a wonderland of new creations which they have never experienced. Hope I will be successful. Waiting eagerly for the response.

Triptayan Chatterjee

LOST TO LOOK FOR HIMSELF

THE FOGGY GIRL

That
was cloud...yeah..cloud passing across the hilly ways just like a little slow wind before my eyes. And all that I had been watching got foggy and foggy and foggy....and at last I entered into the clouds. Clouds were in and around me, I had been slowly....gradually waiting moment after moment and there coming down droplet after droplets. And for the first time in my life I saw her....really her coming..tip toeing and tip toeing towards me....from the other side of the halfvisible cloud...she was alone...extremely alone!!! I only kept on watching her...she was coming and coming.The watery curtain before my eyes got questions after questions...I would go ahead or stand by?....The apple cheek face went on coming...step after step and I...I looked at the windshield. The droplets were falling upon it ....after and after...and went on rolling down along the glass like tears...yeah...like tears....I could not get myself..I got down from my car.....and it was a lonely place...only some steps of
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life was at the left cliff....on a little highland....a tent was there...she was coming from there. down...I saw....I felt. ....Suddenly a large cloud went on passing across the way...everything got out of eyes....I got as blind who wants to eat up all the around in his blindness. I tried to get my eyes larger and larger...I tried to get my eyes flattened...and then ...then I got foggy...foggy and foggy....in front of me....wrapping and kissing all the hilly way I had been gazing on....still she was coming towards me...coming towards me....came towards me...stopped near me....I saw her in a foggy evening in the deserted hilly way....lonely....extremely lonely....she stopped near me...I saw her in the foggy evening. With a wonder in my eyes...with a wonder in my heart....with a wonder in all around...I looked at her face. Yeh...I can remember. I can remember that bamboo fencing around her small house...big windows like gaps between them...I can remember the green ...touchy and lively grasses on the spread field in front of her small wooden house...yeah there was the up...up....and upheaded....mountain peak behind her small house in the horizon...and among all there were her cottage...just set wooden blocks after blocks...just a place she lives in...just her heaven...just the deep dark world in it....I got that lonely world of darkness in her small house...the green was smiling, the mountain was silent...the little home was silent and she.......sheeeeeee.... ..........now I was standing in foggy evening....she looked at me and asked in a low voice .....would you come with me? A small point covered with clouds...it is a triffle place in the world map or google earth. Going up..up...and up again it
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when I came up in a height of six thousands feet I did not notice at all. I might have been in the clouds and clouds. The bushes, the long trees all were covered with gushing clouds. I felt someone was there watching us....they are the clouds. They are alive I dont know. But I feel they are there...of course very there....I got ashamed...I got scared...I dont know...I closed my eyes and only could recall...that it was the way I was heading towards Bumthang...to shoot my films only...in the endless lap, endless silence and endless depth of the Himalayas....I again listened her asking. ...........would you come with me? In the cooler wind in a may evening under the sky and from within the clouds...she had been asking again and again .......would you come with me?....would you come with me? Her words got echoed around the endless walls of the Himalayas around... I just heard.......would you come with me? She stopped then. I looked at her face. A cute but small smile was there. I tried and tried to read her smile. The clouds were saying around me...there must be some meaning of that...s...m......i.....l.....e. She touched my left arm, I got shivered....held my hands. Then stepped towards the trench down deep along the depth of the mountain. I went with her slowly.....no one knows...we stood there still...my god....she leaned down upon the depth...deep...deeper and deepest of the trenchhhh.....and tried to show me something there down.....I could not understand anything...I just saw a hilly stream flowing with its crying sound....I got my ear...I heard nothing....I got my eyes there.....I got nothing....I got my closed eyes there....I got nothing.....only I closed my eyes....a
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wind of her smile got me somewhere else.....I felt for the first time that I have come here to find out something.....no film, no travel, no entertainment...I have come here to look for something else....I have to look for it....I must look for it.... I asked myself again and again...do I know her? I could not find any answer. In fact I saw in myself...actually I came for a certain job....which has a schedule, which has a budget, which has a sightseeing list. But all my pages got winded...torn...scattered within fraction of second. My watchdial got watery...my car got invisible, my eyes got closed...I felt for the first time that I have come for something else...unuttered...unsung and unheard. She went on hand holding me....she went on....with me...she went on...and went on and went on and at last stopped near the fencing and opened the bamboo gate...brought me in it ....we got there...we sat on the green grasses outside her wooden living...we sat in front of a new horizon...and for the first time we looked at each other closely. As if she was saying.....at last you have come with me, in fact you have come here to come with me. ......we were looking at each other.....she got me there. Then sat crossed-legged...I had my eyes on her...she was playing with her fingers. Sometimes she was looking at the horizon...sometimes to me. Sometimes she was smiling, sometimes she was playing with the grasses, sometimes she was getting her head high....spreading her hairs towards me....and then again .....again......looked at me. Her eyes got larger like a wet pond.....as she was asking me ........Tell me, what to tell you came...please tell me, what to tell you came here yes....I came to tell her something.
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But..didnt have any words...comma...semi-colon to run my feelings before her....I replied anyway... Look down...clouds I think going away...oh! how nice here the zigzag way down the mountain!..look,how many cars and trucks are running there in down...look there! A lair of foggy wrapper just went away from before her face. But the dark fog was still there....on...and...onnn. ....She knows everything. Why shouldnt she know? In every moment of life she lives..she walks down with me. Thousands of kilometers far from here at my bedroom...my mirror....my shaving cream...my computer room..and even at my office....she is with me....she has been living with me. Still she asked how am I now?...She asked how are my wife and kids?....She asked how much I get as salary each month...on...and....on. Oh! so many questions at a time! I sighed at once.....and the only reply of all those questions was my smile only.....I felt. I felt another layer of fog was erasing from before her....on....and...on... Spraying a little frustration she said Your kids are so nice just like your wife. So costly ornaments she wears! I liked her word. I felt myself a successful man at that moment. Yes...my wife gets costly jewelleries..I have my marble floored apartment of my own...I have refrigerator, air-conditioner, Internet limitless connection and a fat earning. I felt myself happy....really happy!!!!!! She looked at my costly glasses on my eyes....looked at my wrinkle free shirt...looked at my imported watch and moved
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her eyes frequently along with the oscillation of my golden chain around my neck hanging there. .......And then...just a bit sunlight of the evening came down on her apple-cheek. For the first time i saw a little bit of her i had been looking for a long day. ....As much as the last reddish ray of sun gotta be clear on her cheek...as much she had been getting brighter to me...she went on...she didnt stop....she went on remembering me that i am from another universe. The universe where I live for myself and my family only...the universe where every will of life is purchased with dollars..the universe where someone Gives and some one Takes...only. But still....the more she said...the more I got pleasure....wow....I have a nice wife!!!!!......I have a nice cellphone!!!!!....I have a nice pay-pack!!!!! I tried to feel my eyes....my own eyes....yeh...those were down upon the spiral mountain way with running car...running trucks....and standing street lamps....spreading its mild light over the road....and road... ....And I heard her from back like a mild wind-flow Trip...would you go back by plane? did you get your return ticket?....and she uttered again after a little pause and a cute smile... you can go by plane...it would be lovely. Now...she must have been more visible....she must have been free from clouds....and certainly must have been closer to me....but I couldnt turn back....why?....I dont know....really I dont know. .....After an hard effort I could turn back to her. ..... I turned back...and...stood up slowly....but it was anPAGE 16

other wonder!!!!......I couldnt find her...I really couldnt find her. Only again I heard her voice like a wind-flow....she said in a grim voice.... You are so happy. You have nothing to tell me. Then why did you come?..why do you spoil time this way?...Go back now...ride your car fast.... It will be cloudy again...you may loose your way back...you may loose...really you may loose..... I just felt that I have lost something....and whats the way to look for the lost...I lost too. Sometimes it got me dark what I have come for here. I had been looking and looking for....and looking for. I did not not face such an unanswered question ever in my life? Is it sometimes peoples do the things they dont know at all? what may be the cause that I have come here for. My known causes for coming here is not at all the cause I feel. But what should be the cause....what should be the hidden story of my steps on the large landscape of the Himalayas....I questioned myself....I went on questioning myself....I did not know....thinking and thinking I stood up slowly....I stepped forward towards my car...standing at the side of the hilly road....just by the side of the fencing she has made with her all dreams around her small house. I walked on....I stepped forward towards my car....I reached there. ...Within the car many eyes were were looking at me. My travelling passport laying on the sit..such as saying me...can not you remember...for how much distress you got it from the government for making a tour here? My camera was laying just on the sit under the steering wheel.....such as saying me...much snaps are left still now....you have to make
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your film...come on, start shooting. The blue cover of the passport and the white case of my cam......my god....my cam lens is open and....and it pointing at me passing over its head through the surface of the passport. Everything was so talkative! Really I did not feel her...really not. She came to me beside the car....give a soft touch on my back. I was shivered for a while. And looked back her. Her eyes were talking....talking and talking much. And among all these surroundings she asked me in low voice I know what you have come for. I wondered at the moment. Asked means? She had a smile on her lips. She said Do you know whats your name? My god....!!!! what is she saying....has she gone made...! I went on looking at her with my wondering eyes. With the same mysterious smile on her lips she asked again Can you write down the address of your home town correctly? I could not understand what to give as an answer. I tried to stop her and asked Why are you asking me this question? Why woulnt I know my own address or my own name? What happened to you! With a curious eyes again she smiled, she again wondered me If you would know all these correctly...you would not have come here...is not that? I really did not understand what did he said. I felt it the spoiling the time only to answer these questions. I dont know why suddenly I looked through the side glass.
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I noticed she is mirrored there. I looked at myself at the mirror. Our faces of the both were seen at the mirror. I turned my eyes on the other mirror through the windows. There was she also....and me too. Our faces were there at the same time at the same position. I turned aside on the lens of my cam....my god...!!!!! there also I am watching us both. why? My god!!!! why I cant be alone? In every mirror of the universe I have to see her face!!!!...what a wonder....I........again.....looked.....at.....the......windshield, she......was.......also......there.......there.......there. Yes life is a vast chapter with innumerable places. Suddenly something came into mind that time and got away within a fraction of second....yeh...something was coming and going away...something was coming and going away. Yes......a hazy and smoky and foggy answer was coming and going away....would I be able to answer her what I have come here for? ....it is coming....I just tried to catch it....I was prepared that if I can catch it....then I will make it more beautiful with my words and give it to her....but I couldnt....really I couldnt.....why I dont know....it was a foggy evening there....I had been looking for the answer...I had been looking for the answer. Ineeded...I didnt know...what hidden story is there in this foggy girl! Like other times with again a wonder....she came closer...and held my hands. Her hands I felt suddenly spoke up as well, but what it was...I tried and tried...again and again....and the same shame shadow was spreading in my mind...unseen...unheard...unsung....something was coming into my mind...something was coming into my mind and moving a little here and there....I tried to catch it up...but...but
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it slipped away...... She held my hand...and pulled me with her. One after another step....she got forward towards the bamboo fencing...I was after her...she opened the bamboo gate. It felt she wants to say something again...and in the garden....that is the place only to share all the feelings....place of looking for everything she wanna get in life. I didnt understand why I got also there in my feelings have this place when my heart wants to burst out....in fact I didnt see this place ever before....I did not hear this place ever before...still holding my hand she went on and went on.... ....She stopped at last...at a corner of the field in front of her cottage. A heap of red pine was there looking morbid in the last sun ray of the day. The she got me sat beside her pulling my hands down. I got crippled for what I dont know. I had to sit there....and yes...I knew she must be saying something...answers I had been looking for? I was counting the moments...the whole surrounding was calm...I was seeing her...again a cloud came over there...went on passing over us...passing ...wrapping us...completely....I was eagerly waiting....I knew she will say something. .....And among all the silence I got true. Her lips were about to utter words...yes I dont know why I expected sweet words from her. In a low voice she said You have come here at last...how was your trip? Nice...I only uttered in a word....thought she wants to be normal. But she asked again What nice? did you enjoy it? I could not reply...only I could say I dont know. Ha...ha...why you cant say...didnt you enjoy it? wouldnt
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you come here again? I was still looking for the answer. On her cloudy face, I replied Who says? I will be coming here again and again....I have to come. She got a little grim Again and again...what did you get here? I wished to say that at least I got her. But I couldnt say anything. You have lost something...say what?she asked. Suddenly I wondered. She again asked Say what? I tried, I tried to recall....but I couldnt find out. She just like giving me a clue...said Check your pocket. With a quick look I moved my hands over my pocket....and in not time I found...with a little smile I said Yes...my mobile phone....and I think its with you now....give it to me. Watching me with no tension for loosing the phone she wondered. But she said Yes I will...I will return it to you. But what will I get for that? I wanted to know What you want? She smiled Nothing.....she got the phone out of her blouses and got her hand forward to me..... Again something started within me...something was coming.....coming and moving....coming and running here and there....oh my god! why cant I catch it.....why? I went to hold the phone .....and it slipped down...it slipped down upon the ground.
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......And that was the moment...four eyes of us got down upon the phone ......Two hands of us gonna get down upon the phone.... Clouds rushed...fogs were falling down upon the earth.. Ten fingers of us touched the mobile phone..... ......Suddenly it rang up....it was an intense ring tone...going on, going on...going on.. Both the hands picked up the phone..... A new human I felt grew up with a moment.... In the dense cloud also we got as shadow on the mobile screen....a new human ....I felt.......her eyes were of me....her hands were of her her hairs were as me, her nose was as me her lips were as me....her leg was as me with the trousers. ......It was cloudy....it was cloudy evening.....with a tremendous wonder...I threw the phone to her...I turned back with extreme shivering towards the slope....I ran to the corner of slope......and bursting out the sky....tearing apart the wind...moving aside the fogs....I shouted....I shouted .........I have got what I wanted here....I have got myself.....I have got what I came here for...

Triptayan, very intesting story, It really puts the reader in your eyes and what you are seeing, nice one ;). you are a good writer and you WILL get alot better in time!!

MICHAEL WOLFGANG, NOVELIST, UK

THE STORY HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN TRIPVILL

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LOST TO GET HER LOVE

LUBB DUBB
In
a straight line....only coconut trees....only coconut trees ....one after another were standing as no-one knows each other. Through among the haphazard gaps...tens of thousands of haphazard gaps among the standing trees here and there...the canal from the sea...is seen....very far. Carla had been gazing at the canal...had been gazing. Last time...on her forehead and on her chest...with her index finger of the right hand...Carla drew that invisible Cross...the day before yesterday. That was the after noon, mildly gonna touch the evening. The reddish Sun had been sinking in the canal...slowly and slowly.....far...across the haphazard gaps among the silent coconut trees. Now Carla stood slowly facing the mirror. Along the border...of this large ellipse shaped mirror..the small replicas of the coconut trees were there...uniquely made of oyster. Hanging down from the wall...well figured...this mirror is only her dearest wealth...dearest feelings. She...facing that
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mirror...tried to look for herself...how beautiful she is ...how..how........ sweet...how lovely...she is?....she looks at her subtly...portrayal...very seriously with all her eyes, all her brain and all her heart.....How sweet...how lovely...how beautiful...she is? Is she so cute as Antonio? Over the mirror...low ceiling...standing on the floor near the mirror...the pedestal fan was on..its blades were moving with tremendous speed round....and with the gushing hit of the air....her right hair-weft was lagging behind than the left one...on her head, every now and then. She has been looking at herself in the mirror....with her fixed eyes...on....yeah she got her moms African body structure..yeah....she got. She is certainly lovely...she is certainly cute.....at least Carla felt herself this way facing the mirror. Ah...what a wavy curled hair on head!!!! What a deep sight of amazonia in her eyes under the black hairs !!!!! A little...scorched...blackish white skin...all within her. Facing the mirror glass...she covers around her breasts with the orna...a cover of the body-upper of the salwar-kameez...an Indian outfit made of chiffon...not so thick like shirt and pant....brown in color. And just right then the speedy air from the fan brings in flying all the dust covered remembrance to her. As she waits standing between the windows...looking up at the farthest point of the limitless sky...for her dad...for her dad only.....look...dad is coming back from the Rio port of Amazon passing through the millions of peoples. Looking at his face....somebody calling him black-cat...somebody calling....bitch...anaconda!!! Even looking at his face the little child of Brigida aunt starts crying getting scared....Still when he steps at the doors of the
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apartment...goes into the room...her mom...in his pox drawn face...goes on kissing and kissing and kissing with her heart...with her all. Carla breaths a long....pulls the chair by the side of the windows....then lit up a cigarette....the spiral smokes..getting on more and more spiral..more spiral...gets out of windows....flows and flows...and at last...gets lost in the landscape of the canal...gets lost. He recalled...Martha said her at once...when she was driving to Nicco Park and Carla was in the car. Keeping her hands on the steering...Martha said Carla, your smoking is getting excessive these days. Nothing excess is well you know. Your total cigarette costing can get a first class mushroom dish at any hotel in this Calcutta...you know? oops...!!! just hearing her..she got like vomiting. Getting it in control anyway...she replied phew.....I wonder for your taste! are those eatables! what an ugly stuff!!! frogs live under those ones you know?...my god....I get ...what an ugly stuff!!!! Martha did not know what Carla feels about this mushroom...she shouted You get wired...vomiting...!!! ugly stuff!!! do you know its quality ? hundred percent protein. Carla curved her face and replied Then you get it. I would like plain dish to-night. But no...getting one piece of that under Marthas pressure she had to say Sorry friend...its really wonderful!!! Marthas reddish cheeks was as oozing the red flows in her
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conquering laughter. Across the border of red blouses and golden necklace...red shining in his red spot on forehead......sindoor...that of a Hindu married woman made of mercury. Carla asked her Martha..would you get me a little sindoor? it looks beautiful. Martha replied with a meaned smile first learn wearing saree.the sindoor..saree is the most unstitched beauty of an India woman. ....The ash got longer and like to be fallen down breakable at the mouth of cigarette...between the two lips of Carla...sitting window-side. She twisted the cigarette with his finger back mildly and fell it down in the ash-tray. The again took a long smoke and released it from his mouth. There gets no sound of ash-falling. In fact who knows which is more pleasing...the Christina Aguillera or Britney Spears blue night concert or Marthas mushroom?...which is more pleasing ...covering around this body with skirt and top or the nostalgic nude sun-bathe on the sea-beach with Antonio. Which is more pleasing...Amir Khans divorce or African mothers kiss on pox-run face of her Portuguese father? Carlas birth was before two years of her parents marriage in the Pedroga church. Still she now sometimes visits her father. But Antonio! Antonio is in Sao-paolo from his sixteen years of age...leaving his native home village. Just before two days Anto left for Kolkata, his first wife got married again. She and Anto, both attended the marriage in Brasilia. Second husband of Mario aunt is actually Antos Irish father. He also was there. They live now in Buenos-Aires...they are
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well and well enough today...living well all. And here Martha and Arup has been living with their sweet home for last ten years. Oh...In all among these...she cant understand which is nice, which is not...which can make smile and which makes weep...No...Carla can feel nothing...understands nothing. But she have to, she must understand...otherwise where would she go?...what would she do? Karla leaves the Easy and cozy chair, stands up and again steps forward to that long mirror...observes herself closely. Her face now gotta be more and more feelly and shiny...much more than Julia Roberts...much more than...even Kate Winslet is also loosing to her...every moment and every moment. To get herself closer a little, to observe herself more and more he gets a little more closer to the mirror....And just right then ...her feet touches something down on the floor. She looks down and gets to see one of Antos shoes is there. Carla stopped as all at a sudden. She steps back a little from the mirror. Again once his heart-bit gets up and up. All there of the wardrobe here laying scattered here and there in the room. She closes her eyes again...and again makes an invisible cross on her forehead...still the mouth of the cigarette is burning with its last glow at the mouth...in the ash-tray.....all around got silent suddenly...got silent. Just like..when dad would get tired...would started shivering in parkinsonsin his whole body...when his words would start jerking...at the time when he used call mom as Shakiraaaaaaaaaaa....then, just like this the mouth of the cigarette in the ash-tray used to burn at its mouth...with full its glow....everything used to be silent, extremely silent. .....In closed eyes, still Carla can see that south-facing apartPAGE 27

ment at eighth floor. That time...that moment..she is left lost in blues music. There would be her musical program on next Sunday in Alfancos farm-house. Rio-De-Janeiro business magnet Alfonso is coffee merchant. Dad loads those coffeepack boxes in the port of Rio. After the duty hour gets over he brings his folded cycle out of his bag and paddles towards his home passing through the pedro-de-gama street...yeah...towards home......and right that moment she can recall.... Today is Antonios birthday. She revolves her eyes around the room at once....portrait of Arantes do nascimento Edson...the emperor of football...Pele...is hanging on the wall. And thin-fiber furniture are scattered under on the floor here and there. Scattered....chairs...tables...and crucifixed Jesus on the opposite wall. Only a single bed is on the floor. She feels...nah...nothing is there to accommodate from this great and great emptiness. Oh...how long Anto will make her wait here?....Carla comes out at the terrace....how long he will be making her wait?...how long? ....A gray shorts and a black top...she was really looking nice...fantastic! A wonder was flashing out of her whole body. Under the terrace all the Rio as tilted down in a tiring posture. All the street lights are lit up...just now it is the evening. Antonio will come from this jungle of crowd...across the street. ......And at last he reached. Like a storm...high speed...opened the doors and rushed into the room...started shouting Carla...get ready, tomorrows flight...evening. With a wonderful joy Carla looked at his white chest and Portuguese face.
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Antonio threw away his T-shirt and said Today, all it got final. Carla asked Calcutta..Barreto is there i think. My god!!!! its far away!!! I have never been in a plane. How all these got happened? Antonio did not reply...only showed her the visa. Carla wondered My one is ready too! How did you get there the chance Antonio lit up a cigarette, put it between the two lips of Carla and replied What else there to get a chance? Why Calcutta only? who else are footballer there like us in India? After all its called Brazil. Carla kept the cigarette on the ash-tray and drew a cross on her forehead with her index finger again. Antonio put off the light. Pulled Carla to him, opened up and threw away her T-shirt . Carla went on his beauty in the depth of dark. Remembrances are getting fader. Carla again comes back and stands at the side of the windows. Her two eyes again with the faded glimpses of distress and cheers scatter in each and every point of the large landscape in front of her. The thousands of gaps among thousands of trees go away fading and fading towards the canal of the sea with their haphazard rows of the trees and their branches. And sometimes breaking all the silence from among all these seay yards of the nature the buses of the Goa state transport Corporation pass by and pass by from these port city of Murmagaon. Her eyes jumps at the running cycles loaded with coconuts passing by. Across the street on the top of the small two
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floor houses Crosses art there just like the slums of Rio-dejeneiro. So..perhaps Rio and Murmagaon are like twine brothers with Portuguese blood she feels, she deeply feels....Again for a little Carla turns her eyes aside and throw it on the ashtray. Antonio loved this place very much. Sometimes she thinks their golden moments of life has spent here...this place...this Goa. A young chap like Antonio who never knew anything except football and Carla....he also looked for all he had in Rio and Sao-Paolo...in this Portuguese places of Murmagaon. Younger brother of any grandma of Lisbon of Antonio..lives somewhere here....his forefathers made their first home here. But how strange!!!! among all these cheers and joys too, Carla never heard him to say even at once Carla...how beautiful you are! But still Carla had not a single droplet of doubt that Antonio loves him very much. Carla all time condoled herself by saying...the words of love is silent...that never should be advertised. Leaving his old Calcutta club Sunrise by threezero goals when Anto was springing champagne in Goa carnival night club...then too he never looked at Carla beautifully dressed. But when Carla fell down on the party-floor all at once, then how heartily he nursed her...and it is called love...he got lotion on her injured leg...with his whole heart. But didnt he notice...why right-back Rupam wanna hold her hand...why does he touches her again and again ?...why does he sing romantic songs before her? Carla here fails to understand Antonio...she cant understand him...she really cant understand him at all. It has been long three years...Carla and Antonio left their
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home, their country. The year..that was when the new millennium started. Now Carla looked at the wrist watch for time. Then spreaded deodorant a little in her body around...after getting a sweaty smell from her own body. The sunshine has been faded now. A light cloudy day is getting her along close...closer. And then it is getting out of the window in the vast lap of the nature. A sound of horn comes from outside. Carla had been waiting for this moment so far..in her heart...in her mind. Calling at once the Konkani gardener she got out. Opened her hand bag and checked whether her sun glass was in it or not. Opened the gate and came out. The sat on the front sit of the car by his side as Rupam opened the gate. Rupam told nothing, only switched on the starter. The sky was heavy in its face. In this morning like an evening the car turned aside after reaching the Bhasko-de-gama road from the small lane of her house....really...what could happen if Rupam wouldnt be there!!!! Antonios deadbody...from field to hospital...from there to postmortem....from that sky-striking evening to all the night....Rupam was there with her.....now along both sides of the car...one after one after coconut tree is running fast and faster behind. Konkani and Portuguese bear-pubs are also running fast flashing on their eyes...running fast backward. The sky got darkened more and more...Rupams face was cloudy too. A bengalee heart...a bengalee mind like Rupam, would he be able to get looking for it all along Rio? Yet...what a wonder are these calcuttians!!!! So far...Rupam even has not ever touched her a little...kissing is very far....but this
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Afro-Portuguese girl has kissed him whenever she wanted. The car parked under an umbrella in the seabeach....Paradise Motel. Getting out of the car Carla and Rupam booked a table under the umbrella....sat there. The will go after finishing their lunch here. Fish-fry and spaghetti got at their table as Rupam ordered. The sky got darker. Different waves of unknown wind was flowing around. Carlas hair got scattered a bit with the sea air. The fish trawlers of the konkani fishermen floating at a far on the sea-wave. Waves passing on touching the bank of the sea. A group of half-nude Australian and Israelis were coming towards the empty umbrella leaving the hope of a blissful sunbathe. The goanese ward-boys and ward-girls were running among the customers with wine-bottles in hand. Just this moment Rupam says lightly Carla, why are you getting so sentimental like us, Indians? Tell me. Antos body, if comes out without heart, can also be brought for grave, isnt that? With big eyes and with a deep question Carla looked at him. Rupam stopped despite of going to say something. Carla said Not sentiment Rupam. The heart of man will be left in an Indian hospital and his body will be in the grave across Atlantic somewhere...it can never happen..after all he was my would be husband...i still love him very much Rupam. After getting the piece of spaghetti in Rupam touched her finger...drove his own finger on her. Carla wondered feeling this sudden change of Rupam. Rupam replied in a low and quiet voice I know that. But will you get Anto in the dead heart in the
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post-mortem room. Don't waste his body i say Carla. How beautiful he is! Wide shoulder, wide muscle...what a glamorous look! How beautiful all his body is!...dont waste this body before getting it into the grave. For the last time...before getting into the grave.... Not allowing herself to know or to feel at all, one by one, Carla grabbed her five fingers with Rupams fives. Rupam can feel, how easy it is for the western women to forget distress, to forget all sorrows and miseries of life so quick...so hurry!! He looks at the fingers at once. Is it love too !!! Is it attraction ?!! Carla throws questions away Rupam, could Anto get the body away from here with him leaving the heart, if it would have been with me ? Tell me, Rupam. Rupam replies Dont know, but i would because you are really very...very beautiful Carla, i would not let this beauty be spoilt ever. Out of her vision, Rupam goes ahead to Carla slowly from her fingers, drives his fingers on her arms..on her wrist, moving up and down, slowly and slowly. Carla heard it for the first time that she is beautiful. How many times she got eager to listen only these few words from Anto...how many times !!!! So many times she stood before the mirror, observed slowly and deeply herself from hair to nail....arranged herself...fashioned herself...so many times. Today only these words from Rupam bringing an unknown lovely wave in her heart, in her body. Rupam said Dont spoil yourself this way Carla....come on, they will release the body from the post-mortem chamber after you sign over there...lets get up, finish the coffee, quick.
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Carla gets eager to finish the coffee with sip, sip and sips as fast as possible. Rupam has come with his striped t-shirt today. He knows Carla likes it very much. Carla replied Come on, lets go, im ready. They lites up two cigarettes together after paying the bill in Paradise. Then get in the car and start it. Speed-drive habituated Rupam starts picking up speed. Every folds of Carlas body and and salwar kameez...an indian outfit with upper and lower....got brighter and brighter before his eyes....and all of a sudden with a tremendous jerking of the car her head crashes with the wind-shield. Two times from the morning Carla crashed with this one. Open air is gushing inward through the windows of the running car. Its a making Carlas all haphazard, limitless, making her all haphazard. She sits giving supports on Rupams shoulder with her hands...says...on... You know Rupam, he could be much more a big footballer than all of you if would live. His first striking in Calcutta match, first hat-trick...i get lost, when i think of that. From then he never turned back..not even at me also. He had thirty goals in last season....after joining this Goa club. He kissed me thirty times one by one, Rupam, thirty times. I got mad, extremely mad Rupam, believe me. Then playing a morbid smile in lips Carla said If you would have seen his samba dance with Hindu hymns last vacation in our park street apartment....then look here at Goa...he got too nineteen goals this season here. I cant think any more Rupam, i am feeling very lonely, extremely lonely. That broad shoulder and redish lips i never got anywhere in Rio you know. I woulnt get back my Anto ever Rupam. He was
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really a manly figure...i was even...still now mad for him. Baretto, Doglus...no one is as like as him. Suddenly with another jerk Rupam changed the gear. So far a spring-water was oozing out of Carlas word. He changed the gear in between the flow of those words, why, he doesnt know at all. The distance between the coconut trees is now increasing outside the windshield before Carlas eyes. Gradually the car getting ahead towards the narrow road along the sand beach of the Arabian sea. Sand across the road, Sea across the sand, hazy waves on the sea. A group of konkani kids...flying kites are running towards the beach. A few goan young girls are walking down with laughing aloud with some bottles of wine in baskets. Keeping hands on steering Rupam looking straight outside the wind-shield. He got straight and hard with striped t-shirt and black genes. Red taga...sacred Hindu threads around the wrist. Karla has seen he touches this taga with his forehead before getting down in the football field. But getting out oozed of all those hang outs around them, taking the speed of the running car, he asked Carla You will go away with his body in tomorrows flight. What will happen to me Carla? You just make a phone call at Rio after seeing me off there. Carla replied. Keeping right hand on the steering Rupam suddenly hold her around with his left arm. Carla gets shivered....Carla gets quaked...a lot. His hands was like speaking upon Carlas shoulder !!!!! Rupam says with a deep and hollow voice Carla, cant you
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stay back here with me? here in Murmagao? You can live where you are living now or at my house with me, we will live together Carla. With no reply, Carla goes on looking at the photograph of Anto hanging on the front up at the wind-shield. What a dense and black eyes he had !!! Bursting muscles of chest are as wanting to come out bursting out the t-shirt only to grab her in his chest. She kisses the photograph at once. Rupam realises that Carla is still drowned in Anto...still now. She cant get out of his physical attraction. Carla replies How can it be Rupam? Even there always his chest, eyes, face, lips will be haunting me. You will not be able to give me that beauty Rupam....never...never. Suddenly Rupam recalls his college life at once. Recalls the bengalee lovers of that time. Carla and Kakali is not the same. Rio is farthest for Calcutta. Carla can never be more bengalee than sarees and sindoor. Carla feels Rupams hand muscle has started shivering....trembling. He is breathing fast. Speed of the car getting up. The sky out got clumsy. ....Suddenly in the running car, Rupam pulls her towards him and tearing all bindings of shame hides his face in Carlas breasts for a moment. Then with frequent breathing he says Listen the words of my heart Carla. I cant give you the beauty of Antonio, you can deny my body, but my heart? Cant you feel your sighing in my heart? cant you? Tell me Carla, tell me....cant you? Again in the gushing haphazard words of Rupam she crashed again with the steering. Rupam got her crashed in deep emotion. The lubb-dubb is still going on in her ears from his
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heart. Carla gradually took up her head. This crash, the third time from the morning. She hardened her face and said Rupam, i will not go back to Brazil without taking his body from the hospital. Please lets go to the hospital fast. Dont make words please. Rupam takes back his hands from her shoulder. The car runs on.Three......................... times Carla crashed today......t...h...r...e...e...t...i...m...e...s. The hit as got harder in the chest. It must pain there. Painning will increase. It got hard in the chest...harder. Carla opens the bag and takes out the brownish diary book. In last birthday of Anto Carla herself gifted this one to him with a bottle of champagne. As she recalls that light golden even, her heart starts as weeping within itself. No one to show, no one to tell. He used to write a letter in his diary every week for Carla. Carla turns over the pages...one by one...one by one....and all at a sudden....he eyes get fixed on one page... So much politics in India, i dont like. Football is actually an art you know Carla....very hard....very hard. When i first played at calcutta, i could never even think that i will have to leave the ground of the bengalees. That season i had the highest score, their sports minister handed over me the award. But what could i have done ? Dominico called, we came to Goa. But i kept your words Carla. Look, So far, Surya of Sunrise club, Mokbul of Akash sporting, even Rupam of my own club couldnt even touch me at all. See, peoples will utter my names with Zico, Pele and Maradona....but we must marry before it. With the continued thoughts of Carla the car got entry into
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the parking zone of the hospital.. Both of them got out from both doors at both sides. Taking coupons from the security officer there the entered into the annex of the hospital. An wondering and unknown silence already induced Carla. One after another sculptures of gladiator images along the rampart of the hospital were there. Looking at the portico and the pillars inside Carlas eyes got lost in the lost snaps of that palace which she went to see with Antonio five years ago in a silent evening. As soon as thy stepped on the marble floor, two goan health worker got them with. They went upstairs with the Gothic touch and at last stopped at the door of the chief medical officer. Officer himself came and got them inside and sit them. Carla watched another two goan gentlemen sitting at the both side of the table facing each other. Officer sat down and said Mam , i dont have words to condole you. But i had to disturb you as some formalities must be done unfortunately. Dont mind please. Carla replied with a morbid smile. Then tried to get herself refreshed. The officer tried to read Carla out a bit. Karla asked Tell me, what to do? The doctor-officer rubbed his palms with each other at once. Carla watched just now Rupam moved his eyes from her. Then the doctor said You dont have any legal relation with Mr. Antonio. In fact so we dont require your consent. But still your presence is important on humanitarian ground. We received email from Brazil, thy want to preserve Antonios body. Some Non
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government Organizations also want that. We have to start the processing. We got his mothers consent. The say heart if not sent, no problem, body is important...let his body be there, will be seen when wishes. Just like a stormy wind her hands go towards Rupam. He looks at Rupam at once with wonder. Rupam feels Carla wants to see Antonio even after his death. From the other side of he hazy mind, Carla says up Can we see him same as he is, really doctor? Officer replies with amaze Why not? That face, those eyes, those nose, ears, exact as it was, the same. Now the doctor takes out the papers from the drawers and keeps it on the table. Right that time Karla too as gets lost into the hard body of Antonio. The spent madness of night after nights only brings pain to her, only brings pain. Doctor says Hey, by the way. You applied for the heart. We dont have any objection in releasing it now. You can preserve it in your personal custody also, nobody woulnt have objection at all. Carla goes on gazing at her own thin fingers. She feels himself eager to kiss her own fingers a lot just right now. Doctor Rodriguez can feel Carla getting color slowly and slowly in her heart...in her mind. She throws a foolish question Oh..doctor, wount the government now take his heart !! only the body? Saying this she feels that three pairs of eyes are looking at him with big questions as Rupam there. Doctor replies in a calm voice What will be there with the heart mam? Peoples want the body only. Heart is not required at all. Heart can not come in the snaps. It gives only figures. Mam, heart is
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nothing but a machine...a machine only. Doctor finishes and pushes the button of the bell to go out. As the bell rings up Carla quakes again in her in, extremely in her in. A hidden greed wakes up slowly from within the mind. She picks up the newspaper from the table. Antonios picture is there in top lead news-story....she gazes on...on...and says Doctor, if no-one wanna get the heart at all, then what is it of with me? Not replying anything doctor says Rupam And now, before sending the body to Rio.... Every letter on the paper in the hands gets larger and larger before her eyes.... Critical situation arises with the heart of the noted Brazilian footballer Antonio Xe filo, died in an sudden accident due the collision with the goal-keeper at the play time. After the post-mortem in the Murmagaon hospital doctor agreed to release the body but excluding the heart of the pal for the sake of further investigation. On the other side Antonios friend Carla Cask said in a press conference it can be brought back to Brazil excluding the heart at all. She urged to the foreign ministry to consider the case with humanitarian approach. News agencies from Brazil says quoting.....in the government hospital of Murmagaon.....Minister of state for the foreign affairs....will not be..... ....And within this continuing snaps passing over her eyes suddenly Rupam said Carla, come on. We have to come again tomorrow, to get the birth certificate of Anto, we forgot it. Carla raise up as am machine, comes out with Rupam and
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goes downstairs. Rupam starts the car and comes up on the road....he raises the speed of the car. It runs faster and faster. Carla feels a oozing flow of wind getting in herself, in the every inch of her outfit. She does not have the power to force it back. Rupams forehead gotten full with the sweat drops, The sky outside the wind shied gotten cloudy a little. Rupam looking at outside the windshield while driving...and with that looks undisturbed Rupam said Carla, you didnt say, what will you leave for me before leaving here tomorrow. Carla wears him the black sun glass of Antonio. Rupam feels how less the emotion is there in the hearts of the western girls. Carla replied You may be right Rupam. Nothing to do with the heart, i want a man, who can leave with me, laugh with me and cry with me. Who will live with me and die with me. Rupam pulls her closer with her left hand on his chest. Carla keeps her head there with a deep silence. Rupam says Carla, believe me, i love you. Please stay with me, live with me Carla. Sitting in the moving car, Carla kisses his chest many..many times, then again keeps her head down on his chest. Rupams emotion gets higher and higher...on....a wave rises up in the blood. And for the first time Carla says shamelessly Rupam, can you stay with me to-night at my room? Looking at her with wonder he nods his head to say yes. Carla feels her lubb-dubb getting high and high. With hands like a foolish she pressed her chest down to get free from her all pains. But instead....it gets higher and higher. Rupam asks Can you love me Carla, a bengalee guy has but no limit of
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wants. Carla gives a subtle smile....feels her heart beats again. Rupam tries to measure the depth of her smile. With the same posture of keeping her head hidden in his chest Carla asked You really love me Rupam!!! like me, a lonely and a girl with so less emotion!!!!, then watches him to breath a long and waits for getting the answer from him. And right then again it pained in Carlas head. While lifting head up from the chest, for the third time it got hurt again with the steering....heart beats got higher and higher again. The car passes on across the sand...again pain in the head. The sky got more cloudy, more and more. A jet plane was flying over there very far, and very...very far. ......The car runs with high speed...higher and higher....so fast Rupam can drive!!!!!.......And being like a mad Carla pressed the break very hard all at once........The car skited straight froward and with jerking and jerking....at last stopped........Like a morbid evening, with a deep and whispering voice Carla said Back Rupam, i will go to the hospital lab........Rupam got at a loss, gazed at Carla for a while. ....First drop of rain, falling down upon the wind-shield ....got rolling...rolling and rolling down ....along the cliff of the shield glass.

I'm sinking into a deep sensation of the story. TRIP, You are heading towards the ultimate destination of literature in the current century.

SUSAN CHEN, CRITIC, TAIWAN

THE STORY HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN TRIPVILL

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LOST TO GET HIS DREAMS

SUGARCANE GIRL
Looks like an....like an embryo...covering around with a
blanket, lifting a green lantern up...Ramlakhan has been standing there for sixty...last sixty years. How got the night, no answer comes...just like this....on this grass-scattered soily railway platform...standing on it...he has been moving the light left and right...since last sixty and sixty years. Two large eyes from inside the blanket gets around the station sometimes. Half-hand high from the ground...passed only a pair of railway tracks...in between two old and gray platform...dissecting the foggy darkness of the night...getting thinner and thinner..lost in the far away darkness. Nothing is there in this deserted railway station besides a few cluster of scattered grasses and four fat stems of the headless trees. Ramlakhan looks...as far as his eyes follow...only the fields of sugar-cane is there. Around and around ending at the horizon only the sugar-cane and sugar-cane...and sugar cane. Only
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two old platforms are awakening with thousands of years of fatiguedness in an island like railway station sugar-cane jungle around, along with a few fat-stem trees, scattered railway tracks in the lost way and the yellow-black name of the station in a board at a remote corner of the platform. The fog making all hazy today...which is called the getting lost at the span of the time. In the congested map of a small state of the country...a point...is there in the endless depth of the graph..the smallest point. Blasting out the wall of the deep fogs Ramlakhan looks at the name-board of the station...station Dankaur. Since last sixty...last sixty years....he has been standing in a same posture....blow of whistles comes closer from a far away unknown place....the old hands lift up the green signal...light starts moving left and right....a storm comes closer, gets furious....green signal...over the railway tracks. Getting lesser and lesser the storm gets lost...he keeps the light down upon the ground..keep standing...the shivering Dankour station...shivering and shivering and at last gets still. Again the for holds around the station...but buzz doesnt get lost....roaring and shouting from all the sky overhead...comes down..flows down to his ears. Setting her back on the wall, setting her left feet on the wall back...bringing a thunder around in the mud-made room Ratia shouts I must go, must go and must go. Tu rok sake to rok le...stop me if you can In return of her shouting, another intense shouting comes out blasting the chest like a volcano..but Ramlakhan controls himself. With wondering eyes Ratia goes on Yes i will go, i must go. I hate your breads...like a brat father worthless, i dont wanna get your breads..OK? Kar le tu jo
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karna hai, rok le humenin...do whatever you like, stop me, let me see who grows sugar-cane at your farm? Fireballs comes out of her eyes...it hits the chest of Ramlakhan. Ramlakhan gets shivering again. Jaws get hard with the jat blood of primitive anger. His hands goes towards the windows roughly made with mud and two rods and a hard wooden flat plate. He brings a rod left aside from there. Cute black and shining figure. Impression of fire upon the round shaped face of her. She feels that outside got cloudy. Winds blowing with high speed. Swallowing his own jaw, taking the rod in the hands hardened, Ramlakhan says Where will you go? aapni viradari ko bhul, forgettting own caste, own status ...That son of the cobbler Manwa has been your...now!!!! Ratia can see herself in the firy eyeballs of Ramlakhan. Fire is everywhere in his body. The shadow of Ratia fallen upon the mud made floor of this small room among the sugar-cane jungle around looks like a dying giant to Ramlakhan. Ratia too doesnt make let to pour ghee...an inflammable milk made stuff in the fire. So what...he is a cobbler? Tu kahan ka thakur aya re, how high caste you are!!!! get ashamed i say. Where was your this status when you got him in your farm to grow sugar-cane? How did you do that? You are jealous to him, yes tu jwalta hai usse. Mind your tongue Ratia, daughter of a bitch..nehi to noch lunga teri khal..i will grab out your skin from your body if you go on anymore. Fire comes out from each hair of Ramlakhan...but it just touches Ratia, can not burn her. At every inch of the cleaned farm Manwa has made this standPAGE 45

ing like guards sugar-canes a jungle. And he and Ratia started playing hide and seek among the sugar-cane for the first time in life. Still Ramlakhan throws away his burning heart to Ratia I dont want sugar-cane, i dont want. When my daughter wanna go away from me, what will i do with the cane? Whats there in cane...i will be roaming for another twenty years....I say again, you will not go anywhere, will not, never Ratia. Ratia, right then lifts up his large box made of tin. Making a quake in the room around Ramlakhan shouts Stop Ratia, stop here i say. Stop here. Thunders fall down outside in the cane garden. It sounds more harder in their ears. With a buzzy sound the sides of the old windows get closed. The full rainfall starts highspeed drumbeat with the shouting of Ratia I will go, i must go. Tu jwalti hai meri baap, you are jealous my dad. Keep your sugar canes with you. Will not be able to do anything even will not let anybody to do. Stop me if you can. Before Ratia finishes Ramlakhan starts beating her with the rod like a mad. Rod after rod, again rod...rod and rod..broken wind with the painny cry of Ratia gets all around quaky and quaky. The red fury of the rod leaves red spots on all her body. And with the reply with the painny cry of Ratia Ramlakhan goes on shouting with the primitive hit of the rods. He goes on and goes on. Beat me up, as you like beat me up, let me see how much do you love your daughter? Mar le ek murdeko, beat up a dead, its not easy to beat a living one, beat me up, i am already dead. Only these words Ratia can utter at this stormy beatPAGE 46

ing. Ramlakhan feels the storm outside gets intense with his rods on....thunder got deeper. He felt the sound of rods even in his own heart. Suddenly his sixty years old chest started tremendous lubb-dubb. Suddenly he throws away the rod, comes outside hold the bamboo post there and started crying with endless tears Ratia, no one can strip me off my sugar-cane. I could do nothing, nothing i could do. The dream of my cane in Dankour is lost now... The doors of the far back behind his back opens.Ratia comes out. The same large tin-box in her hands. Steps forward one by one to his father. Then takes out a clothen-bag of coins from her waist and throws down to his fathers feet. The cry of Ramlakhan then get fader going upwards and upwards in the sky...in the sky. I didnt want money. But what can i do, cane cant full my stomach. I played in the cane farm from my childhood...but my stomach never said...Lakhan, come on, come on, i am here for you, come on. It seems a stream of weepings floating over his heart for the last sixty and sixty years. He looks in front with tearful eyes. The rain drops falling down along the standing sugarcanes in a row. What a snap is there in his lip? His eyes turns left where a few rows of canes gets wet with the raindrops as standing holding their hands upwards. Raindrops comes down along their bodies through heads. A glance of smile rises up in the eyes of Ramlakhan. He loses his balance with the games of tears and smiles frequently every now and then. His eyes turn right. There also cane and water, cane and water. Lakhan
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comes down with short dhoti... white cloth and dirty t-shirt there.....rushes and holds and hugs all the canes there with his arms...rainfall gets more and more....more..more and more...intense and intense. 8162 down Purushottam Express....buzz of whistles sounds from that unknown far-away place. Again dumping all tears in am moment he comes back on the platform and stands with the green signal light...goes on moving left and right...left and right...left and right. Again an intense new quake started shivering within Lakhna. But it couldnt get out bursting the heart tearing the wrapper of the winter comfort...In the sky over this small world of the smallest place of Dankaur. Many...many days ago..the snaps of the kid-days comes over his eyes and the heart within moment and get lost within moment. Thousands of sugarcane standing holding their hands up and up acre after acres, wet with sunshine in the summer and with water in the rainy season. At a par with the bit of the nature Manwa, Saonri, Rajan, Ramveer cut sugarcane and heap on the bullock cart. Sitaram carter drives the cart..says...hey go on , go on...and gets lost at last in the horizon. All these hangs over are still fresh and quaky in the eyes of Lakha. Mixing the sugarcane juice with his life he made himself slippery many days ago. Many days ago....that time...when this gigantic vehicles didnt start running over this iron ways. But after.....all at once....all happened suddenly....coming of railway tracks, running of the trains, running away of the peoples from the fields with sickles, then returning jungle of faces with deep frustration. Lakhna couldt not even know what happened between his father
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and the station master in a summer night talk. One fine morning he saw all sugarcane are in the farm of the station master and in his house, there came Bindia. Ratia came in her womb...Ratia grew up...many...many rains and winters came and came, Ghutghutia businessman came from Delhi to spread fertilizer in the sugarcane field, tearing the heart of the old platforms of Dankaur...one after another...went away...Poorva, Purushottam, Gomti and Lichchhabi express....since last sixty....last sixty years....Lakhna is still shivering up. Hanging all the sugarcane in the hearts moving on the green light...a little green sunshine. Couldnt manage the leave, Lakhan. Master got angry when heard of the one month leave of you. Lakhna turns back to see, station boy Rupkumar. Rupkumar went on You are a fool too. How you act? what you are to do with one month leave! You dont have even your wife, as you can even at this old age....... Rupkumar rang the bell hard. It hammered in the in of the heart too. Rupkumars words went on passing over the ears of reluctant Lakhna. Lakhna in fact is a mad. Otherwise no one could miss this chance. Ten thousands rupees is not a matter of joke! Only a few acres of lands. Bharat master would have made his bright future if he would get it from Lakhna. If he wished, Lakhnas job would have been a permanent one in Meerut railway station. New job could not be got may be, but a government job-paper he could have got....he could have had some money.... ....with Rupkumars words his jaws got harder. Suddenly he answered roughly
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 I will grow sugarcane. I never got leave. It is the time now, i must get it. Since last twenty years, i couldnt even touch my field, i must get it, he will have to give...i say. With the jaw, eyes got as stones. Rupkumar looked at him with wondering eyes. Lakhna goes on I will go. No leave, so what? I will go, i will dig the land and grow sugarcane. I will not sell it to the master. I dont want money, i will grow sugarcane. I must get leave, he will have to give it. He must give leave to this Ramlakhan i say, otherwise.... Again the whistle blows up somewhere there. Rupkumar now starts shivering. Down Gomti express gets in the platform with its thirty two compartments. All the platform starts shivering. Rupkumar shouts at a par with the sounds of the train You are gonna die Lakhna i say. If Mr. Pandey gets angry, nothing will remain. Have you ever thought how will you arrange Ratias marriage? You are lucky, had been working so far without paper. What this sugar cane has given you? It has snatched your wife, your Ratia, everything you had. What will you do now? How will you live? If this paperless job vanishes, how would you live, what will you eat?...only sugarcane!!!! The macabre sounds were echoing still then in the cement bench, in the billboards of the platforms. Dankaur station was still shivering with the collisions between the train-wheels and the tracks. Ramlakhan only cries...only goes on crying.... The train passes away. Within a fraction of second, the station gets silent. Rupkumar comes closer to him slowly and says Listen to me Lakhna, i say, listen to me. Dont gamble with the future. Lankhan...life is so vast and we are so small.
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Lakhan grabs Rupkumar in his arms and chest. Rupkumar lifts the signal lights and hands it over to him. Lakhan...again..stands at the side of the platform...moves that little green sunshine...left and right...left and right...now it is the turn of up Brahmaputra Mail. Two shadow figures...at the other end of the platform are standing, in a misty darkness Lakhan looks there, watches hazy there...Ratia and Manwa. Thy had been hazy to him for all the life, all the time...from close...from far, or Lakhna never tried to look at them rubbing his eyes for clarity. In fact old eyes can never be eagle eyes. In the lanes and by lanes of Lakhnas heart...a clumsy and distable point has been jumping jumping haphazardly. Like a machine, the light of green sunshine still goes on moving hanging from his hand left and right...left and right. Lakhna steps forward to that other end of the platform...towards the still, standing two shadow figures. His whit hairs of hands get stood up and stood up. The more he goes ahead the more the shadow figures get clearer. Gradually it gets the shape...Ratia...black saree...unstitched woman ware...up to the knee..rough...without any hair oil, the discolored hairs...Manua by side...short dhoti...unstiched men ware...kept trunk down...and a bunch of sugarcane, just lifted from the field....they are standing around that bunch of sugarcane...only sugarcane has harmonized the rhyme of their lives forever. Thinking all these Lakhnas eyes grows red..jaws grow harder...with speedy steps he tries to enter into their sugarcane circle. Go, wherever you want, wherever you like. I dont have anything with it. But i say you Manua, return my sugarcane, dont touch it. Sugarcane of my own field, you dont have
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any write to have it. I want to say, go to hell...go to that Manwa, but return my sugarcane i say. Manwas hard body jerks. He leans down on the earth, lifts up the sugarcane and stand still with hard eyes. Ratia looks at Manwa at once and then his father. With a shouting mood Lakhan says Manwa, listen to me, take my child if you want, but return my sugarcane. Dont touch there, i swear in the name of my field...return my sugarcane. Ratia and Manwa looks straight at Lakhans pupils. It was full of tears...and in that..thousands of shadow images of sugarcane and sugarcane. They moves their eyes. Suddenly a robust wind hit them. Lakhan feels, only...only for this sugarcane they went away from him....they dont know where to go...leaving their own home...only for this sugarcane. With a calm and hard voice Manwa says What you can do with this sugarcane! Make all rotten, dont love your own life? Ratia speaks with the same bit The man who cant love his own child, can never love the sugarcane. Lakhan keeps down the green sunshine. Two drops of tears fall down upon the platform from his eyes, but what value it has in this ocean of the human lives! From far...Up Shramjeevi Express blows up its whistle. Red light lites up in the opposite signal post. Just like a machine man Lakhan goes ahead to the post. The train enters into this tiny halt station and stops at last...they get up. Again whistle whistles. The train sets off. One after one compartment passes over his eyes. At last the last compartment also passes over his eyes for the last time...tearing the
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chest of the sugarcane field...towards the horizon. Ratia gets lost into the horizon...Manwa gets lost into the horizon...one bunch of sugarcane gets lost in the horizon. ....The same snap passes before Ramlakhans eys...Ratia and Manwa looks straight at Lakhans pupils. It was full of tears...and in that..thousands of shadow images of sugarcane and sugarcane. They moves their eyes. Suddenly a robust wind hit them. Lakhan feels, only...only for this sugarcane they went away from him....they dont know where to go...leaving their own home...only for this sugarcane. With a calm and hard voice Manwa says What you can do with this sugarcane! Make all rotten, dont love your own life? Snaps after snaps...goes on and goes on...Ramlakhan reminds the same snaps.... Two shadow figures...at the other end of the platform are standing, in a misty darkness Lakhan looks there, watches hazy there...Ratia and Manwa. Thy had been hazy to him for all the life, all the time...from close...from far, or Lakhna never tried to look at them rubbing his eyes for clarity. In fact old eyes can never be eagle eyes. In the lanes and by lanes of Lakhnas heart...a clumsy and distable point has been jumping jumping haphazardly. Like a machine, the light of green sunshine still goes on moving hanging from his hand left and right...left and right. Lakhna steps forward to that other end of the platform...towards the still, standing two shadow figures. His whit hairs of hands get stood up and stood up. The more he goes ahead the more the shadow figures get clearer. Gradually it gets the shape...Ratia...black saree...unstitched woman ware...up to the knee..rough...without any hair oil,
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the discolored hairs...Manua by side...short dhoti...unstiched men ware...kept trunk down...and a bunch of sugarcane, just lifted from the field....they are standing around that bunch of sugarcane...only sugarcane has harmonized the rhyme of their lives forever. Thinking all these Lakhnas eyes grows red..jaws grow harder...with speedy steps he tries to enter into their sugarcane circle. ....All around get silent. ......Entire Dankaur goes for sleep. Lakhan turns back. ...puts down the green sunshine on the earth... .......then tries to cross over the railway tracks. ..........Walks down into the sugarcane field... .......walks down the way.... ........walks down the way.....

TRIP, I Can only say that I can only loose myself when I read your story. You would be the wonderful penner in coming decade, Of course a powerful writer and creator you are.

CELROSE CARAVAIO, LIT WORKER, GUYANA

THE STORY HAS BEEN PUBLISHED IN TRIPVILL

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LOST TO GET CIVILIZED

NUDE SWIM NITE

Droplets ...................after droplets...droplets after
droplets....drizzling and drizzling. That bluish water...fade and fader, a little fader and misty than the faces of Jibon Mal, Modhusudan Sutradhar and Mokbul Islam...more misty than them. This side the water is muddy whitish. Yet the border between blue and white water is clearly visible. Bearing one earth of pain, agony and frustration the river Ganga has been calm and extremely silent here. She was coming down along the cliff with her own mind to get lost in the ocean. Wouldnt know, meeting would be here. Gushing river Ajay was coming from the west..touching and touching many a police station on its both bank. Right here he met and got lost in Ganga. The blue border along the chests of white and bluish water is still bright and glittering here. What a wonder! Four..and four pieces of the earth is gazing at the horizon
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touching this meeting point here...since thousands of years. The town Katwa..thousands of years this side, That Ketugram of Bardhaman that side...a little to the north..there is Murshidabad made by the nawab Murshidkuli, the ruler of eighteenth century. On the right bank, Nadia of Mahaprabhu Chaitanyadeva. Droplets after droplets...droplets after droplets....drizzling and drizzling...on the water lipped faces of these four pieces of the earth. .....Now its raining on the asbestos roof of Rachikopa police station here on this bank in Katwa. It sounded as raw rices are being scattered on the roof in government venture. Muslim slums with a few hundred houses, reddish like railway track control cabin supported however by old asbestos, weak fencing, tin roof sprouted there around. The fat cable ware has entered the office of the police officer in charge crossing over the rotten, and thick muddied drains...blowing fatal odor around everywhere. .....Drizzling inclined droplets of the rain, hit by the northern wind floating across the river Ajoy... getting hit with the window glass of the Janbijli police post..flowing downward...along the glass... like a few drops of tears.The houses for peoples security here are all around. Just a few steps towards the river Ganga...a public telephone booth attached with a grocery shop. From the bird nest shops on the both sides of the field way dividing the evergreen forest here...tasty fragrance of fast foods like potato fry, and candies coming in. The sweet fragrance rushes towards that police post when the noon gets over....where the water has touched thousands of peoples. Drops of rains of northern wind hit falling down over a large
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circumference on earth. The face of the districts of Nadia and Murshidabad getting fade from that side of the wrapper of raindrops.Two more police posts are there, Jalpiari and Jalkuchi. Ploughing field or vested land up to the horizon around. Everything fader in the wrapper of raindrops. Gazing at the police posts the bank slices are breaking down and falling into the river day in and day out. On the banks soils make open its large mouth....larger...getting larger ..like large caves along the banks. Lakhai, Sameer, Jibon, Fulkoli, Shiuli...from the banks...throwing down the bunches of paddy straws upon the small boats on the river knotted with the banks there. Boats are waving. Ganga meets here Ajay. Droplets of rains, boats hired from the local administrations, boats filled up with burdens and burdens, breakage and falling down of the bank slices, digging up sands from the mid-river...all these surrounded by four police posts, whose four halogen lights will blow on at the dark night. Four flows of lights from the four corners will meet at a point over the rivers in the sky. Then lights will scatter over the four pieces of the earth..over Ganga and Ajay. It will glitter...the endless borderline between the muddy white Ajay and bluish Ganga. The last glow of afternoon is heading towards an evening. Everything getting fader. With three small upward jumps Jibon comes up on the bank from the boat. Tears apart the pouch of the country smoking sticks. Getting a mouthful of smoke out, getting his loongie, single stitched cloth for lower, up and knotted Jibon sits halved on the bank. Then says Oye, stop it, stop, nothing to full the boat any more, it will drown. Son of Badal Mondal he is, will not take so much
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straws for making his own loss. Shiuli was arranging the bunches of paddy straws on the boat here and there. She replied Oh..whats of you! Sell paddies and then get lost. It may make a few coins if these are sold, I am fed up with your lecture. Evening comes and I cant find you anywhere. You get vanished. I told you many times, why dont you clear all to Panchu Das? Jibon gets a little annoyed with Shiuli What can I do? know? what can I do? what Panchu Das will do? what do you know? Second officer of Janbijli handcuffed Khaled yesterday. His wife got at Panchu Das. Panchu said...why are you so scared? They have done their job. How would they feed their kids? Not to do their job, your job can go away. Shiuli stands up with straight waist. Then she gets eye to eye with Jibon.Faded darkness still not darker then too. Gets up at the bank making her whole body just like a question mark. Sits beside Jibon. The river was still murmuring then. She gazes at the flow of the water and throws away the question How would you live this way fleeing every time? If has to to the zail, just murder and go. It has been three times with it. Again they will catch you, I know. Suddenly the in of Jibons chest quakes again. He looks at the silent flow of Ganga. TWO Sudan reset his hat on head well. Got out the piece of paper from the folded clothlet with his waist and threw his torchPAGE 58

light on it. Then drove his eyes on that paper...the bail from the Jalkuchi police post. Much money. He gazes at the peak of the Jalkuchi police post far from here across the field from this side of the hazy wrapper of drizzling. Then hides the piece of paper into his hat on the head. Rest three papers are kept at home. The floor of this large boat is full with sands. He picked up sands all day long. Overturns the small bags on the floor again. Sands fall on to the floor. Watches, no...boat of the contractor Dilip Bannerjee is nowhere knotted here. Light winter wrapper, he keeps folded in the polythene bag well. It was not needed in scorching heat in the noon. The hat is only for to prevent the scorching sunshine. He starts picking up the anchor from water and keep it fixed in the freezed sands aside. The boat starts to oscillate. Before the night comes he prepares himself. If he goes along the banks of endless water to the west, there will be his inlaws village. He can get at there within mid-night. Thats very far from the Jalkuchi police post. Sudan sees...from the side of the district of Murshidabad...no...no...thats one...the boat Sundari fleeing to the north....trying its best to have high speed as it can. Sudan sitting in the eastern corner of the boat...looks at...as far the eyes go...towards the line of horizon to the west. Will he go there...towards there? THREE ....Sundari is getting wet in the drizzling. On the chest....Mokbul...driving the boat towards north. With the quaking sounds of the motorboat, the bits are wanting to come out of the heart....like lava of earthquake. Fulkoli
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is in fever. He does not know Fulkoli is well or not now. His blood gets freezed when he looks at the police posts. They have caught Sudan, Jibon, Lakhai...all...even from their home, boat and fields. What wrong have the done? Panchu Das knows well, they didnt have not any wrongdoing. But how long and how will they provide money for getting bail again and again. At a par with the motion of the boat murmuring of the river Ganga getting louder and high in his heart. At far..the scene of the Janbijli police post, he sees and tries to recall...within the periphery of these four piece of earth, did he see Osama bin Laden or not. On the other bank Budhnas brother have gone away for peoples war. But he is in zail now. Then why they have to go on fleeing night after night!! Now this time, let it be seen to face, otherwise.......... It is going on drizzling. Paddy has come in the field after the last rainy season. What would be if Badal Mondals son takes the paddies from them, four sacks of rices are rottening in four police posts. Straws are there a lot, but no one to bye. As a result of the urban dairy hit, milkmen of Ketugram are selling out their cows. Homes and houses are going down in the breakage of the banks of the rivers. He couldnt bye any new cloth in the last Eid. Sudan bought fishermen-net as he is not gonna be in sand job. Where is Jibon now? It is drizzling at a stretch. At the meeting point of the river Ganga and Ajay, four lonely left villages facing upwards are now in moist wind flow and continuous drizzling.
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FOUR Jibons eyes stop there towards the bank field where, a little bit away, his boat is knotted with. His eyes are now at the standing wall of the bank across the ropes, straws and the boat. This place is eaten with the landslide, fallen into the rivers. It has come down a few feet here. Along the body of this cliff, there is a coat of harsh still rhythmic soil. ..Right there along the midpoint of that soil wall a whole is seen. Getting the eyes driven into the whole will show how deep it is! A young fish with all its strength pushing water into that whole. With the flow of the gushing water the fish even sometimes entering into the whole and again coming out with the opposite flow of the water. One time...two times...three times....sixteen times...water entering into the whole. Going on gazing with unmoved eyelashes, sometimes his eyes are itching. He is totally getting wet in rain....still. Thirty one...thirty two...right at the face of thirty three times a slice of earth fall down into the water from the upper part of the whole. Many unknown water creatures came out of that slice and flew into the water. And the fish started to catch them frequently with its mouth and went on eating....then got lost into the deep water. Darkness already came down upon the chest of the river that time. The halogen light at the peak of the Janbijli police post just lit up. Jibon might have been lost somewhere when watching this fish and soil game. With the halogen lit up he turned back at once. He was feeling himself as strenghtless then. And right then, unexpectedly he noticed a police van standing before him. Two constables came down from the vehicle fast and caught him holding his hands from both side.
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Jibon didnt go to resist even. Didnt try to escape. Shiuli also knows everything. Mokbul, Lakhai, Sudan..all realize. So, just like a strength less creature he surrender into their hands. Come up, son of a bitch..they addressed him and got him up into the van. Jibon sat down there. Water flow was coming down upon the vehicles floor along all his wet body. He smiled a little in his mind. Then thought, going and coming back again from home to sit here...plan is successful. Behind all the eyes of the polices, he touched his own waist and tried to feel where the stuff is there OK or not. The rain now is heavy, the wipers are getting up and down along the windshield. Halder, how many? The first officer asked in a harsh voice. Thirteen over sir, in so morning today..seems lucky. Me second officer? he asked again. The second officer started counting with fingers and then told Two getting short sir. Getting out at very morning tomorrow, will make it fifteen and will balance it. First officer cautioned Haldar, mind it, Superintendents order, we must submit three hundred miscreants every month or forget about your promotion, understand? Getting his own face spoilt, second officer expressed annoyance over his talks. Then with a little courage uttered How can I get three hundred criminals every month in such a small police post jurisdiction? The first officer bended his eyebrow and said Damn it, catch, whatever and however you can, catch whom you see. Everyone is criminal. Let him prove that he is not a criminal, over, they will be released. Opposition party is saying that criminals are overcrowded in this area. What can the governPAGE 62

ment do? They have to maintain credibility to the peoples. They will be release after a few days, but our promotions will be OK too. The second officer looks at Jibon once. Jibon was sleeping taking support of the wall of the van. With open mouth he is sleeping. Haldar said But who will give these thirteen three za thirty nine complains to police? Who I will say to complain? The first officer said Give money and get all. I will show the way of self help project. Ques after ques will be there in our post. All of them started laughing at the moment. So far, till now, the fish already digged adeep the bank. Suddenly Jibon quakes. Digging from the bank of Nadia...one after another...Murshidabad, Bardhaman...all the underground it has already made hollow by digging and digging and digging. This large, spreaded piece of earth is loosing balance, moving here and there. It may slide down the deep earth any time, only in one moment. May be cracked and cracked getting isolated from the rest of the universe. This town, village, police van, Mr. Haldar, bank of the river, police post, boat, government, opposition...everything may slide down at any moment into the earth. ...Suddenly he awakes. The van braked. He saw a glow sign board from this side of the wet and sunk windshield...Jalkuchi police post. It was then raining cats and dogs. Going across one and half kilometers from the bank of the river Ganga across the deserted field...Jalkuchi police post. The post is standing spreaded at the ground floor of a fade
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color old house. On the land opposite to the police post, a few boats full of salt, baby foods, coal are kept as hostage. From far a mild music is coming blown from somewhere This is our country, save our country. A few bicycles and bikes are passing by. A few peoples with gray uniform are smoking hard sitting at the front room of the post. An armed guard is sipping into the cup of tea, standing at the entrance. Yet..four known faces are sitting at the long corridor in front of the front room with a couple of high and low benches. Everyone has pads of forms with them. A long que is waiting. Everybody, one by one keeping their currency notes on the table, giving their signatures or thumb impressions on the pad forms and then going out of the que. Then entering into the front room. One is complaining again another and vise verse, one after another....one after another. What a wonder! All the faces are known, but they are not criminals. Mokbul of Hogalgram, Sudan of Katadanga, Lakhai and Fulkoli or Telipara. Everything is going out of brain of Jibon.....O my God, Fulkoli is also here! Under heavy shower, two constables pulls him into the corridor...under the roof. Then make him stand, crossing the side of the armed guards, before those known faces. For a while Jibon stands like a dumb and then again tries to feel whether the staff at the waist fold is OK or not. It was like raining all over the universe cats and dogs. It seems the whole around will be flooded. Jibon, with his wet body turns back from the rain and looks at his known faces. Mokbul goes on writing at the fifty third page of the pad Case no. 553/04, Date 09/11/2004, Name- Jibon Mal, Name of the father- Late Haricharan Mal, Address- Hakimgunj,
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P.o. Ketugram, Bardhaman, Age-38, Educational qualification- Higher secondary, Marital Status- Married, ProfessionCultivation. Now Mokbul takes up the notes from the high benches, hands it over to him and says Give it to the room aside. With the counterpart of the form....Jibon enters into the room like a senseless creature. Hands over the money and the form to the officer in charge sitting there. Dirty tables, dirty telephones of the primitive time with round dial system. Jibon sees an aquarium set on a few files left old and yellowish...so many colored fishes are there. Swimming with joy. They dont have to look for foods. They are fed. They dont have to look for the banks, dont have to flee....only have to get themselves captivated a little, thats all. The tableman gets his signature and says Its over, now you can go to home. Jibon comes out of the post in very slow bit. Then suddenly starts walking fast towards the field. FIVE .....All around getting flooded in heave rainfall. .....Jibon walks down fast. All his body was quaking. A deep lassitude grasps him gradually. All his body was as getting sunk in the river Ganga and Ajay. The public meeting near the police may have started. Hello..mike testing one..two....three....four...hello.... Jibon is wrapped entirely with rain and walking and walking down. The whole ears seems would be cracked now to him.
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Thousands of fishes are making underground hollow and hollow. My god!!!! give me strength. Sudans brother is now the election candidate. Speeches from the microphone coming in All this area under continuous threat of murder, rape, dacoity friends, but police is moved their hands into their own pockets. We have to be vociferous against this inactiveness. Jibon is running as a mad. Take long air into his lungs. He becomes lonely and more lonely in the dead darkness of the night. Again he tries to run but falls down on earth getting halted his legs in the deep mud and the stored waters before...he falls down on the earth. Effort after effort, trying after trying, at last he gets at the bank of the river by any mean. The sounds of heavy shower up on the chest of the rivers sounds like the great thundering. The speech from far, of Sudans brother Medan We have provide employment to thousands of unemployed. We woulnt let the opportunists to remain in the governmental power. Agent of this opportunist government party Panchu Das, we will have to defeat him. Give strength to the hands of your home-boy Medan. The fulfilled river will likely overflow now. An idol made with water goes on thinking standing on the bank. Boats are filled with water. The flow of the water is also on opposite side. The boat is half-sunk in the water. The single stitched lower of Jibon is being knotted with his leg again and again. ......And right then, Jibon puts off his lower and became entirely nude. Then lean his head down and drives his eyes along legs fingers, ankle, penis, waist. Three halogen lights
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of three three police posts from the three banks fall on him and he feels his nudity, his nakedness. With all his strength he throws his lower away in the water of Ganga. Tears up the shirt in pieces. Now he will swim across the angry Ganga. He becomes mad with an incredible cheers and joy. My God! he jumps into the water. His body goes wavy against many anti currents in the river. A brightening body is swimming across, crossing all the hurdles under the lights of halogens from three corners. From very far, Madan was as shouting Jibon, you also get a pad to write complains. But he doesnt care. He was swimming across the Ganga and Ajay then. He is wanting to get more and more nude. Everything is dark around all. Jibon can recall easily again... On the land opposite to the police post, a few boats full of salt, baby foods, coal are kept as hostage. From far a mild music is coming blown from somewhere This is our country, save our country. A few bicycles and bikes are passing by. A few peoples with gray uniform are smoking hard sitting at the front room of the post. An armed guard is sipping into the cup of tea, standing at the entrance. Yet..four known faces are sitting at the long corridor in front of the front room with a couple of high and low benches. Everyone has pads of forms with them. A long que is waiting. Everybody, one by one keeping their currency notes on the table, giving their signatures or thumb impressions on the pad forms and then going out of the que. Then entering into the front room. One is complaining again another and vise verse, one after another....one after another.
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....After an havoc swimming he stood up on the bank of Ketugram. Once he looks at the Ganga and then again drives his eyes along his own leg, ankle, knee, penis, waist and chest...he watches minutely. What a wonder! If you get nude, you can swim well. Then ...turning his face aside.....turning his body aside....only the witness is the halogen tower. In heavy shower...wrapping his whole body with water....mud...soil....garbage....he is running nude...running entirely nude. Jibon is still running now....... Jibon is still running now......

TRIP, What a wonderful job you have done!!! Civilization has really been figured out with your pen. I am very much impressed by your fictions. Waiting to get more and more.

ARMEN GAKAVIAN, CRITIC, AUSTRALIA

THE STORY HAS NOT BEEN PUBLISHED SO FAR.

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TRIPTAYAN.....a traveller in the universe as he thinks himself and as others feel him. He is the traveller in the universe of Novel, Short story, fiction and Cinema. In fact all have been overlapped in a special deity in his mind and creation. Everybody can find him out special way where he lives in , that is his creation. He believes that TIME has also a figure. He believes that there is an active phase between sub-concious and un-concious human mind. He believes in global village. TRIPTAYAN is already a known creator in the massive web-world. His works basically deals with three different conceptions amalgamated in an unitary way. Those are the conception of TIME, conception of Mind and the conception of Social evolution. He thinks that there is certain stage called infra state of mind between sub and un-concious mind, it is not mystic but something else. His characters roam in this stage. All of his thoughts and actions have been reflected in his work, in his creation. Triptayan Chatterjee was born on the first day of March of 1972 in Asansol, an industrial and multicultural city of India. There he has seen and felt the evolution of life and peoples in a different way. After completion of school and college he got involved in artistic activities. He finished his masters degree in language and literature. In first phase of life he worked as a journalist in print media. Then he started writing short stories in different periodicals along with making films. Fighting lifelong for creation he is going on for next, next and next. In these times he has been creating on. Basically his all activities are in the world of feelings. Only the horizon means to TRIPTAYAN is writing SHORT STORIES, NOVELS, FEELINGS and MAKING FILMS. He is the editor of the online and print international academic journal TRIPVILL.