Of Long Forgotten Dreams

By Suverchala Kashyap

"Stories are fascinating little bits of history that play out in several ways. Sometimes they are reflected as kaleidoscopic refractions that catch one's attention fleetingly and at other times a string of experiences that stay forever. 

Long forgotten dreams, is an endeavour to showcase the alluring tug that I always felt especially

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Mar 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9789360494384

Book preview

I

The Lady from beyond

There are things beyond our ken,

some aspects we don’t reckon.

But they are there all the same,

Churning, finding is part of the game.

Chapter 1

A

mbica Kalna, District Burdwan, seemed like a real back of beyond address after the almost swank and elitist Benson Cross Road, Bangalore.

As he alighted at the fairy tale station, he took in the neat little platform with hardly a soul in sight, a complete contrast to the teeming numbers splashed across the Calcutta station. The great human collage, that, he so often wanted to call it, once viewed was unforgettable. On second thoughts it was not just a human collage, he said to himself, but a montage of man and beast, juxtaposed on the stationscape. An omnipresent, ever-flowing, endless mane...a swelling river as it floods.

The untiring black-yellow beetle-like ambassadors, winding their way through the awesome Howrah Bridge, the pride of Calcutta, were replaced by picture perfect bullock carts that looked right out of Panchtantra. Sinewy, yet reed thin, mahoganied men atop them were a throwback to a different era; that, the two places were just 80 km apart, notwithstanding.

Dusk was beginning to engulf the station, slowly transforming the recognizable and throwing up queer shadows. The last train had just left. Tarrying a while, he moved swiftly to the station-master’s room to be greeted by a crisp dhoti clad, bespectacled, paan-chewing old man, "Kamun accho, Mayjaur Sauhib? (Major Sahib), in the sweet affected Bengali drawl? Aami aapni.... " I was just waiting for you. I knew you would come. Don’t worry, I’ll arrange for your stay soon. But, today you must stay at my place.’’

They walked into the station-master’s storybook office, an impressive relic of the Brit Raj! A steaming cup of tea, in the ubiquitous khullar, was not only welcome, but, brought in a series of feelings that he thought he could well do without, especially in the presence of the stranger. Small talk, exchange of important information, punctuated by the faint tapping of the Morse code contraption and then a quick winding up of the office routine saw them on their way to his host’s house.

That night as he retired to the almost Spartan, but very clean room provided by his local hosts, he immediately fell into a deep slumber. Next morning, he awoke afresh and almost promptly sat down to fervently jot down whatever he could remember from the previous night’s dream, lest he forget the minute details. He was fond of making notes and whenever possible he’d pen it all down in that absolutely illegible scrawl, which only wifey dear could decipher. She’d probably received enough reams from him to have become a handwriting expert by now, he ruminated.

Not one to waste time when it came to writing to his beloved, he shot off a long letter to Bangalore.

He thought of his three little brats back home and felt secure in the fact that his son was now a responsible little boy, who could take fairly good care of his mother and two little sisters. He worried just a little though, about Minal, his gorgeous wife. She loved him dearly he knew, but, in many ways she was naive and was on several occasions unable to ward off the undue attention that came her way from the most obvious quarters. He smiled inwardly, as he remembered all those times when his junior and senior officers almost gawked, on first meeting her. No one could escape her charisma, he the least.

Except for the queer dream, Dhiren spent a comfortable night at the hospitable Gangulys. The station-master was an honest god-fearing man and his wife Sanjyukkta was an excellent cook and perfect homemaker.

The moment was, as if, frozen in time, as Sanjyukta served him a generous helping of the delicious egg-plant, made especially for his vegetarian taste ‘ buds. His mind wandered, as Mr. Ganguly rattled off his experiences in the railways.

What are you going to do now? He almost lamented. I’ve been posted out again and you will have to make do here, all on your own. She looked at him, the way she always did; it melted his heart and he looked away. I know, I know, you are strong and will manage but....She touched his sleeve and said, I’ve learnt to stand upright through many a storm, this too will pass. Then I have Anu ! He takes good care of us now.

The conversation rang through his ears and he felt secure; at peace with himself to some extent. There was a lot of brotherhood in the army and the spirit of the women too was at an all-time high. "Some more rice for you Bhaisahib, Sanjyukta interjected. Catching the faraway look in his eyes, she continued, I can well imagine how you must miss Bhabhiji, but she’ll be here in a month’s time, till then give us the pleasure of looking after you," she continued.

The warm environs of the Ganguly home brought back a deluge of emotions; a spate so real he felt he would be inundated completely. As he retired again for the day, and the twilight gathered—merging into the night, heavy with the fragrance of jasmine, all he saw were her lovely eyes; her soft beseeching, calming doe eyes.

Chapter 2

H

e awoke to the faraway peal of temple bells, the peacocks on the rooftops, beckoning each other or him, he mused. In the narrow lanes below the safely-ensconced Ganguly home, he saw snaking rows of mainly red and white; women resplendent in early morning purity, making their way to the abode of God, visible here and there was a speck of golden yellow or rich purple. Bengali women, akin to Kali: beauty, brains and power, as and when need be; as he looked around, the early rays glinted off the puja thalis, balanced as they were on the palms of these devout women.

Majour Sahib...! he was shaken out of his trance as Mr. Ganguly’s voice rumbled through the room. Please come and join us for breakfast, we hope you are ready and had a comfortable night. I’ll be right there! Dhiren countered.

A sumptuous breakfast awaited him; the aroma, pulling at his heartstrings, reminding him of home, yet again. The place was already beginning to grow on him. He had an uncanny feeling of having been here before. He couldn’t pinpoint the real reason for the calming wave that washed over his nerves as he took in the entire scene - a shroud of familiarity enveloped him.

Soon he begged leave and took off for his first day at office. Nearly tripping over the little pie dogs curled up in the middle of the road, at times sharply swerving to avoid the mammoth trucks that came too close for comfort, they sped away through the narrow by-lanes of Ambica Kalna. The sharp trill of the rickshaw-wala’s bell startled many a pedestrian off the kerb-side as he came upon them stealthily.

A strange twosome - the rickshaw puller with a weather-worn face - ravaged not only by the elements, but life in general - the Major a fair handsome man with a persona that reflected an undiluted honesty and a typical upright moustache to boot. He usually hated the idea of using this means of transport, but, so benevolent was this soul that he’d always end up paying double the going rate; if he was forced to resort to it.

The rickshaw puller said his name was Deba; Weaving through the narrow streets, peppered with the early morning sights, Deba chattered on persistently, not concerned about a response from his customer.

The market plaza was abuzz with activity. The almost lyrical cries of the vegetable vendors drowned Deba’s voice so that it came across to Dhiren in spurts. I’ve seen better days sahib, we had enough land, said Deba. Remnants of the feudal system and two consecutive famines had rendered their family penniless. Three sisters, a brother and aging parents were still trying to maintain their dignity back home, dying bit by bit in order to live. He justified his coming to this small town as he was the stronger of the two brothers. Soon they screeched to a halt in front of a spectacular building, Raj Bari: The royal house, Deba informed.

A complete contrast to the streetscape they had just encountered, the building had a unique regality, almost animate in its very existence. The gargantuan ancient structure amidst dilapidated shanties surprisingly didn’t look like an eyesore.

He tipped Deba generously asking him to save enough to send something substantial home. "You are young Deba, make the best of it. I know life is not easy for you in this small town, but... keep coming over, my office is here..., he said invitingly. That’s what he was this totally unassuming man, a charming lion-hearted soul.

Chapter 3

J

aded walls loomed high, dwarfing him as he passed through the arched door - a mute witness to many a grand retinue passing beneath. From a romantic king precariously perched on a flower bedecked elephant, being ushered in, to meet the queen, to a colourful vision of all the queen’s ladies daintily stepping in behind. Boisterous crowds cheering a king who’d just won a battle to the notes of a dirge resonating through the corridors, the day she left -the Rajbari had witnessed it all and much, much more.

As he entered the courtyard, he blinked his eyes in rapid motion and saw the most exquisite queen or perhaps a princess soaked in a perfumed oil bath, interspersed with rose petals, in a stupor as if, waiting endlessly. He was swamped by an overpowering past. Aeons gushed at him, with an uncontrollable force. The tinkling laughter of the maids, giggling themselves silly as they left the queen’s quarters just as the king entered her chamber, wafted through the passageway, ricocheting off