Tales of India: Epic Poems (Of Ancient and Modern Times, Also Other Stories)

By Maurice Gaynor

Tales of India, going back to the time of the British Raj in India from 1857 and after, these EPIC POEMS and Short Stories, based some on ancient myths, and real people who may have existed but are changed here to become fictional characters born of the imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546285465

Maurice Gaynor

Born in India and educated at La Martiniere College, Lucknow, a school that dates back to the days of Indian Mutiny in 1857, when the British rule was first established in India. Emigrated to the UK in 1955, and worked on the Railway in London while he pursued his passion for photography, music, art and writing. After one successful entry for a TV series for a detective story, he became a successful builder and entrepreneur while he continued writing mostly at night, and produced illustrated books for children, also of Devil worship, detective thrillers and historical events, and some poetry.

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© 2018 Maurice Gaynor. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  12/28/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8547-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-8546-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Preface

EPIC POEMS

1.   The Love Of Marta (And Jessie’s Dream)

2.   The Midnight Flyer And Bobby Dolan

3.   The Missionary & The Tale Of Uncle Harvey

4.   Kali: The Goddess Of Death And The Tale Of Harry Knowle

SHORT STORIES AND OTHER TALES

5    The Gate In The Garden Wall

6    Elephant Ride At Marta Koti

7    The Illusionist - And The Glass Box

Acknowledgements

1.jpg

(from an original painting on silk)

With black around their eyes and red ruby lips

They danced and twirled to the music

Of the pipes and the drums

With a sway of their hips.

PREFACE

These epic poems tell the tale of great sacrifice and tragic love stories that some real people have endured in past and present times while living in the great country of India.

The poems have been woven around their lives. In some cases the names have been changed so it is difficult to know where fact and fiction mingle to create the whole picture, but the story of their great love will still remain etched in the minds of all who happen to pass this way and stop for just a brief moment to listen to their tales and ponder for a moment on what might have been and how their lives may have been affected.

The purpose of the books produced by the Sunhapclub, are supplied for charity hoping to spread funds and much needed money to help others who undoubtedly have great need in some of the poorest nations of the world. In this way every time you read a book and put money into a box it goes to help someone somewhere. The choice is yours, but somebody somewhere will thank you, and somewhere in your lifetime the gift will return to you when somebody puts a hand out to help you. This is the helping hand of God.

In this way also it would be a great help if you let us know by just sending an e-mail to the [e-mail] so we know if the message is being effective, and help is reaching the people who need it most There is also a list of the known charities on the last page and some of the good work that they do.

From the SUNHAPCLUB Books for Charity.

E-mail to

[e-mail]

for list of further publications.

2.jpg

RAKHSHANDA

Jessie’s Dream and Marta Koti.

3.jpg

Jessie’s Dream 1857

(from an ancient Indian print)

THE LOVE OF MARTA (AND JESSIE’S DREAM)

THE OLD WOMAN

In the land of Orissa, the ancient district of Monghyr

By the sacred river of Ganga that flows forever to the sea,

There lies a simple cottage, by a small brown lake

By the fields of maize and wheat and rice,

Where Choti the fisherman plies his trade.

And a lone crocodile pants in the dwindling shade.

Now in this cottage lived an old woman

Who lived and loved in a by-gone age.

In the land of the moguls who enveloped the land,

As they swept down from the land of the Kush,

Who built marble palaces and ruled with an iron fist

And yet brought peace with a wave of a jewelled hand,

Let me tell you of a tale from a strange after-world,

Of how one woman loved two men like no other soul,

I don’t know how it came into my keeping,

Of one life for another and a soul gently weeping.

I can only leave you to unravel the mystery beyond,

Of the sacrifice of a lover and a mother’s bond.

This then was the tale I learned on a strange journey,

On a rattling train that shuddered through the night,

That covered the world in an ethereal way

Of thoughts and pictures of no control or flight.

Of love and hardship and enduring passion,

In a manner that no earthly person could fathom

It happened one dull and sultry night

As I travelled by train through the London streets.

A deserted carriage, such was my plight, yet never planned.

A tale that began with a life so discreet,

Mingled with so great a love as I’d ever known,

Yet impossible to conceive, in a far distant land.

I will leave you to judge, if any was to blame,

It was the story of a young maiden from a small border town,

Who fell in love, just like all young maidens claim,

It is difficult to say how or when or where to start.

It is not just that in this life of solemn seclusion,

But only you can be the judge, at the final conclusion.

You see that night I travelled, I thought alone,

Yet opened my eyes to observe my companion,

One grey haired and wrinkled, would call an old crone,

I didn’t see or hear how she entered the compartment,

It was just when I looked up to see her seated there

Grim of visage she held me with an eerie glare.

As one person entered another two left,

Until it was only the old woman

With myself seated nearly opposite.

Her grey hair hung in wisps around her lined worn face.

No thought except truth nor even lies.

I wondered what stories lay behind those dull tired eyes.

WHEN DREAMS TAKE OVER

I watched her eyes roll while her head lolled to one side

With the jerking of the train as it passed over some points,

Then came the drone and the whine of the electric motor

A high pitched sound screwed its way into all conscious joints.

Somewhere in the bowels of the undercarriage under the flap,

While I watched her eyelids close, like a lizard’s, with a snap.

Thus shutting out the dull monotony, perhaps even to dream,

It was catching. I thought, not to succumb, I must confess,

Then even my head began to loll to the rhythm of the tracks.

In a moment, I was in a trance of semi-consciousness,

Like a cocoon filled only with white frothy clouds, it seems,

Barely aware of the heavy crunch of the wheels.

Pictures form within the eye as they appear

To take shape on the window-pane in the grey mist.

Who knows how it happened, but suddenly a hot dusty wind

Was blowing across the plains, bringing the scent

Of spices growing in some forgotten field.

All turns yellow as it passes you by like a spinning wheel.

Gardens appear filled with jasmine and thyme,

And bougainvillea in myriad colours of gold and lime,

Materialize as if from nowhere, carried on the breeze,

Buried deep in the mind, and all around us, as a whole,

Then suddenly it seemed I could read her thoughts,

Like the deep intrigue of her inner soul.

As if from this distant other land she awoke

And suddenly grasped me by the hand.

At first it frightened me, and I drew aback

Even then I could