Whispers of Love in a Tearful World: The Yin of Human Strife, the Yang of Human Love

By Nilayan Basu

Enjoy vivid descriptions of nature, and memories blended with imagination and imagery from the author's personal photo collections in this fanciful new short story collection! Some say that whenever we see or hear something, it is permanently etched in our brains. Sometimes memories return to haunt us, sometimes to amuse us, and sometimes to make us laugh. Sometimes what we see or hear appears in our dreams, obscured and blended with other memories or fantasies. Neuroscience is complex, and the wonders of the human mind are amazing. Nilayan Basu brings this concept to life in his new short story collection. In "Whispers of Love in Tearful World," the tales are imaginary but have distinct ties to real-world events. The natural tendency of the human spirit to seek peace forms the core of Nilayan's soothing, eloquent prose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Oct 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781977221025

Nilayan Basu

Nilayan Basu's love of photographing nature and traveling to exotic places is apparent in his writing. His first book, Ornate Wanders, is a collection of short stories based on real places and circumstances but colored by imagination. Nilayan lives in the Silicon Valley, California, with his lovely family.

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PRELUDE

People say that whenever we see or hear something, it is permanently etched in our brains. What is difficult is retrieving the information when required. Sometimes memories return to haunt us, sometimes to amuse us, and sometimes to make us laugh over weird things in the past. Sometimes what we would have seen or heard obscurely may appear in our dreams, blended with other memories or fancies. Neuroscience is complex, and the wonders of the human mind will continue to amaze us. For now, let us leave the researchers to carry on with their studies in peace, while we delve into our own fancies and fanciful relationships.

How do fanciful thoughts come to us? That will stay as an unsolved puzzle for a while. We love to be in instants of joy at all times where we feel loved and wanted. All our favorite things and wishes, if assimilated, can form the perfect album for us. Each of the individual objects in this assimilation is something from reality, yet placed together, they look like a miracle. For a while, let us get to a few such assimilations through the eyes of the fictitious ‘him’ and ‘her’, with names picked from different parts of the world. These two characters who have never met before and are unrelated, form the first part of this book (Imaginations).

All the stories in the second part of this book (Fictions) are imaginary with no particular person or persons in mind. Some of the stories relate to some significant events or phases in history but the characters are all imaginary. Human beings are inherently peace-loving and know how not to let the candle blow off inside the hut, when the storm blows outside. The deluge of kindness and compassion can douse any fire of hatred.

Imagination

(Walking Across the Globe)

TAHITI TRAVERSAL

The lure of the unknown always has drawn sailors to the southern hemisphere. One gets the same ocean waves, the same sun and the same sky there too, but still something is different. The flora and fauna are not the same down under. Till the influx of the plasma, LCD and LED TV sets, even the TV component design was different, for the simple reason that earth’s magnetic field in the southern hemisphere threw a different spin on the electromagnetic picture tubes. Physics lessons on all these are interesting as the apparent topsy-turvy phenomena of that hemisphere eventually get resolved. The cyclones and anticyclones, ocean currents and even the water down the kitchen sink follow the opposite patterns – what’s clockwise in north is anticlockwise down south and vice versa. And finally, the concept of celebrating new year in light summer clothing and woolen jackets in June is something northerners find hard to reconcile.

The southern Pacific maintains the purity of nature as close to original as possible. Blue sky meets the blue ocean in the horizons with white fluffy clouds, emerald hillocks causing some interruptions on the continuous wide horizon, like the decked-up children eager to grab attention of the grown-ups. The explorers from France, in their romantic quest for Polynesia, discovered the island of Otaheite. That marked one of the farthest boundaries of the French Empire from the seat of power. Over time, Otaheite came to be known as Tahiti. Herman Melville spent a golden phase there and that formed the setting of his classic Moby Dick, bringing the white whale to its deserved glory.

How would the shades of white, blue and green look in unison? Certainly, great for a casual T-shirt, but Tahiti in daytime is an excellence of these three shades. Blue and green are naturally there, and the white sand of the wide beaches with shallow waters add to the shades of blue – turquoise to cyan to lilac. The friendly Tahitians welcome all as one of their kith and kin. One just has to be willing to be a part of them. If a girl asks a boy to dance the traditional dance with her, it is extremely rude to refuse. That’s tradition not romance. That makes every instant here worth living. Forget rules and conventions of the east and the west. Just sink in the warmth of the south. The local diet consists of a very wide variety of fruits and the unique combination comes with the blend of coconut milk.

It has been a week since young Eden came over to this island, accompanied by his backpack. The last few months had been extremely busy, and he had lived to work. Now it was time for living to the fullest, for a couple of weeks. The bits and bytes were not of much significance now; rather he had picked up new skills in shallow water fishing with a net, swimming more at ease like Mother Nature’s son, tearing the coconut fibers, cracking the shell and savoring the fresh water. He loved the small hut made of palm leaves and a bed made out of piled logs and dry coconut branches, topped with coconut fibers. Seemed a bit itchy on the first night, but then it was fine.

Blue, green and white – yes, he was in a white T-shirt, blue knee length denims and a green head cover cloth, gifted to him by the islanders on the day of his arrival. He took it and wrapped on his forehead, resembling one of the Polynesians. The brunch was done, and he sat below a coconut tree inclined over the sea. As he looked up, the childhood fantasies came back – if he could climb that tree to the top and from there plunge into the sea! Blue, green and white – all in abundance, he thought. In the far southeastern horizon were some heavier cumulus clouds bulging slowly. Possibly, in another hour they would transform into cumulonimbus, just in time for an early afternoon shower. And then, the golden sun would come up again – it will be a beautiful evening. He looked around at the horizon, turning towards the country cabins on the sea, or overwater bungalows. He hadn’t seen the pink and red shades since he arrived here and now he could see that too – barely 50 yards away. Iris was standing on the balcony against the bamboo railings, resting her face on her palms, slightly bent forward. The pink dress and a red hibiscus on her hair, she complemented the missing shades of the spectrum. The local people do not own boats – they rather make small dugouts from the coconut logs and leave them on the beach, with a pair of oars – anybody can pick one and row within their boundary ropes. That’s how the taxi industry in the cities might become someday – something free.

He got into one and uneasily rowed towards that bungalow. She had seen him on the beach and recognized he was a visitor but waited to see when he would catch sight of her. Now that was done. Must be fancying sailing around the globe – a part of men wouldn’t ever grow up, she thought as she smiled. It isn’t easy to get down from a boat and tie it to a pillar. With some difficulty he managed to do that as she watched amusingly at his lack of experience.

Come down - we’ll walk here – rather wade. He said.

You come up – nice cozy cushion on the deck – we’ll chat.

For once, he thought, she did not start with a tease. All in a great friendly spirit, always, and that makes all these chance meets more interesting. Staying barefoot is the norm here, and so are they, being Tahitians in Tahiti.

He climbed up the nine-stepped ladder to the balcony platform and stretched flat on the cushion on the floor. A bit awkward a behavior to lie down anywhere as a guest.

May I have a bit of space to sit, please? She queried amusingly.

A bit embarrassed with his own casual approach he sat up and moved to the corner. She sat down.

Being lazy is a virtue in this sunny island. That’s all he could say in his defense. She knew a comment was coming in self-defense, as she looked at him and sighed, with a smile.

You don’t need to justify anything, sir. As they chatted, they floated back in time to and place when they first read Herman Melville, and sometime floated forth to ten years hence.

There is a different charm of chatting relaxed under the sun over the sea sheltered by the infinite blue canopy, with no work to worry about and no chores to fulfil. Just being part of the nature where all changes are slow and continuous – that’s what relaxation is all about. A patch of cloud would occasionally pass blocking the sun and the umbra would cause a mesmerizing light and shade on the clear turquoise water, with the sunny ripples and shade screened on the shallow seabed. She looked at the clouds gently sailing by and remembered her early childhood when she fancied she would someday float with the clouds. He looked at the shadows and remembered the moving shadows of the clouds in September over the green hilly forests around his childhood home.

He took out a pair of green coconuts from his backpack, and with his newly acquired skill to use a short Tahitian axe, chopped off one end, just enough to dig a groove and drink straight from there, and passed on to her. She took it, and once thought of a straw, but then decide to be a Tahitian. He made one for himself. It was past noon, but the sun was slightly less strong for the billowing clouds. And then the wind picked up and whizzed past their chat. Splashes of salt water agitated by the wind was getting them wet.

Come inside – it is calm inside. She said, as she got up. He followed her inside and the chat continued over coconut milk.

Fairies have a way with poems and homonyms, it seems.

She smiled at his compliment though a mild protest seemed to indicate femme ordinaire suited her more, an assertion he was by now habituated to brush off at ease.

So much of nostalgia and at least a couple of hours had passed by. A strong gale blew, and a fairly heavy shower had brought the temperature down a bit. They stepped out to the blue sky and fresh air that brought a mild aroma of myrtle from somewhere after the shower. It was indeed heavenly. She pointed to the northern horizon where a lovely rainbow had formed. The sea was calm again.

Want to go for a boating experience? He asked.

It was indeed a superb proposal. She put on her sunglasses and stepped down as he helped her step in the log-dugout boat. He untied the rope knot from the pole and rowed away from the water bungalow. For an hour, they sailed on the calm waters, watching the glares of the ripples on the white sand seabed. The golden afternoon sun turned reddish on its way down into the ocean.

If all friends could ever sail like this, why would one need to get back to mundane lifestyle of rush hours and meetings and endless planning sessions? Innovation would be in rediscovering friendship every moment, in new forms, in new joys and pleasures. The voyage could go on, and on, and on…

They are convinced that’s the world we all deserve.

PAHARPUR PREMISES

The danger of letting the warriors write about history is that it results into a total aberration of truth and rather a forced dose of toxic curriculum to students. So predictable are history questions on Gupta Empire, or Mughal Dynasty or the administrative genius of Sher Shah Suri. All that is fine, but what about the common man? What about the dark-skinned natives who toiled under the sun to bring prosperity to the region - the farmers, the sentries, the village school teachers, the writers, the artisans and more? Three centuries of so-called prosperity of the mediaeval ages, full of wars, are of importance while four centuries of essentially peaceful times are drafted in just two paragraphs. The prosperity of Bengal was consolidated by none other than the Pala dynasty, and the Mahayana Buddhist traits, on one hand promoted art while on the other hand put the commercial power into the hands of the middle class. No society prospers without a flourishing middle class. Hardly any wars - so irrelevant to the usurpers calling themselves historians too. Tagore had mentioned about the oil lamp that had always quietly burned to illuminate the poor man’s hut, when the storm blew outside. The storm was all that historians cared about, and till recent times, none thought about that lamp that wasn’t blown off, till some economists like Dr. Amartya Sen and Dr. Mohammed Yunus spoke on the economics on poverty. Poverty isn’t glamorous, and both took more than their shares of hatred from their own people, initiated by ‘cheapsters and cheats’ who are adept in counting their own fortunes.

There was once a time when the two Bengals were one. The prosperity resulted into self-indulgence and short-sighted individual interests, leaving themselves completely vulnerable to greedy invaders. The development of the intellectual abundance over two decades, starting from before the Bengal Renaissance, made the region a threat for outsiders who stayed back to usurp nature’s bounties and not to merge into the melting pot. The natives who had faith in peace, quite bewildered, lost their ways. The lost glory would never return - was it this region that Milton had in mind when he penned Paradise Lost? Families torn apart by partition, modest comforts reduced to nothing, blood and intolerance, decadence of culture and an economic disaster of epic proportions - the party was long over. There was of course some resonance between the two lutes played on both sides of the border, as the flute from ‘the other Bangla’ (now Bangladesh) was complemented by the ‘dhaak of epar Bangla’ (drums from the state of West Bengal in India). Hindu or Muslim? Big question, wasting everyone’s time. It was the Buddhist and Vaishnav traits, backed by Sufism that brought love into peoples’ hearts in the one Bengal that once lived, before the seeds of hatred were planted by invaders.

Abhinav had heard of the ghastly times of partition from his grandfather and had understood early on that nothing in life could be taken for granted, not even life itself. He had heard of some dreamland from his grandparents and longed to see whatsoever might be residual now. He had taken the new train Maitri Express and the boat and rickshaw rides to arrive at the district his roots once existed - Bogura, Bangladesh. In his mind was the world’s largest Stupa named Mahasthangarh, in Paharpur. Paradise must be there hidden in the small cave compartments inside. He sat on a small mound looking at the structure, pondering over how the power of truth has protected this monument. Sometimes the vulnerability is the strength - who would rob a penniless monk? Intense feelings were coming into his mind, wave after wave. So much pain and suffering and yet what a bold defiance to the destruction over time!

It was early January but this alluvial plain gets occasional light showers. After the early morning sun was out and so was the clear blue sky. The lush green cover over the red clay walls seemed so refreshing. The sun kisses all of nature to sustain life. Thankfully not too many visitors are interested in this place - the beauty remains. He looked up at the sky to see a few fluffs of white cloud gently floating by. After some time, they looked hazy - he wiped his eyes dry. Who knows why his eyes felt steamy today. A few yards away he saw some scholarly tourists from the West, and also a lady walking towards the caves. In a light straw hat, white top with designer heart shapes in blue, black tights and blue suede shoes, a small jute purse, slow walk - the gaiety made him feel she might be known to him. Why bother others who were in peace, he thought. He dived back into his thoughts. Some time passed, and the urge to be inside the cave took him there. So peaceful there, his eyes closed in comfort, feeling the proximity of his Master - the Man in perpetual meditation on a lotus, who has conquered time.

A chant was playing inside his mind - ‘Om Manipadme hum’.

Abhinav suddenly felt the deluge of all losses he had faced, and before he could ask his Master, he got the reply from Him - it’s all fair. You are a part of the universe. You are also invited in this festival. He didn’t realize, tears rolled down his cheeks.

He came back to the moment, feeling a tap on his left shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up, looking at the fingers, arm to the face - isn’t it the same lady he saw a while back? He looked up and kept looking. Not sufficient light there was to recognize faces.

You look tired. Drink some water. It’s humid here. This voice was confirming to him the familiarity, in the dimly lit cave.

What are you here for, in this remote rural place? He asked.

What brings you here? May be the same reason. She responded.

You meditate?

Why? Is that your sole right? Walking meditation- you heard of it?

No no, why so. I don’t know of many who really do. That’s why just asked.

If you were really meditating, you wouldn’t have felt my presence.

He felt a bit embarrassed. True, he was too overwhelmed with his selfish self and hadn’t cleared his mind for meditation. 

He picked up his backpack. As he started walking out with her, he said, I saw you walking in a while back. Wasn’t so sure it was you again in the cave.

Even if you were sure, you would have ignored.

I don’t know that I would have. But I thought of not interrupting you. When did you arrive here?

Why is that important?

He apologized for asking too inquisitively but couldn’t help asking her if she was liking the place. He came to know her name – Ahona. She was there pursuing her research on mediaeval period cultural centers. Bangladesh wasn’t some place one would instantly get attracted to, without any prior roots. Not all may be impressed by the fact that undying love for the mother tongue gave birth to this nation – possibly the only nation of the world to succeed. 

Ahona and Abhinav walked back to the same place where he was sitting a while back. He was easing up now and was enjoying talking about the childhood days in a small