Palak Dil and Other Stories

By SP Singh

"The eleven stories cover a vast canvas of human emotions, their

strengths and weaknesses, their vulnerabilities and sensibilities.

'Palak Dil' is the story of a haunted lake that exists in Mizoram.

A young army captain battles 'Temptation' during a bus journey.

'Black Magic' depicts the agony of an old man who waits for<

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9789361721984

Book preview

Palak Dil and Other Stories

SP Singh

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2023

Content Copyright © SP Singh

ISBN

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

www.ukiyoto.com

Havildar Tek Bahadur Thapa of 18 Assam Rifles,

whose narration of folktale of ‘Palak Dil’

inspired me to write these stories.

Acknowledgements

I express my deepest gratitude to the Mizos, particularly the Lakhers with whom I’d the good fortune of interacting during my six-year-long stay in the picturesque state of Mizoram. They shared knowledge about their culture and traditions, and showed glimpses of their glorious past.

I’d like to thank Pakhai and Khoya Lakhers, Deb Bahadur Gurung, Suresh Kumar Singh, Late Shyam Kishore Singha, Chandra Mohan Singha, Lallan Singh, Uttam Chand and other soldiers of ‘F’ Company of 18 Assam Rifles with whom I’d the privilege to serve and who acted as interpreter and unravelled several mysteries. They deserve a special mention for their efforts without which this book would not have been possible.

Above all, I wish to thank Late Wg Cdr VV Chaube, my mentor, who had unwavering faith in my ability to write good fiction, and whose regular guidance I miss so much.

Preface

The inspiration for writing these stories came from ‘Palak Dil’, a beautiful lake in Mizoram. During a patrolling assignment in 2001, a soldier of my company narrated to me its folktale. It was a pleasure to behold the breathtaking beauty of the lake that inspired me to retell the folktale. ‘Dil’ in the Mizo language is called a lake. ‘Palak Dil’ is the story of a haunted lake, which still exists but the mythical village exists no more. The other stories evolved out of the incidents, past and present, that I read or heard.

        ‘I can resist everything except temptation,’ said Oscar Wilde. Will a young army captain be able to resist the ‘Temptation’ is a milliondollar question? The local people create a myth around a normal ‘Insurgent’ as a part of psy ops against the army. A grandfather invokes the perceveid power of ‘Black Magic’ to dissuade his grandson from going in serach of his father to an unknown territory.

‘Zawlpui’ is the story of a woman who is enigmatic, mystical and beautiful. To kids, she’s a fabulous storyteller; to young men, an object of desire, to old people a doctor, and to the priest a secret keeper. ‘The Outsider’ often finds it tough to get acceptance in a new society. A God-fearing bank official sins only once and pays with his life. And an innocent tribal girl pays a heavy price for her ‘Betrayal’.

‘Gingerman’, a simple village businessman falls prey to his insatiable greed. But a different story unfolds on the ‘Blue Mountain’ for young surveyers during a stormy night. ‘The Pastor’ who spreads the Lord’s message in inaccessible areas vows never to stay at one place permanently, but people of a tiny village, hold him there forever.

These eleven stories cover a vast canvas of human emotions, their strengths and weaknesses, their vulnerabilities and sensibilities. And they give us joy and hope.

Author

Common Mizo/Hindi words used in the book

Dil            -      Lake

Thingpui      -      Tea

Kapu            -      Sir

Kapi            -      Madam

Chibai            -      Good morning

Chibai le      -      Good evening

Mangtha le      -      Good night

Ka lawm e      -      Thank you

Mama            -      Boy child

Mami            -      Girl child

Dam Takin      -      Goodbye

Pakhat            -      One

Tuibur            -      A wooden pipe used for

smoking tobacco

VCP            -      Village Council President

Pa            -      Father

Pu            -      Mr

Jhum kheti      -      slash and burn cultivation

in mountains

Tau            -      Grandfather

Contents

Palak Dil

Temptation

The Insurgent

Black Magic

Zawlpui

Betrayal

Gingerman

Blue Mountain

The Outsider

The Sinner

The Pastor

About the Author

Palak Dil

"G

ood morning, sir the helper woke him up, your tea". 

Rustom put off the alarm and sat up in bed. The tea tasted good and a wave of freshness ran through his drowsy body. He opened the window and watched the low, dark rain clouds swirl around in the atmosphere. The moist wind rushed into the room through the half-open window. A couple of months ago Captain Rustom was posted to Road Construction Company (RCC) of the Border Roads Organisation at Lawngtlai, a town in south Mizoram. He was on deputation from the Corps of Engineers in the Indian Army. 

Born and brought up in Mumbai, he missed the hustle and bustle of the city. This was his first posting in a small town in a remote corner of the country. He, however, tried to adapt himself to the local environment. Beautiful landscape and salubrious climate were great motivating factors, which often lifted his spirits when he felt low.

Sir, the jeep is ready, the helper interrupted his thoughts.

OK, he left the bed. Within half-hour, he was ready, had breakfast, and rushed down the hillock to meet his company commander.

Rustom, your task is to carry out reconnaissance on the road from the Kalchaw ferry to Khengkhong, a village on the Indo-Burma border. This road has come under our control and we’ve to build it in the next financial year. Be careful and best of luck. Major Mathew George, the company commander wished him good luck.

Thank you sir, Rustom saluted and left.

He sat in the vehicle and drove off. Francis, the driver informed him about the weather they could face en route. Sir, you can never trust the fickle weather in this part of the state.

Francis was a talkative Keralite who spoke fluent Mizo. That’s why he accompanied the officers when they went for the reconnaissance.

Francis, what do you like about this place, asked Rustom.

Women, sir, he said, but went red realising his mistake. 

Rustom hid his stupidity behind a sheepish smile. Francis stayed quiet. They moved on the treacherous mountain road, either side of which the weeds had encroached. Pre-monsoon rain had caused a few mudslides on the way. Lush green grass had spread on the hill slopes and in the narrow valleys, covered in a thin mist. The peasants worked in the jhums. Water trickled down the falls. The labourers worked at a feverish pace to repair the broken patches of the road. 

These labourers come from Bihar. Poverty and unemployment force them to leave their homes. They work with us everywhere. They are now a part of us, Francis said. 

They had started in the morning to reach the next halt, Phura village, about 70 km away, before sunset. It took about ten hours to reach there.

Sir, we will take an hour more to reach the ferry site. Kolodyne is the longest river in South Mizoram. Work on the bridge is on. The contractor will take about five months to finish it, Francis spoke as if he gave a running commentary. 

Rustom was selective in listening to him. Otherwise, he stayed lost in his thoughts and enjoyed the landscape. They crossed three villages, each one looked alike. The houses, made of wooden walls with sloping tin roofs, hung on the roadside. Each dwelling unit had a kitchen, a drawing room, and a bedroom. A makeshift toilet outside each house was a must. Almost all houses had a pigsty. Every villager reared pigs. The children chased the fowl and hens. A few young mothers breastfed their little ones in the open. The women sat outside the house and did their chores. The girls talked among themselves and giggled at the slightest pretext. When Rustom passed by them, they looked at him and screamed, "Bye, Bye Kapu."

He waved back at them.

The road to the ferry site takes a turn from here, said Francis and moved on the downslope.

Rustom saw the river. A few minutes later they reached the ferry site. The boat had gone to the other bank with a bus and people. The Public Works Department (PWD) of the state ran the boat. A Diesel engine powered boat could carry two heavy vehicles. Francis stopped the jeep.

Sir, we will wait for the boat to come back, Francis opened the door for him. 

Rustom got down, stretched his limbs, and looked around. Construction of the bridge was on at a hectic pace. Thatched huts had mushroomed along either bank of the river to cater to the needs of the transients who waited for the boat. Apart from teashops, there were small hotels selling rice, fish, and pork. A few women sold smoked fish that they caught in the river, and bananas. A man sold sugarcane juice, which surprised Rustom. Francis told him the Mizos grew sugarcane in their jhums. The riverbank had the festive look of a Sunday bazaar. The folks roamed in colourful dresses. Women and girls wore skirts and body-hugging tops. Men were in loose pants and shirts. 

In the meantime, the boat had returned to the home bank. Francis drove the jeep onto the deck. People rushed to it. Within a few minutes, the boat crossed the river and reached the far bank. The folks dismounted and walked away.

"Sir, would you like to have