Jugalbandi-Hoogly to Mahanadi-Selected Short Stories

By International Publishing Centre and UNUS MOLLA, MBA, PHF (TRF-USA)

A spiritual bond Jagannath Sadak , road that connected Calcutta to Puri. A holy route taken by Shri Chaitanya, Guru Nanak , Sant Kabir . The oral history of the pilgrim road is still sung by people of coastal Orissa .

Ruins, old structures silently remind the past nostalgia.

I thought to connect and inaugurate a new literary path where writers from both the states will start a new journey of cultural pilgrimage .

The cult of Maha Kali and Lord Jagannath spiritually evoke the spirit of religious togetherness . The mysterious manifestation of deity power attracted people of both the states to visit the auspicious temples from ancient times.

I sincerely hope the selected short stories will be engaging read .

I thank the esteemed contributors for their unconditional support for this project.

Jugalbandi -Hooghly to Mahanadi,which holds the emotional ties and reflects people to people relationship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: International Publishing Centre
• Release date: Feb 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393514053

International Publishing Centre

            Moumita Bahubalindra spent her childhood at historical place Moyna Garh. She had born in Kolkata. Her Educational qualification are. M.Sc, D.EL.ED., PhD . She has complited Diploma course in Computer from Webel and also complited the " Bachik Sudhakar" Degree in  Recitation. Her subject is anthropology. She is a Teacher, Poet and Journalist. She has written Poems, News, views in the different magazines and Newspapers.  She was Associated  with "Kalantar", " Jago Bangla", "Biswa Bangla", "Ekdin" etc newspapers. She has attended the program of F.M and "Ananya" program of D.D.-7. She has recited poems at 'Sishir Moncho', 'Nandan', "West Bengal Banbla Acadamy", 'MadhuSudan Moncho', 'InduMati Hall' of Jadavpur Univercity. She has published two Books namely " Samuderer Nil Swapna" "ChandraDhanaya". She was awarded with 'Vivekjoyti Samman' from Channel Vision, Sera Samman -2018 from All India Legal Forum of New Delhi, Kisore Kumar Award from Kolkata.    She has got a certificate from Asiatic Society regarding 'Manuscript Reading' and associated with many Social works.  She has own Magazine "The Tadanta News".She has working Experience from West Bengal State Health Projects. 

Book preview

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JUGALBANDI

Mahanadi to Hooghly-Selected Short Stories

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Unus  Molla ,MBA, Paul Haris Fellow

JUGALBANDI

Mahanadi to Hooghly-Selected Short Stories

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Unus Molla

Chief Editor

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International Publishing Centre

20/2B, Camac Street, 1st Floor, Kolkata-700016

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Chief Editor’s Note

Jugalbandi –Hoogly to Mahanadi the selected short stories  is a book of new dimention . The essence of the selected short stories are connected with our day to day life and meaningful.

The readers will enjoy all the stories in this book on diverse modern  situations.

This book will win the heart of all readers around the world ..

With lots of love,regards and happiness,

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Unus Molla ,Chief Editor

International Publishing Centre

& Culture World-International Magazine

Introduction to the Book

A spiritual bond Jagannath Sadak , road that connected Calcutta to Puri. A holy route taken by Shri Chaitanya, Guru Nanak , Sant Kabir . The oral history of the pilgrim road is still sung by people of coastal Orissa .

Ruins, old structures silently remind the past nostalgia.

I thought to connect and inaugurate a new literary path where writers from both the states will start a new journey of cultural pilgrimage .

The cult of Maha Kali and Lord Jagannath spiritually evoke the spirit of religious togetherness . The mysterious manifestation of deity power attracted people of both the states to visit the auspicious temples from ancient times.

I sincerely hope the selected short stories will be engaging read .

I thank the esteemed contributors for their unconditional support for this project.

Jugalbandi -Hooghly to Mahanadi,which holds the emotional ties and reflects people to people relationship.

Culture World Publishing would continue to publish interesting e-books and flip book version . Your support and cooperation are our strength.

Happy reading .

Santasree Chaudhuri

Award Winning social entrepreneur, women's rights activist,, poet, poetry film maker, Founder trustee Green Tara Social Initiative,Chairperson International Women's Short Film Festival ,Adviser to culture world editorial board,Literary Editor and curator -Jugalbandi -Hooghly to Mahanadi

CONTENTS

KALINGA  Page  No

1.Metamorphosis-Paresh Kumar Patnaik  8

2.Just For A Living-  Sahadev  Sahoo  14

3.The River - Bijay Nayak  32

4.The Floral Coronets-Gourahari Das  40

5.The Beloved- Puspanjali Kar  52

6.The Soft Pain-Dr. Hiranmayee Mishra  55

7.The In-laws‘ Place- Chirashree Indrasingh  61

8. Confession- Dr. Mousumi Parida    77 

9. The Wooden God-Swapna Mishra  84

10. A Game of Words-Dr Jayanti Rath   91

11.Monica-Mahasweta Sahoo  96

12.Hunger-Mousumi Das  103

CONTENTS

BANGA  Page No.

13.Bhajan Ram‘s Last Night-Dr.Sanjukta Dasgupta  108

14.The Verandah- Nishi Pulugurtha  115

15.Rose Shawl-Anjana Basu  118

16.Man and Apocalypse- Ketaki Datta   123

17.The Race- Dr. Someeta Das  128

18.Festival of AColour.Prof.RituparnaKhan   133

19.Connecting with Roots-Avizit  Dutta  136

20. Greenscape-Dreamscape-Nabanita Sengupta  139

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KALINGA

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1.Paresh Kumar Patnaik

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Metamorphosis

Many a time I have dreamt of my metamorphosis into a sheep. Often, I felt, grey fur was germinating all over my body; ears becoming unusually long; and face- getting pointed like the animal. Horns sprouting on my head; hands transforming into hind legs; and a tail evolving at the rear. And finally, I am getting metamorphosed into a beautiful sheep with a surprising voice, tender body and innocent looks.

The dreams of becoming a sheep had obsessed me simply because I had an indomitable desire to perform in a play. I’ve spent number of sleepless nights watching operas followed by coloured water consumed like liquor during the day time and fought with sword made of bamboo strips. At that moment I considered myself to be the best actor in the world. Despite suffering enough thrashes from my parents and teachers, I used to wear a moustache painted black with dirt of earthen-pots; and smear my face with chalk dust-all in my passion to make myself the best actor. Of course, I was a student at the lower primary school at that time.

Just about then, the elderly students of our school were going to perform a play, named "Panchayatiraj.’ The rehearsal was done in the class-room every afternoon after the study hours. Since we didn’t have the right to enter the rehearsal room, some uncouth boys and I chose to peep through the large window of the room, and were content witnessing the performance going on inside the room.

A quite significant scene in the play has left an indelible imprint in my mind till now. The scene was of two villagers engaged in a conversation in the village street. One was returning from the market with a sheep; while the other one would enquire him about the sheep. The conversation included discussion on matters like how much the sheep cost him; how much meat it would produce and the like.

During the rehearsal, the villager returning from the market always enters without any sheep whereas the other artist enquires him making gesticulations in the air. How much it cost you? The first artist throwing a look at an imagined sheep, replies, Thirty rupees only, Is it very much? So and so forth, the scene progresses even though no sheep is present there.

Such an unrealistic performance perhaps disgusted the director, who once exclaimed, Get a sheep here, the rehearsal lacks reality. Madhubhai, a student of the eighth classes, playing the role of the market-returned villager,

threw a glance at the hungry spectators at the window, and said, Come anyone to play a sheep. And I grabbed the rare opportunity to give a performance. Even though it was not the role of a King, or a warrior; it was enough that I was given a role to play - I rushed to the stage of the rehearsal, and knelt beside Madhu Bhai in a crawling posture.

Sarat Bhai, playing the role of the other villager asked with his finger indicated at me, How much meat it would produce? Remembering the dialogueMadhu Bhai, replied, Have a look at it yourself.

Holding the straps stitched to my half-pants, Sarat Bhai carried me on to the middle of the stage. I dangled in air for a few moments.

The next day, I was granted a passport to enter the rehearsal room. Ignoring all my friends, I could enter that room. I was trying to play the role of the sheep flawlessly. At that time I felt as though I was actually getting metamorphosed into a sheep. I had been trying to improvise my performances each day, and make it flawless till the play was staged. Even, I once tied a rope around my neck and thrust one end of it in Madhu Bhai’s hand . Once I chewed a bunch of grass. The other day, I bleated like a sheep. Some other day, I even circled round Madhu Bhai till my knees bled. I had to labour very hard for the role of a sheep. I was verybmuch enthusiastic about it because it was only the beginning: the beginning of the life of an artiste.

I was able to extract special honour from my friends simply because I was playing a role in the drama. Even the senior students asked me about my participation in the play, and I replied with a feeling of pride. Junior students talked among them behind me, "Know him? This boy is playing a part in the drama!: I considered myself blessed. Without giving anybremark, I only smiled.

You will see guys! Wait till the day the play is staged. You wiII see my artistry; the excellence of my acting! That day will see the onset of the acting career of a great artist. Eventually, the day arrived when the play would be staged. I entered the green-room  carrying in my bosom all pride and feeling of respect due to an actor. But alas! Nobody showed me even the slightest respect. While surveying the green-room, I suddenly discovered a bulky sheep there. Infuriated, I ran to Madhu Bhai. It took quite some time to find him out: in fake beard and make-up, all familiar faces looked strange.

Why has the sheep come here?was my surprised query.

Displaying his false moustache Madhu Bhai replied, I will take it to the stage.

And me...? My voice was getting moist with pity while uttering these words. Madhu Bhai only smiled, gave a bunch of grass to feed the sheep.

My dreams crumbled to pieces; I turned speechless. My whole being was getting overwhelmed with a storm of grief. I felt thrown away from the green-room. How would I show my face to my friends? What will be the future of this artist?

The play was staged as scheduled. In the due time, the sheep moved up to the stage. I watched the scenes beside the wings. The scene set fire in my blood. I wished, I would jump to the stage and strangle the sheep to death.

Now the sheep is on the stage. Its neck-rope is in Madhu Bhai’s hand. He is now in the role of a villager. The low voice of prompting comes flowing from the wings. Madhu Bhai, recalls the dialogue- Er! Just coming from the market.

Sarat Bhai, in the role of the other villager, points his finger at the sheep, and asks, "How

much it cost you?"

The sheep had got scared to see such a huge audience. It had even twice attempted to break the rope tied to its neck; and making frightened bleatings. It passed filth on the stage. The stage burst with thunderous clap of the audience at this moment; and the sheep ran away.

I was much delighted. Had I played that role, all these accidents would never have occurred. I silently rebuked actors and directors. Get the lesson now. Suffer the consequences of not letting me play the role. The play has already been spoiled.

The following day my friends were discussing whose part had been the best. I intruded upon the discussion and said. Do you know, whose role was the worst?

Whose? All asked in one voice.

The sheep’s. It could never play the role of a sheep. How beautiful the scene used to be during our rehearsals. I remarked. Friends, without understanding my point, only laughed. I felt humiliated and escaped slyly

Now I felt as if I was getting metamorphosed into a sheep. Horns sprouting on my head: pointed, strong and wild. My forehead gradually getting strong. Indomitable desire for war glowing in my eyes. A wild sheep now I am, ready to attack. A belligerant sheep crazy for destruction with piercing horns.

Now I began running; all along the road. I want war, I want revenge. My adversary is the sheep, that snatched from me my part in the play: wiped away the brilliant future of an artist; the rays of all hope. Obliterated thousands of possibilities. I can never forget all this so  easily. I need to take revenge. I am also a sheep. I also know sheep-fighting. I can also match the steps.

I am a real sheep, wild, vindictive.

I began running.

It was the following afternoon of the day the play had been performed. The stage had not been dismantled completely. No screen, nor any scene. A few cots lay there on the stage. With shorn bamboos and frail mats the stage looked like a furless mangy dog. Three or four people had slept on one corner of the stage that looked quite unpleasing.

I arrived there. And got ready to shout. I was to shout like this; Where is that sinner sheep? or Oh , you devil sheep! If you really have the blood of sheep, come to my front; fight with me.

There was no more moustache below Madhu Bhai’s nose. But he still was muttering the old dialogues. As he saw me, asked; Hey! What happened?

Where is that sheep? - I shouted

Pointing to the other side of the matted boundary Madhu Bhai said, There it is, but everything is finished.

Neither could I understand his words, nor did I have the time to. I rushed to the other side of the mat. A harrowing sight waited for me there.

The severed head of the sheep lay there at a distance. A little blood had drenched the earth.

The fore-legs of the sheep dangled from a tree. And a man, perhaps the butcher, was peeling the hide from it. Gaji  Bhai, who was supervising the process, remarked as he saw me, It’d be more than forty kilos of meat.

I fixed my eyes on the severed head of the sheep. Its eyes were still open; and in their corners, a few drops of tears. Quite pathetic the look in those eyes. Those still eyes still stared at the world, asking questions after questions,- "Why does a sheep take birth in the world? Why does it return to the shed every evening counting its days? Why ever it remains attached to its master?

Why at all it grows up? And reaches a forty kilo weight?"

Gaji Bhai told again, "You are invited this evening....?

I could not hear anything.

Did I really contest with the sheep? Can I ever contest? Can I ever sacrifice the flesh of my body to an evening invitation? Can I embrace the fate of such untimely death after reaching forty kilo of weight? Can I survive the rest of life in this desperate world only to become meat?

Can I really become a  sheep.

Afterwards, I have many times explained to my friends, "The sheep didn’t err that day. It knew its role very well. It knew it had survived only to become meat, to become the element of hunger of human beings.

My friends couldn’t understand anything. Because they  only know belching after a satisfactory eating of the meat.

They had never seen the eyes of the dead sheep. Never saw the tears in the corners of its eyes. Never  encountered  questions of those lifeless eyes. Could they understand if ever they saw/

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Sri Paresh Kumar Patnaik, an eminent story teller and novelist writing in Odia, is well-known for his extra- ordinary style of writing short stories for the last three decades. A recipient of Odisha Sahitya Academy award,

Patnaik has carved a niche for himself with the craft of his story telling. His novels and stories highlight social issues with unique style of humour and compassion. He is a strong voice against religious fanatism and superstitions, while his stories on mythology show new interpretation of mythological characters. He has fifteen story collections and three novels to his credit. Sri Patnaik lives in Bhubaneswar

Translated from original Odia by Ipsita Sarangi ; Harekrushna Das)

2.Sahadev Sahoo

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Just for Living

Hi, Comrade, how are you? Don’t you remember me?

A familiar voice, but he had not heard the voice for many years. He could not see

his face.

He was with his colleagues. It was already seven in the evening when they left

the office. They saw an ice cream vendor standing with his push cart outside the office

gate. One colleague proposed they should have ice cream, and others agreed. A bar

light was fitted to his push cart. Trilochan had stood on the other side of the push cart.

His sight could not penetrate the glow of the bar light to see Trilochan. Having heard

him he went to the other side and said, I had not noticed you. He ordered another ice

cream for Trilochan.

Trilochan said, "I ate bada with curry worth six rupees and also had taken tea

just a few minutes ago." But he did not decline to eat ice cream. Hearing I-just-ate-bada-

with-curry-worth-six-rupees, his colleagues who were in receipt of monthly salary of

rupees ten thousand or more, took pause from eating ice cream, and craned their heads

to have a clear vision of the person who told it.

Trilochan’s one leg touched the