Suno kahani arun harkauli ki zubani

Delhi Elections-2015

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Tue, 10 Feb 2015 10:58:00 +0000

ये अजब कमल-ए इल्मी-ए शाजिया देखा.

ये अजब इल्म औ हुनर ए अय्यारी थी.

जहाँ गईं फसाद-ओ शिकस्त बरपा कर दी.

अब की बार बी जे पी की बारी थी .

उलझन

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Thu, 25 Sep 2014 10:43:00 +0000

वाइज़ कहता इबादत किया कर.

बिरहमिन ये कहता जपा कर जपा कर.

आसान रहे तकलीद है, पर .

तबीयत को ये बात भाती नहीं है.

हाजी को हसरत है शराबों कि, हूरों की.

पंडित गाता कथा गोपियों की.

क्या तीरथ औ जिआरात से उन्हें ये मिलेगा ?

मगर मैं तो खुश हूँ, अभी जो मिला है.

मैं इंसान हूँ सीधा सा भोला भाला.

जीवन में तवक्को है आसानियों की.

मुझे क्यों धमकाते है तेरे ये दल्ले.

हसरत नहीं फिलसफों पर बहस की.

अर्शें बरी है तू इंसान का अब्बा.

रहीओ करीम है तू इंसान का अब्बा.

मगर हमसे फिर क्यों मुकाबिल नहीं है.

गमो औ खुशी में तू शामिल नहीं है.

इजाज़त जो गर दे तो सच सच बता दूं.

डरता हूँ वाइज़ क्या कहेगा, बिर्हमिन क्या करेगा.

डरता हूँ तुझसे भी, कि तू क्या करेगा.

दोज़ख में मुझ पर सितम ही करेगा.

नसीबे कि गर्दिश को मैं झेलता हूँ.

तूफानों की शिद्दत से भी जूझता हूँ.

वाइज़, तेरा तो बनता है बातें.

दुनिया के झगड़ों को मैं जानता हूँ.

जीवन की सोजिश न निर्वाण में है.

मुक्ति में आसार -ए- बोरियत है.

तेरे फैसलों की वजह मैं न जानूं.

कयामत के डर से मैं सुन हो चला हूँ.

बैठे अर्श पर तू देखे है तमाशा.

फर्श की हकीकत को क्यों जान पाया.

बिरह्मिन-ओ वाइज़ को गमश्ता बनाया.

बशर को पापी औ मुज्रिन बताया.

जो कुछ भी होता है तेरी रज़ा है.

सभी कुछ में बस तू ही नुमा है.

तो , जो गुनाह है, तेरा किया है.

इन्सान क्यों मुजरिम का दर्जा दिया है.

फिर, ख्याल क्यों ना आए तू कहीं भी नहीं है.

माना कि गुलगूं का तरफदार हूँ मैं.

क़ाज़ी का मज़लूम -ओ मजबूर हूँ मैं.

रहबर है तू गर, राहज़न मैं नहीं हूँ.

गुनहगार, मानोगे, हरगिज़ नहीं हूँ.

हम हैं गवाह

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Sat, 13 Sep 2014 12:13:00 +0000

क्या कहते हो ! क्या जाना औ क्या देखा.

हम ने ही तो सब कुछ देखा .

जलवों ने तो बस क्या देखा .

जो कुछ देखा हमने देखा .

जापान में चाय गठखते .

ड्रम पीटते मोदी देखे .

रेस कोर्स में उनको देखा .

राहुल को ललचाते देखा .

मूंछों वाले भगवत देखे.

मुंडे मूंछ अरुण भी देखे .

सोनिया को संजीदा देखा .

सूजे मुंह सुषमा को देखा.

बच्चों पर मुलायम देखे .

बच्चिओं पर वो भारी देखे.

अम्मा दीदी भड़के भड़के .

जन जन हैं माया के वश ,

किन किन को चिल्लाते देखा .

गन्दी बहती गंगा देखी .

सूखी सूखी यमुना देखी.

परबत थे गंजे गंजे, बरखा ढाये क़यामत गोया.

भक्तों को दुखियारा देखा .

That Night

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Fri, 02 May 2014 14:26:00 +0000

It was raining cats and dogs when he came out of the flat to go to the railway station, a few kilo metres from his residence. It was difficult to see beyond a few metres. In the back ground of the light from the lamp post he could make out the rain was falling in curves, bending with the wind as it grew stronger or straightening when it relented a little. The rain getting in to his eyes did not make it any easier to see. There was one rickshaw, with its owner curled-up in it, parked near the lamp post. He hailed the rickshaw puller whom he persuaded to take him to the station by promising to pay many times the normal fare. The rickshaw moved slowly, its progress retarded due to the heavy rain and strong wind.

It took him almost an hour and half to reach the station, completely drenched and a bit cold. The station, in spite of the inclement weather was crowded and he had had to jostle along to reach the ticket window. He asked for a ticket to Delhi by the train leaving, shortly, via Kanpur and Aligarh, for old Delhi station. He purchased the ticket and then there was another round of pushing and shoving to get away from the window. He took the over bridge to go to the platform number three where his train was parked. He leisurely looked for, found and entered in to the compartment. He found a seat for himself and shoved his bag under the it. He took out his handkerchief to wipe an enormous amount of water which he carried on his person. He managed it as best he could with his small handkerchief. He saw another person in black outfit in the compartment. He nodded to him and remarked, “What an awful evening?” To this the other person mumbled something, maybe, in agreement but hardly audible.

He was hungry. He opened a window to find out if he could get something to eat and was greeted by a spray of water. He closed the window hurriedly. He ambled up to the door and opened it a little so that he may not receive another shower. He peeped through the partly open door and saw a vendor. The vendor wet and struggling to cover soggy samosas with polythene sheet though his samovar was in the open and the fire underneath it had been reduced to smoke. He asked for tea and samosas and was served some lukewarm muddy tea and wet samosas. He carried them to his seat and offered to share the dinner with the person in the black who refused the offer. He, then, sat down to devour his sordid dinner.

The train was already late and there was no sign of it leaving the station. The sundry travellers were sauntering in to the compartment, unhurried, before setting down. Another half hour passed before the train whistled. Though the train did not move it appeared to induce the passengers into activity. There was a rush into the compartment. Hitherto, indolent passengers moved into the compartment quickly pushing others, aside. There were lone travellers as well as families, young men and women who all made a bee line to the few coveted benches which were soon filled. The compartment was now occupied by more number of people than it was fashioned for. Though, passengers squeezed themselves into the compartment, many would have to travel standing.

And then, without any notice, the train lurched forward and stopped. It carried out the manoeuvre a few times before it put on some speed. In the mean while the passengers were settling down, some on the benches, others on the floor and a few were standing. Those who had managed to get some space to sit were pushing their neighbour to yield some more space which effort was being thwarted by the other person.

Our friend who had braved the storm to catch the train to Delhi was now well settled for the long and obviously uncomfortable journey ahead. There was no way to stretch oneself in the crowed train; indeed there was no space to change one’s position and sleep was impossible in the bustle.

He found himself seated next to the man in the black whom he had seen when he had entered the compartment and, therefore, had known him the longest among all the others passengers. A good reason, he believed, to start a conversation with him and reduce the tedium of the journey.

“Where are you going?”

He received no answer. “Ah! This train is going to Delhi; so you could not be going anywhere else. That was silly of me”. He guffawed without mirth, to hide his embarrassment. The two neighbours did not address each other for some time. It was becoming oppressively intolerable for him to travel, in the distressing condition, without the benefit of companionship. He made another attempt at conversation.

“Where do you live in Delhi?”

This time the attempt did not go in vain

“I do not live in Delhi.”

The reply encouraged him to continue.

“Then where do you live.”

It was evident that the other was not particularly enjoying the conversation or in a mood to socialise.

“Oh! Never mind; No where you would know.”

“How can you say that, I am quite well travelled?”

“But not where I live.” And perhaps to deflect the course of conversation asked, “Where do you live, in Delhi or in Lucknow?”

“I live in Lucknow, River Bank Colony, in the D block. Mine is the first house in the block, in front of the house of the famous doctor, Dr. Sharma. Do you know him?” He enthusiastically volunteered a lot more information than was needed. He wished to keep the conversation going.

“No I do not know him. I do not go to doctors.”

“Well it is nice that you enjoy good health. But tell me of a man who has never been sick, some or the other time. We all fall sick and need to consult a physician. Even if you do not need to visit a doctor, someone else, in the family, may need a doctor’s services. What I say is that it is best to keep one prepared for any crisis. Keep note of the clinic and the residential addresses of good doctors in town and keep their phone numbers handy. Yes sir! This is what I do.”

The other man was obviously was not interested in the wise counsel but did not join issue. He merely remarked, “No, I don’t,” and looked the other way to indicate that the exchange was over.

He shrugged his shoulder in a way to indicate, to anyone who might have been observing the twosome, that he bore no responsibility for early demise of the discussion. It had happened in spite of his best his best effort and keen desire to prolong it. He looked out of the glass window. He could not, though the fury of the storm had abated, somewhat. The train was not moving at its normal pace. The visibility had not improved enough for the driver of the train to raise the speed to normal. He closed his eyes so as to snatch some sleep. He must have dozed for he was roused up from his slumber by fearsome noises and cries of the passengers. There was pandemonium in the compartment which was lurched at an obtuse angle. Passengers were screaming, some were obviously hurt, some more than the others. The luggage was all over. People were trying to get out of the compartment, all at once and in the course not letting anyone out. The train had met with an accident while he had dozed.

The man, in the black, assumed command of the situation. Without a word, he pushed away those obstructing the passage with considerable force. He motioned the ones at the door to go out and clear the way for the others and to receive the wounded, the old, the children and the women. After the wounded, the old, the children and the women has been evacuated, with a wave of his hand, he motioned the men to go out, one at a time. He was the last to come out.

Some villagers had arrived at the scene when they saw the accident. They were now being supervised by the man in the black in attending to the injured. Some had brought food which was given to the passengers of the ill fated train. A little later some order had been established. The injured were carried and those who could walk were encouraged to do so and taken to the comparative safety of the nearby village. The man in the black supervised it all. When all the passengers had been taken care of, our friend from Lucknow and the man in the black remained behind, to look after the baggage of the passengers. they were the only individuals who had escaped unscathed. They sat down awaiting arrival of the police and the railway rescuers to hand over the charge of the site to them.

Anticipating long dreary wait, our man from Lucknow made another attempt at banter.

“When I told you that it was an awful evening, I could not have contemplated that it would be so horrid.”

There was no response.

“It is so dark and not a soul in sight, on top of it, the trauma of the accident; I am scared.” There was yet no response.

“It is scary and stultifying. Come on man! Speak up. Say something to lessen the melancholy.”

This desperate appeal too did not elicit any reaction.

“This scenario is just apt for the stories of ghosts.”

The man in the black stared hard at the speaker but still did not utter a word.

“Do you believe in Ghosts?” asked the man from Lucknow and laughed without conviction.

The man in the black dissolved in the dark.

The Dilemma

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Fri, 02 May 2014 14:23:00 +0000

Officer Sant Ram, a police officer of friendly disposition, posted at the police station at Delhi University was an uncomplaining man. Though, after more than two decades of service, he could not secure a promotion, he had neither lost hope nor was bitter with his superiors. However, when at last, Commissioner Kaul promoted him and posted him to the gole market station, Sant Ram and the commissioner had different opinions in the matter. Sant Ram was happy. His faithful diligence recognized, his due right conceded and honour restored to him. The commissioner, however, sometimes when in reflective mood, conceded to himself that he had allowed, in a state of confused ambivalence, his heart to rule over his head. Be as it may, he thought, “What if Sant Ram has entirely modest ability for police work? What, if he has never solved a case? He is a good man and police do need to project gracious image to the public.” The commissioner cleared his conscious with these thoughts and went in to superannuation. True, as the erstwhile commissioner had noted, Sant Ram was no great shake as a cop but was a good man. He made friends easily. His affable manners, easy laugh and desire to be helpful stood him out in the midst of general apathy of many other officers. It was during this period of his career when he was attached to the university police station that he had come in close contact with the upcoming trio of student politicians with whom we are presently concerned.

Rani was the daughter of a clerk, in the ministry of home, department of raj bhasha. She was the treasurer of the students’ union. Wheat like in complexion and a little corpulent in build, Rani had the attraction of youth. She was a source of, both, attraction and completion among her politically inclined circle of male friends. She was ambitious and knew how to use her charms to her advantage. Though she had many admirers, Matloob and Sudesh were the only two, she considered worthy of her sustained interest. They received her favours more often though not frequently. In the circle of the young politicians at the university, it was enviously conceded that these two had bright future, once they completed their apprenticeship at the university and the joined the mainstream political parties. Sudesh was much ahead of Matloob. He had already established himself with some ministers in the local government. Matloob was younger of the two, junior in the university politics and merely a member in the union executive. Sudesh was bumptious, morose and profane and Matloob was roguish, unforgiving and profane. There was still time to make her choice. Rani was not inclined to narrow her options yet. She concentrated on the political work, passing the final of the law examination was only a subsidiary issue

Matloob, the son of a local merchant had no interest in perusing studies. His father was a prosperous semi literate businessperson, resolute in his resolve that his only son received good education and thence admiration of his community. His father, through coercive blackmail, had persuaded Matloob to continue studies. Matloob had to submit to the perverse demand; apprehensive of the consequence of defiance, he had joined the university. He found much-coveted sojourns with Miss Rani more to his taste rather than the tedious oratory of the university dons. His tryst with Rani were occasional because Rani was busy with political work beside Matloob was not her only lover. He was aware of this but had hoped to persuade Rani to marry and settle with him, eventually. He was utterly in love with her.

Sudesh Kumar was a son of prosperous farmer in the village near Khurja. His father was headman of his village. Sudesh nurtured political ambitions. He had joined the faculty of law. He was also a member of the political party ruling Delhi. The admission to the university law college accorded respectability and the opportunity to participate in the university politics. The membership of the political party let him mix with important political big wigs. He needed party backing to enter into the political arena in a big way. The political big bosses too needed young men like him to do their work, both, dirty and not so dirty. In return, they provided him with money to fight the university election, the eventual ladder to state politics. Sudesh had been the secretary of the union and this year had been elected the President.

Kavita was young lissome girl, slender of build. She was of medium height and attracted attention. She was the daughter of peon in the local government. Easy in appearance and rather plain of manners, she had not joined the university to augment her learning. She had joined the Hindi honours course waiting for a husband. In lively moments, she fantasized about a handsome and rich beau who would fall in love with her, and claim her as his own, against the wishes of his family and social circle. She was always animated after a visit to the local theatre running a Hindi movie. In sober moments, she hoped to complete the course so that she would be able to take up a job in some local school, which would augment her pursuit. She met Sudesh at the union office and being a practical person did not allow her flight of the imagination to overwhelm her, instead she decided that she would settle for him. A bird in hand is recommended to be better than two in the bush. She immediately set forth to attract and then acquire him. Soon they began to meet often though marriage was not discussed between the two; it was too early, yet. Kavita decided that she would take up the issue at the appropriate time. Eventually she did broach the subject of marriage. Sudesh expressed delight, all the same, wanted to wait until he was out of the university and settled. He had had to have sufficient income to sustain a family. Until then she had to wait. She considered the situation and concluded that she had enough hold on him and accepted the prudence, convinced that they would unite, sooner than later.

In time, Sudesh and Rani decided to marry. Rani because Sudesh had emerged as an important party man unambiguously poised for ascent to the higher rungs of the party and Sudesh because Rani too had not done badly herself. She was active in the women’s’ wing of the party and, more importantly, had been able to establish liaison with the state chief of the party and a junior minister in the union cabinet. The two complimented each other in their political careers. Their marriage was of convenience not a bonding in tender adoration. If there was loneliness within the union, they were willing to pay the price to advance their political careers.

However, their coming together had saddened Matloob but he reconciled to the reality of the situation, though, the pain would surface occasionally. He could not forget the betrayal entirely. He married his cousin Jamila as willed by his father. There is government accommodation in the gole market area, which is allotted to the junior officers of the government. The allottees often sublet the premises. Matloob, like Sudesh before him, hired one such flat and settled with his wife. He would sometimes come across Sudesh and his wife. In such circumstances, they would feign no to have noticed each other.

In spite of his marriage, about which Kavita would never know, Sudesh did not end his relationship with Kavita. He had paid for a flat beyond the ITO Bridge for Kavita. He would meet her there, discretely, whenever he had the time. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find time for rendezvous as he was ascending the party ranks and because he would avoid the visit when many could see him. However, overtime the arrangement was going kaput. Kavita, his mistress for many years was becoming impatient and suspicious. There had been, on several occasions, angry arguments between them. She was now rancorous and threatening. She had served notice upon him that she would not permit the marriage to be deferred any more. Sudesh tried all the means at his disposal to reconcile with her. He cajoled, threatened and even offered money to keep her quiet but to no avail. He found himself in a precarious position.

On the fateful day, he rose up in the morning thinking of Kavita and the problem she was creating. Some definite plan to solve the issue was taking shape in his mind, which agitated him. He went out for a long walk. It calmed him for some time. He returned and had late breakfast with his wife. He then told her that he was going out on party work. He said if anyone phoned for him, she was to inform the person that her husband was resting because of headache could not be disturbed. He came out of his house and walked to where he had parked his. He climbed into it and dove off.

Sudesh drove to the residence of Kavita whom he found in a foul mood. Before she could give expression to her latent thoughts, Sudesh proposed that they drive out to lunch and finalise the date for the marriage ceremony. He insisted that the marriage would have to be a short affair with only the close relatives in attendance. He was a political leader and had to set god example for others to follow. He would not approve of ostentation. That set the mood for the day. Kavita was not just reconciled but pleased. She had not expected the matter to be resolved so easily. She was contrite too. She had needlessly suspected Sudesh of bad faith. She got ready and together they drove off for the outing.

They drove for some time happy in the company of each other and then late in the afternoon turned back to return to Delhi. After Ghaziabad and before Sahibabad, he turned in to a Kutcha road as he said, he had to pay some money, to his old servant. There was a lone hut half a kilometer away from where the village settlement ended. Sudesh stopped the car in front of the hut. A man of about fifty years of age appeared at the door. He greeted Sudesh and deferentially touched his feet. He led the two inside the hut. Sudesh asked him how he was doing. There upon the man sought divine blessings for Sudesh and his family. By the grace of god and the benevolence of his masters, that is, Sudesh and his family, he said, he was doing fine. He earned enough to keep his body and soul together by baking bread in his tandoor, the earthen oven, for the clients nearby and the gratuity, which he received from the family of Sudesh, took care of medical needs and any unforeseen expenses. There was a stool in the hut that the servant offered to Kavita to sit.

This visit was not as innocuous as may appear to you from the above narrative. Some preparation had already been made before hand for what had to be accomplished that day. Kavita sat down intently listening as the old man related his story. Sudesh who was a step behind her moved in and hit her on the head. She sprawled out. Sudesh caught her by feet and hauled them up leaving her dangling upside down. She was scared but she struggled. She put her hands on the earthen floor and wriggled her body to loosen his grip but the other man came up and holding by her hands, kicked her in the face. Together they lifted her and put her in to the oven. She was still struggling when head long, she was forced in to the oven, her bruised hands scraping the round wall of the oven. She cried but her voice was feeble. The Old man and Sudesh shoved earth on her and in to the oven while pushing her in to the oven. The two were too powerful for her. Her resistance failed and she lost consciousness. The duo pushed her in so that she was entirely settled in the oven. Together they then filled up the oven with earth. The older man laid bricks on the top and plastered it with cement so that it looked like a raised platform. In time, he will use it for keeping the earthen pot for storing drinking water.

No one ever was likely to look for the deceased in that forlorn part of the district, the criminals perceived.

The old man was composed. He did not know who the woman whom he had buried just a while ago. He was not interested in the futile knowledge. He had undertaken many bizarre errands for his masters. The younger man was not so toughened, yet. He had committed a crime because he had to save himself from certain loss of career. However, he was no murderer, besides he had lost his mistress whom he had come to accept as part of his life. It had, in some nook of his being caused a numbing emptiness. He was scared too. He was shaking with fright and his mind was numb with trepidation. The old man reassured him as well as he could and helped to his car. Sudhesh got in to it and drove back. He found driving grueling but he managed. He drove back to the ITO Bridge and from there drove to the Connaught place. He was hungry and exhausted. He got in to the inner circle and parked his car near the embassy restaurant. He went in and ordered light meals, which he finished unhurriedly. It calmed him. He paid the bill, went back to his car and drove to his house. Near his house, he stopped at the chemist’s shop to buy pack of dispirin and went home.

Matloob had seen Sudesh coming towards his car but did not attempt to draw his attention or greet him. Their relationship had almost dried after the marriage of Sudesh with Rani. Matloob ignored him and strode away. He walked past the house of Rani and Sudesh. He walked past his on flat and then on to the tri-junction near the Birla mandir. He took a turn to right and walked past the police station then the girls’ school and up to where the mandir road joins the panchkuiyan road. He then decided to return. When he was passing in front of the police station, he was accosted by a familiar voice. He looked up and saw sub inspector Sant Ram calling his, very cordially.

“Hello Matloob Bhai! How are you? Long time no see. Come in to my office and have a cup of tea with me.”

Though, not feeling the need for tea, yet not willing to snub the kindly officer, Matloob went along with him into his office. Sant Ram ordered two strong cups of tea, prepared from cardamom, ginger and tealeaves for the two of them. He settled in his chair and motioned Matloob to take the chair in front of him. The phone rang up. It was a call from this boss who wanted Sant Ram to speak to his old acquaintance, Sudesh, for some favour. Sant Ram told Matloob about the request of the boss and excused himself to make the phone call to Sdesh. Matloob thoughtlessly remarked that he had seen Sudesh drive away. Nevertheless, Sant Ram dialed the phone number of Sudesh. Rani picked up the phone and told him that her husband was resting and could not be disturbed. Sant Ram said that he would phone later and informed his boss that he would phone Sudesh later in the day. Sant Ram and Matloob chitchatted over a cup of tea and then Matloob bid good-bye to the officer and left. He retraced his walk all the time thinking why Rani had told the officer a lie. He knew that Sudesh had left by his car for some place. He was now walking near the house of Rani. He had an impulse visit her. He went up to the door of the house and pressed the bell. Rani, in her nightgown and with a towel wrapped round her neck was preparing for a bath. She opened the door to him. Seeing the improbable caller, she said,

“Oh! It’s you. What do you want?”

“I was passing by and decided to come to say hello to you. It has been long time.” He ignored the derision of the remark. He wished to appease her. He had the urge to revive old association.

“Well! hello. My husband is not well and I am busy.” The dismissive indifference in the tone of his erstwhile love infuriated him and he could not control his frenzy. He picked up the bronze statue of Natraj, decorating the mantelpiece and brought it down on the head of Rani with full force. Rani fell down. He then pulled the ends of the towel to choke her and let it go only when she was dead. Matloob pulled the sofa cover loose and wiped himself of blood, which had dribbled on to his hand. He then walked out of the house, unnoticed, closing the door behind him. He went back to his flat. He had to take his child to the pediatrician.

Sudesh opened the door of his house with the duplicate key. What he saw left him aghast. He saw Rani sprawled across on the carpet in the drawing room. There was clotted blood on the head, which had set her hair in the grotesque style. Her face had been bloodied red and some blood had dripped on to the carpet. There was a rumpled blood soaked sofa cover lying on the floor. The woman was dead. Sudesh was flummoxed with this fresh encounter with death. He picked up the phone from the peg table and rang up sub inspector Sant Ram at the police station. Sant Ram picked up the phone. He said,

“I am delighted to receive your call. I have to request you for a favour on behalf of my boss. I had phoned in the morning. Your wife informed me that you were not well and resting. How are you now, old boy? Sudesh cut him short.

“Rani has been murdered, Will you please come immediately?’

“Oh! Shocking. When? How? I am coming.”

The officer ordered Genda Singh, the constable attached to him, to accompany him to the scene of crime. They drove to the house of Sudesh on the motor cycle of Sant Ram with Genda riding pillion. On arrival, Sant Ram consoled the bereaved husband and sat him down on the sofa. He took charge of the investigation with Genda in the tow. He examined first the victim who was quite dead. Then he turned his attention to the scene of crime. He asked Genda to call in the photographer and the forensic team. He them came back and sat next to Sudesh.

The officer spoke softly, “No break-in. A friendly entry made by the murderer known to the deceased. Nothing of value removed; burglary not intended.” He turned to the husband,

“I offer to you heartfelt sympathy. Nevertheless, I must ask you a few questions. We do not want the culprit to escape the consequence of his dastardly deed, now, do we. Action without delay is vital.”

“Yes. Of’ course”

“When was this discovered?”

“I returned sometimes back entered the flat and saw this.”

Your wife told me that you were not well and resting.

“Well, I mean I was in the house.”

“But did you not say that you returned from somewhere and discovered the crime only when you returned?”

“I was at home.”

“Then how is that you heard nothing; a cry for help; struggle for life; a sound of a person falling; nothing. Your wife did not call out for help?”

“Well actually I did go out.”

“Then you did go out. Matloob told me that he had seen you drive away.”

Sudesh gulped, he had no intention to alert the police about where he had been, “I was here, I mean; I did not go out, I mean; I just stepped out to buy some dispirin. I went out for a few minute only; about half hour ago.”

“Then you were here except for when you went to buy dispirin?” The officer was becoming wary of the flip-flop.

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Then how is that you did not notice the crime earlier. It appears to me that the crime was committed several hours ago.

“Well as I said I was not…” Sudesh was at a loss. He did not know which will be more damaging, to say where he had been or to continue the yarn of convalesce at home.

“If you were not here then where were you?” asked the officer, somewhat, compellingly this time.” He got no answer.

Sant Ram cautioned him, “Where were you, here or elsewhere. Come clean or will be courting trouble.”

“I did not murder her. Honest. I swear to god. I did not do it.” Sudesh replied in terror-stricken voice. Sudesh began to sob bitterly. The outburst of fright set him thinking on another course.

Sant Ram’s perspective of the event began to transform rapidly. He mull over the situation afresh. Sudesh was lying through his teeth. There was a woman murdered in the house. Her husband, recuperating from headache in a room close by, was claiming ignorance of events. He was not willing to account for his movement during the day. Sant Ram, an officer of limited talent was not to be taken in this time. Affable as he was, Sant Ram was not a derelict officer who would shy away from his duty and allow a murderer to escape from justice.

It was his first important case, also

“I arrest you for the murder of Mrs. Rani Kumar.”

Stories retold

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Wed, 30 Apr 2014 06:03:00 +0000

Sunday

It was Sunday and dinner time.

“Now finish off dinner Ants (for that was what Papa and Mama called her) brush your teeth and go to bed. Tomorrow you have to go to school and if you do not go to bed now you will never wake up in the morning on time.” Mummy ordered.

Little Ants scowled, “No, I am not sleepy.” She looked up at Papa and there was a conspiratorial exchange of glances between the father and the daughter.

Papa said, “All right do as Mummy says and I will join you in the bed and tell you a story.” When Ants and Papa were cosily settled in the bed, the pre-story- telling haggling began.

Ants said, “Please, Four stories.”

Papa replied, “It is late baby, only one.”

Ants climbed down, she said, “only three.” “Alright, only two stories.”

Papa smiled and agreed to the bargain for he knew that by the time he had finished the first story, Ants will be fast asleep. Thus ended the daily game of bargain and papa began the story of ‘The clever master and a cleverer servant’

Once upon a time there was a land lord. He was called so because he owned lot of lands, even several villages. He rented out the land to several tenants who would cultivate it and then share the produce with him. Sometimes, though rarely, the tenants would pay in cash. The land lord would routinely visit the villages where his tenants were cultivating his lands to collect the rent. Now, the land lord ensured that all the tenants paid his dues regularly. He was difficult with the recalcitrant and would not tolerate default in payment. The villagers, therefore, were afraid of him. They did not wish to annoy him in any way; for if he got angry, he could evict them from the lands or increase the rent and thus make their difficult lives more difficult. The farmers were poor and feared the prospect. Therefore, the farmers treated him with great respect and made him comfortable whenever he came to their village to collect the rent and to check the crops in the fields.

Although the land lord was very ruthless in the matter of collecting his dues from the farmers yet he was not a bad man. Sometimes, he would also help the needy among the tenants. When not angered by some tenant who had not paid his rent, he would be friendly. He would sit with then, under the Banyan tree and would talk to them and offer friendly advice. He would also participate in the village functions with the rest of the villagers. The farmers enjoyed talking to him for he told them stories about the city where they had not been and many other stories which they found interesting.

One day he went to a village to collect the rent. He took his servant whom he had engaged not too long ago, along with him. Therefore, he asked the servant to keep close to him and kept checking frequently to ensure that the servant followed his instructions faithfully. The land lord went to the first village on his itinerary. He met many villagers and talked to them about many things of interest to them. The villagers offered him sugar cane juice and many nice things to eat. Afterwards, he collected the rent which was the main purpose of his visit. Then he bid them good bye and started for the next village which he had planned to visit.

The visit to the second village followed the same pattern. He reached there around the lunch time. He met the village elders and the other tenants. The tenants offered him many delicacies for lunch and ripe and sweet fruits after the lunch. Again, he collected the rent and bid good bye to the villagers and set off for the third village. His tummy was full now and he began to feel lazy. However, he decided to continue his journey and went to the third village.

When the villagers heard that he had arrived they came to meet with him. He sat down, under a neem tree, with the village elders. The others sat on the ground, around them, in a half circle so that they could see each other and engage in conversation. After the meeting was finished they offered him chicken to eat and a bottle of good local wine to drink. The land lord had already eaten too much and did not feel that he could eat any more. The villagers insisted that he honour them by accepting their offering. He did not wish to disappoint the simple and hospitable village people. He, therefore, suggested that they give the chicken and the wine to him to be carried back to his home. The villagers agreed. They poured the wine in a bottle and put the fish in plate of leaves which they covered with a piece of cloth and gave to him.

The land lord had to visit two more villages and did not wish to carry the gifts all over. He asked the servant to carry them back to his home and give to his wife. However, the servant was new and the Land Lord was not sure if he could trust the servant with the treasure. The Land Lord was fearful that the servant may consume it himself or just carry it to his own home instead! And then make some excuse and claim loss en route. Therefore, to make sure that this did not happen he made up a story. He told the servant that the bottle contained deadly poison. Under the cloth on the plate of leaves, he told the servant, there was a bird which will fly away if the cloth was removed. He thought that it will panic the servant so that he would not become too curious about the package. He then handed over the package to the servant and instructed him to carry it safely home to give to the land lord’s wife. He again cautioned the servant to be very careful with the charge. The servant took the bottle and the plate of leaves and went away promising that he would indeed be very careful.

The land lord went away to visit the other two villages which were on his itinerary. He spent a lot of time with the people there. He also visited a village fair. The collection that day had been good. He set off to return to his home late in the evening in a happy frame of mind. The journey was long and very tedious. When he reached home he was very tired and hungry. He told his wife that he had had a long tiring day and that he was very hungry. He asked for his dinner. The wife told him that there was nothing available for dinner. She will have to prepare meal which will take long. She let him know that while going out for the journey in the morning, he had told her not to prepare meals. He had expected the villagers to give him food which he will carry back to his house for dinner.

The land lord told her not to worry and to bring the fowl and the bottle of wine which he had sent though the new servant. The wife said that she knew nothing about the fowl or the bottle of wine and the servant had not returned. This surprised as well as angered the land lord. Cursing the servant, he went out to look for the errant servant. The land lord found the servant, nearby, sleeping contentedly under a tree. In anger, he kicked the servant awake and called for his explanation as to where be the cargo he was given to hand over to the wife and what was he doing there dozing?

The servant got up rubbing his eyes and drawing a long face.

He said, “Sir, forgive me please. I have no face to show you. I had promised to you that I will carry the consignment very carefully but what to do? While I was coming back there came a gush of wind which carried the cloth away. There upon the bird flew away.”

Baffled and suspicious, the land lord asked, “Then where is the bottle of poison?” The servant replied. “Sir, please forgive me, I beseech you. I had failed you and this mortified me so much that I decided to end my life rather than show my face to you. So I drank the poison.”

Monday

It was monday and dinner time.

Little Ants scowled, “No, I am not sleepy.” She looked up at Papa and there was a conspiratorial exchange of glances between the father and the daughter.

Papa said, “All right do as Mummy says and I will join you in the bed and tell you a story.” When Ants and Papa were cosily settled in the bed, the pre-story- telling haggling began.

Ants said, “Please, Four stories.”

Papa replied, “It is late baby, only one.”

Ants climbed down, she said, “only three.” “Alright, only two stories.”

Papa smiled and agreed to the bargain for he knew that by the time he had finished the first story, Ants will be fast asleep. Thus ended the daily game of bargain and papa began the story of ‘Chief of Toads goes to war’

Once upon a time, there lived chief of Toads,

With his pretty wife, loveliest among the line of Toads.

And in the evenings, through the streets, Mister and Missus toad,

With pomp and aplomb, frogs driven cart, they rode.

Work is worship was his creed,

Early in the morning, each day, to work he would proceed.

And the lady toad tended to the young brood and the household,

Thus were spent, blissfully, the days of the blessed toads.

Alas! Happiness is but a short interlude,

In the general drama of livelihood.

And fate, the villain, hiding behind the bush stood,

With a stone, at the solar plexus of the toad, aimed.

That morn when the toad had gone,

On this daily errand.

The wicked King happened to pass by,

And took a great fancy to his wife

The King picked up the little lady toad in his palm,

And admiring, asked courtiers to carry her to the palace farm.

For there he will keep her with other animals big and small,

And her protests ignored, she was carried to the new home.

When the Toad came back home that evening,

His nervous neighbours told him, of the cruel king’s doing.

Sad though, he swore vengeance upon the king,

And back to his home, dear wife bring.

Counseled some discretion is better part of gallantry,

Better use TV and deal with matter subtlety.

Say some, call Ms Barkha Dutt,

She will arrange a group discussion and expose the humbug.

Quoth he “such shows generate heat not light,

Counseled some, never mind TRP and prepare for the fight.

Suggested others, helpful Karan Thapar may be more,

Assemble eminent persons, and highlight the felony, as never before.

The Toad had no faith in a government committee like deliberation,

Said he, ‘Thapar will ask long winded questions, follow with Interruptions.

Not permit the Eminence to prevail and the Cause lost in Altercation,

He decided to work on his volition.

So next morn, the Toad, harnessed his cart drawn by frogs six,

Readied to go to the place to battle the king and issue fix.

Set forth he to where the king lived,

Alone and single-minded.

Now the road was though the thicket wending,

But the chief was determined on his undertaking.

He encountered a cluster of wasps deadly,

But the little Toad found them friendly.

They asked, “Hello! Little Toad, where are you going,

Though the road is terrible and it’s early in the morning?”

And the Toad said,

“Dear friends, I am but a small hapless toad,

Whose wife the cruel King stole.

And now I go to retrieve dear wife and punish the Bad,

So I say give courage, please help me God.”

The Wasps were moved by the bravery of the Toad and offered to go with him to fight the bad king. The Toad thanked them and replied thus to their offer:

“Tra- la-la la-la, abracadabra,

My good friends hurry and be seated into my ears large.

And come out when I call for help and into the enemy barge,

God willing, we will punish the despot and his army large.”

So all the Wasp settled into his ears and the Toad drove forth.

The warriors travelled for many hours on vengeance keen,

The meandering narrow course of the green.

And then they happened to meet,

A group of pachyderm, merrily, feeding on the cane sweet.

The happy and contended group of elephants asked the Toad,

“Hello! Little Toad, where are you going,

Though the road is terrible and it’s now meal time?”

And the Toad said,

“Dear friends, I am but a small hapless toad,

Whose wife the cruel King stole.

And now I go to retrieve dear wife and punish the Bad,

So I say give courage, please help me God.”

The Pachyderms were astonished to see the brave little Toad who wished to punish he cruel and powerful king. In their merry mood they offered to go with him to fight the bad king. Toad was grateful to his new friends and replied thus to their offer,

“Tra- la-la la-la, abracadabra,

My good friends hurry and be seated into my ears large.

And come out when I call for help and into the enemy barge,

God willing, we will punish the despot and his army large.”

So all the elephants also settled into his ears and the Toad drove forth.

Together, on the cart, they drove on for the better part,

Of the day, through the valley where they made tart.

For the king, and in the river young fishes play.

And beyond the river, the Kings capital lay.

The river after the monsoon was no more in fierce mood,

Full, serene and tranquil, gentle it flowed.

It saw the caravan approach sombre and gingerly,

So it called out in voice most friendly.

She asked, “Hello! Little Toad, where are you going,

Though the road is terrible and it is late in the evening?”

And the Toad said,

“Dear friend, I am but a small hapless toad,

Whose wife the cruel King stole.

And now I go to retrieve dear wife and punish the Bad,

So I say give courage, please help me God.”

The river, too, was in a good mood for this monsoon, when it was in spate, it had consumed many bad constructions on its banks. The river did not like construction on its banks which constrict its flood basin. They restricted its natural progress and degraded the environment. For it was in good mood, it decided to a extend help to the toad who accepted the offer gratefully and said,

“Tra- la-la la-la, abracadabra,

My good friends hurry and be seated into my ears large.

And come out when I call for help and into the enemy barge,

God willing, we will punish the despot and his army large.”

So the river too settled into his ears and the Toad drove forth. They soon reached the palace of the kind. The toad found a sentry on the gate and told him to inform the king that the he had come to claim his wife. The King must return his wife; else, he and his friends will fight the King. The sentry was angered by such fool-hardy talk of the toad. “How dare a mere toad order around King’s sentry and how dare he threaten the king?” he thought.

The sentry ordered Toad to go away if he wished to remain alive. But Toad pointed out to him that it was sentry’s duty to inform his King. If the King found out that the sentry was not doing his duty then the King will punish him. This scared the sentry. He ran inside the palace and informed the King. On getting the message of the Toad the King too was amused. “Who is this foolish little toad who has come to challenge my might? Let me go and see him.” He thought. The King came out of the palace to see the toad and started laughing hysterically when saw his foolish little enemy.

He said, “So you have come to fight with me you little Toad. Run away before my mirth turns into anger and I order my sentry to kill you.”

Toad replied, “Yes, cruel King! I have come to fight you and your army. And I am not alone. My friends the wasps, the elephants and river are also with me. The wasps will sting you and your men and the Elephants will crush them under their feet. The river will drown you all.”

Then speaking to his allies he said, “Friends, please come out and show yourselves to the King.” The wasps and the elephants and the river came out of his ears. When the king saw this mighty army of the Toad, he was terrified. He meekly returned the lady Toad and sued for peace. He also promised to become a good King, thereafter.

The Toad asked his allies to return into his ears. Then he climbed into his carriage with his queen. He returned through the same route which he had taken earlier to reach the palace. He dropped his friends at their places and thanked them for their help. The friends also promised to meet often. Then he returned to his home with his queen and lived happily with her for many years.

Tuesday

It was Tuesday and dinner time.

Little Ants scowled, “No, I am not sleepy.” She looked up at Papa and there was a conspiratorial exchange of glances between the father and the daughter.

Papa said, “All right do as Mummy says and I will join you in the bed and tell you a story.” When Ants and Papa were cosily settled in the bed, the pre-story- telling haggling began.

Ants said, “Please, Four stories.”

Papa replied, “It is late baby, only one.”

Ants climbed down, she said, “only three.” “Alright, only two stories.”

In jungle of Maya, there live a goat named Mekka,

She had two lovely kids, Ekka and Dekka.

They fought and they mocked and they hassled and they frolicked,

In the benign care of mother Mekka.

Each day Mekka had to go in search of food to fill her tummy,

With soft green grass, nourishing and yummy.

She would go to the pasture green,

Leaving ,Ekka and Dekka behind, with instructions keen.

While the mother was out to the grazing land,

Brothers ordered not to let in any straggler or a vagabond.

And open the door to Mummy, on hearing the coded knock

Which were three taps and a call, “Dears, it’s Mummy’s knock.”

Next morning Mekka went to the pasture,

Her children secure, she dined well in rapture.

She came back and the door she thrice knocked,

And called out, “Dears, it’s Mummy’s knock.”

Delighted the kids opened the door to the parent, missing of yore,

And they kissed, they hugged and they yakked a lot more.

Lurking in a bush, a wolf was watching the song and dance of it all,

Unknown to the threesome, he learnt of the code and all.

Next day Mekka went to devour the grass green,

Behind her back, came the wolf to her cottage entirely unseen.

He came to the door, thrice did he knock,

And aloud he said, “Dears, it’s Mummy’s knock.”

Delighted kids opened the door to the mother,

But Alas! It was the carnivore.

He gobbled them promptly

And sat down to wait for Mekka, quite gleefully

She came back to see the door ajar; Mekka was left in wonderment,

Surely, something was amiss, it was a deadly predicament.

She ambled up to the door and thrice did she knock,

And softly did she blurt, “Dears, it’s Mummy’s knock.”

Joyous wolf, wholesome dinner anticipating,

Replied in his hoarse and gruffly voice, unthinking.

“Ekka was delectable and Dekka was tasty,

Come in, thou too, I am sure, art quite yummy.”

Mekka then recognized it was the wicked wolf alight,

She ran and ran and ran in to jungle and then she espied

A tall and sturdy hunter, unto him she confide her tale of woe,

He had not seen a game that day so he said, “oh!

Lead me, my dear, to the wicked wolf quickly,

I shall slay it and end your misery.”

Together they went to hunt, Mekka called out to the creature,

And the predator came out and was shot by the hunter.

Huntsman slit wolf’s stomach with his dagger slithering,

And lo and behold! Both, Ekka and Dekka came out tumbling.

Grateful thanks to the shikari in hour of deliverance,

They proclaimed eternal gratitude to his benevolence

Delighted they came close, had missed one another for long,

And they kissed and they hugged and they yakked a lot lot more.

Wednesday

It was Wednesday and dinner time.

“Now finish off dinner Ants (for that was what Papa and Mama called her) brush teeth and go to bed. Tomorrow you have to go to school and if you do not go to bed now you will never wake up in the morning on time.” Mummy ordered.

Little Ants scowled, “No, I am not sleepy.” She looked up at Papa and there was a conspiratorial exchange of glances between the father and the daughter.

Papa said, “All right do as Mummy says and I will join you in the bed and tell you a story.” When Ants and Papa were cosily settled in the bed, the pre-story- telling haggling began.

Ants said, “Please, Four stories.”

Papa replied, “It is late baby, only one.”

Ants climbed down, she said, “only three.” “Alright, only two stories.”

Depika was a young and healthy child. She was good at her studies and good at games. She was also a good swimmer and participated in all her school activities. Her teachers were very fond of her for she was a good and well behaved child. Her friends were also fond of her because she was friendly and helpful.

One day she came back from her school and complained of cold and headache. Her face was flushed red. Her mother put her to bed and covered her in a quilt to keep her warm and comfortable. The next morning she developed fever and rashes appeared on her face and limbs. Her parents realised that she had caught measles. Measles is an infection which children catch when they come in contact with another person suffering from the disease. Her parents knew that she will be all right in a few weeks; however, they decided not to send her to the school the next day. They asked her friends not to visit her till she had got well. They took this precaution so that other children in the neighbourhood did not catch the infection from her. They called a doctor. The doctor examined her and declared that it was measles all right. He asked her parents why she had not been vaccinated against measles. He was told that Depika was scared of being vaccinated. He prescribed medicines and ordered that when she got well she was to be vaccinated. When he was about to go, Depika asked her why she had fallen ill. The Doctor smiled and sat down next to her and explained.

“You are aware that a country has neighbours, some friendly and some not so. Therefore, the country needs and maintains defence forces. The defence forces are ever prepared to protect her from enemies. Similarly we are also surrounded by viruses that attack us all the time and make us sick when we are not strong and unable to resist the attack of the virus.

Doctor told her that we become sick when a virus declares war upon the body of a weak person who is not strong enough to defend. Virus and bad bacteria of many kinds are all around us at all the time. Our bodies fight them and do not allow them to make us sick. Just like the Indian army who are vigilant all the time and protect the nation, our bodies too have an army of their own which protect us from diseases. This army resides in our blood. It has its soldiers like the regular army has its own. These soldiers are called white blood corpuscles (WBCs). These are the soldiers of our body. Whenever there is an attack by enemy viruses these soldiers take position and start fighting the intruders and defeat them so we remain healthy to enjoy a happy life.

An invading enemy can attack from air, water or surface. In the same manner the virus may enter into our body through the air we breathe, the water we drink or touché someone who is infected. When a virus attack takes, place our WBCs counter attack it. Many WBCs are martyred. This fight may be noticed in the body as a swelling, fever or one may become unwell in some other way. When our soldiers finally defeat the virus we again become healthy. There are casualties on both sides. Some of WBCs die for us. But our body soon makes more of them to keep our defence strong.

Sometimes the virus wins. It is not a nice thought, yet it may happen. The virus enters some part of the body. Then they begin to spread if not stopped. The blood in our body provides them with good food and means of transport. This helps virus to multiply and spread to many areas. Again, like an invading army, it attacks the most vital parts of the body. It can attack the brain, the heart and the lungs etc. WBCs, the soldiers of our body, fight valiantly. But to win a war an army needs to train its soldiers well and also arm them sufficiently. So if our WBCs are not ready and prepared for the fight, strong and well equipped, then they can lose the war against the invading army. Then the person may even die. Some people neglect this important precaution against falling ill. But wise among us keep their defence strong and avoid falling ill.

How do we avoid falling ill? Now you know the army keeps its soldiers prepared to defend the country by keeping them fit, providing proper food and gives them the best weapons to fight with. The body can also prepare its defence, similarly. The body needs regular exercise. It must be given good food like the vegetables, nut and fruits etc, to eat. It will keep army of WBCs healthy and in sufficient numbers to keep the enemy at bay. Now, the body must also provide, WBCs, with the weapons to fight the enemy. The weapons for the army of WBCs are vaccinations and inoculations. These are like guns, tanks and the fighter air craft of the WBCs. The WBCs use these weapons to defeat the virus. Now when the virus attack begins our defenders quickly reach the spot and give battle to the invaders. Fortified with good food, made strong by regular exercise and sufficiently armed with vaccination our soldiers defeat the virus and keep the body healthy.

If you had been vaccinated then your WBCs would have had the weapons to fight the disease. You caught the measles because you were not vaccinated. You need not worry, though. I have prescribed medicines which will help you to conquer this virus and you will be well in a few days. But remember, when you get well, get vaccinated.”

Thursday

It was Thursday and dinner time.

Little Ants scowled, “No, I am not sleepy.” She looked up at Papa and there was a conspiratorial exchange of glances between the father and the daughter.

Papa said, “All right do as Mummy says and I will join you in the bed and tell you a story.” When Ants and Papa were cosily settled in the bed, the pre-story- telling haggling began.

Ants said, “Please, Four stories.”

Papa replied, “It is late baby, only one.”

Ants climbed down, she said, “only three.” “Alright, only two stories.”

The state of Rajasthan is in the south west of Delhi. It was formed after India became independent. Before independence there were many small kingdoms which now constitute the state of Rajasthan. These kingdoms were, nominally, ruled by the Rajput chieftains. The British ruled most of India then. They used to appoint a British Officer called the Resident to each of these kingdoms. The British had forced this arrangement on these kingdoms. You have visited the Residency at Lucknow. It is called the Residency because it housed the office and the residence of the British Resident and his officers. It was really the British Resident who ruled.

Many among the rulers of these states were not even inclined to attend to the affairs of the state. They were content to collect taxes and use the money on harebrained pursuits. So the Kings would have lots of time and very little to do. Now this king whose story I am going to tell you was one such a king. Having abdicated his duty to the state, he would indulge in whatever caught his fancy. He would, at any time, order his ministers to undertake far-fetched missions, specially, when he had consumed opium. His officers were always eager to oblige for that was what they did any way! Also, because he would reward handsomely if pleased and punish those who failed him, they competed to please him. One day when he was visiting his garden, he noticed that there were no almond trees in the garden. He told his minister to plant some and also called upon the minister to explain why he had not thought of it himself. Now you cannot grow almonds in that arid area. But the minister was afraid to tell the truth. He knew that the king was keen to have almond trees in his garden. He was unlikely to accept any reason which did not gratify his desire. Fortunately for the minister, something else caught the attention of the king. He soon forgot about the almond plantation. On another occasion the King walked in to a play ground where a game of foot ball was in progress. He saw two of his young ministers playing and running after the ball. This annoyed him. He called for them and scolded them for running after the ball like some urchins! He told them to order their servants to play and watch the game from outside, he said, “Like decent gentlemen officers!”

Now, one day, he went to the race course where horse race takes place. It was a round turf where the horses were to run. He saw some very nice horses of fine pedigree. He was impressed. Then the races began which he enjoyed immensely for he had only to watch like a ‘gentleman’ and not participate in the game himself. He enjoyed the race.

It occurred to him that the horses there had to run around the turf and how splendid it would be if the horses could fly. Then they would fly directly to the winning post and not go round the ground. His Prime Minister was sitting next to him. He narrated his splendid idea to his Prime Minister who immediately acknowledge the brilliance of the King and said, “What a brilliant idea, Ann-Data” (giver of food. The king was addressed as Ann-Data by all his people). The Minister then had no idea of what was coming next and which was to make a lot of trouble for him. Pleased, the king said, “You are a good Prime Minister. You appreciate a good idea when I tell you of one. Now I want you to procure a good horse which can fly for my stable and get it quickly.”

The Prime Minister was taken aback at the demand. He did not know where to find a horse which could fly. He sent his officers, in all the four directions, to find the horse that could fly. The officers returned, after a few days, to intimate to him their failure to find the horse that could fly. The Prime Minister had to inform the King that he had sent his men every where they could go yet the horse that could fly was not found. However, before the King could express his displeasure at this failure, the Prime Minister hastily added, “If the Ann-Data would kindly agree then I would advertise throughout the state. Anyone who has such a horse would be pleased to make good profit by selling it to the royal stable.” In those days, the advertising was done by a team consisting of a drummer and a reader. They would go from place to place. The drummer would beat the drum to attract attention and then the reader would read out the message.

Luckily, the king agreed and told the Prime Minister that the good man who would give him the horse that could fly must be rewarded well. However, to ensure that no con man may try to swindle, the man should be beheaded if the horse failed to fly. The Prime Minister was saved from the imminent punishment but just for a while. He quickly arranged for his officers to go around the state and notify the people that the king wished to acquire a horse that could fly. The citizens were told that if anyone had or could provide such a horse, he must provide it to the royal stable. He would be handsomely rewarded. However, he who would make false claim will be beheaded.

Jassu was a lazy vagrant. He never did anything and earned no money. He would, though, all the time, dream of becoming rich. His wife used to work hard to maintain the family. He would sometimes take money from her and spend it on himself. He was also addicted to opium. That day when the officers came to his village to announce about the King’s diktat he was lying, near a village shop, in opium induced stupor but he heard the officers well enough. At first, he thought that they were a bunch of tricksters trying to swindle the simple village folks. However, he soon realized that they were officers of the state. Now, though, he thought of them as a bunch of fools who expected to find a horse which could fly, he also recognized that there was an opportunity, to make some easy money, knocking at his doors. He approached them and volunteered to provide one to their master provided the payment was good. The officers were delighted to find someone who could do the impossible and save them and the Prime Minister from the impending trouble. They said that money was of no importance as the King was rich and was also impatient to acquire the horse which could fly. They straight away took him to the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister was overjoyed to meet with Jassu who was going to make available the horse which could fly. He personally took Jassu to the king’s palace to meet with the king who too was happy to meet with the person who was going to cater to his fancy and provide the horse which could fly.

The king asked him, “So, my good man, you can give us horse which can fly?”

The king always spoke of himself in plural.

Jassu said, “Yes, Ann-Data.”

King asked, “Do you know all the terms? Do you agree to them?”

Jasu said, “Yes, Ann-Data, I do.”

The king again asked, “Can you do the job.”

Jassu said, “Yes, Ann-Data but.”

King said, “What is this we hear but? We accept no conditions; no ifs or buts. Just tell us if you can give us the flying horse or not.”

Jassu replied, “Ann-Data, I can but it will cost a lot of money and will also take long time because I will have to produce one especially for you. You are all knowing, you know, ordinary horses do not fly.”

King said, “We know. All right state your terms.”

Jassu, “Ann-Data, I will need a few villages to rear it. It must have lots of space to practice flying. I also need a large house with a good garden and some gardeners to grow appropriate feed for the horse.”

King, “Granted”

Jassu, “I will need a crore of rupees to build a proper stable, to feed it and look after it.”

King, “Granted.”

Jaasu, “I will also need diamonds, pearls and other precious stones. It is going to be a very special horse. It cannot be treated like any other horse of poor pedigree.”

King, “Granted. What else?”

Jassu, “Ann-Data. I will need 40 servants to help me in this arduous task.”

King, “Granted. Prime Minister arrange for it all. Now when will you deliver the horse?”

Jassu, “Ann-Data it has to be reared with care. You are good judge of steed. You accept only the best. And now you have desired a very special kind of horse.”

King, “Yes. Yes. We know that. But when will you give the horse? No conning. You know the terms. We are very generous but we do not tolerate humbugs or suffer the fools.”

Jassu, “Yes, Ann-Data. You are also a very wise King also. But as I submitted to you it will take time to raise such an animal as you desire. I must give you the very best. It must be the best, even among the horses which fly. It will take fifteen years.”

King, “We grant to you fifteen years but no more and expect no extension of time or any leniency.

Jasu bowed, praised the King several times and then departed.

The Prime Minister followed him. He arranged to provide to Jassu all that which the King had granted to him.

When his wife heard about the onerous and dangerous task which Jassu had undertaken, she was beside herself with grief. She knew that Jassu was good for nothing. He was surely going to be beheaded at end of the contracted period. She began to wail and shout at him in anger.

“You wretch! You good for nothing greedy lout! Why did you accept this job? You are sure to be beheaded. What will then happen to me? What will then become of our children? Why did you not think of us?” And she cried some more.

Jassu was amused and said, “Dear wife, why you lament so while I am still alive. We have now everything which you and I could have ever desired. Enjoy it all. I may not be alive to receive the punishment. You may not live till then or the King may die. For all you know the horse may fly! Let us make hay while there is sun shine in our lives.

Friday

It was Friday and dinner time.

Little Ants scowled, “No, I am not sleepy.” She looked up at Papa and there was a conspiratorial exchange of glances between the father and the daughter.

Papa said, “All right do as Mummy says and I will join you in the bed and tell you a story.” When Ants and Papa were cosily settled in the bed, the pre-story- telling haggling began.

Ants said, “Please, Four stories.”

Papa replied, “It is late baby, only one.”

Ants climbed down, she said, “only three.” “Alright, only two stories.”

Matai Ram was a religious man. He lived in a village very near the town of Sidhauli which is mid way between the state capital, Lucknow and Sitapur. In sixty years of his existence he had maintained a disciplined life style. He was the twice born. This is so because it is said that people of his cast are born twice, once on the day when they are actually born and another time, when they bear the scared thread, called yagyopaveet, for the first time. The thread is worn at all the time, across the trunk and is forgotten there, except when the wearer proceeds for ablution. Then he must wrap it around his ear. Matai Ram was an early riser. So that every morning he would wrap the sacred thread around his ear and proceed for daily ablution. Thereafter, he would sit in his pooja room and recite from the Ram Charitra Manas and then do aarti. He would then go out looking for some fakirs and feed them. It was his custom not to eat himself until he had fed some fakirs. He would then have his vegetarian breakfast. It took him considerable time to complete the routine. However, by ten of the clock he was ready to attend to more mundane chores which kept his family and himself in comparative luxury. Matai Ram had a small shop in which he kept large variety of items of daily use of the villagers. His was the only shop in the village. This mini mall attracted most of the villagers throughout the day. It kept him busy as well as, rather, well-off. It must, however, be said that Matai Ram did not waste his riches and used his wealth well.

Matai Ram had lived all his life in Sidhauli. His travel was restricted to Lucknow where he used to go regularly to buy goods for his shop from the whole sellers. In Lucknow he would go straight to the whole sellers’ place, order for the good he intended to buy, make payment, always in cash and collect his goods. He would then go straight to the railway station or the bus stand, as may be appropriate and return to his native village. Other than procuring the goods for his shop, he had no interest in the city of Lucknow or any other city. He had no wish to visit the far off cities. He did not desire to see the mountains of the north or the peninsular south, the Ghats of the east or the west. But he loved all about his village. He loved his family, his friends and, indeed, all the men folks of his village whom he had known, since ever, he imagined. He was a simple person. He adored his house, his shop, and the festivals, and the community puja sessions of the village. Anything thing associated with his village was dear to him. His life had shrunk within the territorial limits of his village and he had no desire to expand it either. He, though, cherished a longing, yet unfulfilled, to visit the holy places and to take a dip in the holy waters of the river Ganga. This intense yearning had remained frustrated, mainly, due to his equally intense distaste for travel.

On the Monday, after the festival of Janamashtmai, Suhkdev, and his sons came to visited Matai Ram at his shop. They had brought some Prasad from the shrine of Kedarnath for him. He was pleased to receive the holy Prasad. He thanked them and said, “Brother, I admire you for your adventurous spirit. You went so far away in to those mountains and brought Prasad for all of us. You have done a good job. God will surely bless you for this good deed.”

Sukhdev replied, “It is nothing, brother. It is our duty to the village to let them share in our act of piety. And as far as the matter of adventure is concerned, it is indeed no adventure at all. All you have to do is to go Lucknow and catch the train to Hardwar from where you get a bus ride to Gaurikund and thence to Kedar, by foot. En route, there are places where you can stay and have meals. You can choose the one which suits your pocket. Why do you also not go to the holy place and earn the blessing of lord Kedar”

Matai Ram, “I am deeply tempted to do so, brother but the thought of travel fills me with strange forebodings. I so wish I could go to the holy places and to the mother Ganga to take a dip into its holy waters but I cannot travel. I loathe travel, what to do?”

Sukhdev, “Well if you do not wish to travel far, still you may, if you so wish, go to Kanpur and take the holy dip there. Kanpur is not far off. You are familiar with Lucknow where you go often for business. Kanpur is just another two hours by bus or train from there; you take your dip and be back by the evening, that is, if you start early in the morning.’’

Matai Ram, “Brother what you say tempts me. Let us see if my fate has so ordained. If I have done some good deeds, surely mother Ganga will call me to herself. Only those whom she calls are the lucky ones who go to her.”

Sukhdev agreed. However, at this point the visit was terminated because Sukhdev had to go to others to give Prasad to them. He took leave of Matai Ram. Sukhdev and his sons went away. However, the encouraging discussion with Sukhdev and partaking of the holy Prasad had elated Matai Ram and had left him thinking. He deliberated upon the idea and found it appealing. There was not any need to go to Lucknow to change train either. There was a morning train arriving from Sitapur which will take him to Kanpur via Lucknow. In Kanpur, he will go to the bathing ghat. It cannot take too long for the Ghat must be within the city. At the Ghat, he will say prayer, and then go for the holy dip. This will not take much time. On his way back it will be convenient to take bus ride back to Lucknow, change bus there and then back to Sidhauli. The more he thought about it the more he liked it. He even went to the station master at Sidhauli railway station to consult with him to ensure that there was no error in the plan. When the station master also approved it, he went back to discuss it with his wife. The wife agreed with the idea but had little to contribute as far as the travel plan was concerned. All her life she had travelled only between Sidhauli and her father’s village, Barai, a few kilometres away.

The husband and the wife decided that he would go to Kanpur the following Tuesday as Tuesday is an auspicious day. So early in the morning Matai Ram packed a bag with clothes and a towel so that he could change after the holy bath. His wife, thoughtfully, packed some fruits and lunch and gave him enough money for the travel and to buy Prasad. He also kept some money so that he may give alms to fakirs. All these went into his bag. Then he changed into his best pair of pyjama-kurta and wore the new sandals he had bought only recently. He was now dressed for the occasion. He bid good bye to his family and went to the railway station, bought the ticket for Kanpur and stood waiting for the train which arrived soon. He went into a compartment, did not find sitting space and so sat down in front of the toilet. The train moved soon and in an hour he reached Lucknow and then it took the train another one hour and half to reach Kanpur where he got down. He had only a small bag containing his clothes and money which did not require hiring a coolie. He went out of the station and hired a rickshaw to take him to the bathing ghat. Nothing exciting or untoward had taken place. This was very reassuring to our hero, Matai Ram whose all apprehensions had disappeared and he was in a cheerful mood in expectation of his encounter with his dear mother Ganga.

He reached the ghat soon enough. He paid the rickshaw puller the settled amount and moved to the ghat. He was now on the top of the ghat stairs leading to the river. He could see the mother Ganga moving swiftly, carrying a lot of city filth. This distressed him but the site of the mother was so blissful that he soon forgot about it. He joined his hands in salutation to the river and bowed from the waist in veneration and then took a few steps down towards the river.

He was accosted by two young fellows. The elder of the two said, ‘O Mausa, (Husband of the sister of mother), do you come from sasural (wife’s place before marriage) in Kheeri. Where is Mausi (mother’s sister)?

Matai Ram looked up at the boys and replied, “My apology but do I know you?”

“Mausa, surely, you are joking. You are famous for your jovial nature. My elders have told me so.”

“Honestly I am unable to connect.”

The boy laughed, “Mausa, you do not recognize us. We are your nephews. Now tell us where is Mausi?”

Matai Ram was uncomfortable but replied, “No I come from Sidhauli and my wife has not come with me. My sasural is in Barai and not in Kheri. You boys are mistaken about me. I am not your Mausa.”

“I know that Mausi is from Barai. Someone had told me that her brother had been in kheeri for some time and that she had gone to meet him.” Digressing from the enquiry about mausi he asked, “You do not recognize me Mausa? Oh, but how can you? It has been so long. I have grown up during these years. I have changed. You remain the same; I recognize you. You have not changed one bit except for some silver in your hair. It becomes you Mausa.

Matai Ram was confused, “But her brother is still in Barai. He never went to Kheri or anywhere else.”

“No! A friend had come from Barai and had told me so. Shocking how people give wrong information. They consider it a joke but I can tell you, this is no joke. One must respect relationships and provide correct information about the relatives whom one has not met for long. My! How does one explain this to these city dwellers?”

Matai Ram was bewildered and also embarrassed. He had not recognised a close relative.

“You must be Matadin’s son then. How is he? He was planning to buy a cow when I met him last.”

“Oh! Father bought a lovely cow. It gives lot of milk. It was a good purchase. But, first tell if you have come for the holy dip in the mother Ganga? If so, you take the dip first. We will talk later when I take you to my modest place. Do not let me distract you now”

“Yes. Indeed. I have come to take dip in the river. I have this bag. Where do I keep it?”

“Just leave it here with us. We will wait for you to return and then take you to my place for some refreshment.”

“Do not bother. I have something to eat, here, which your Mausi gave to me when I left Sidhauli. You are worthy sons of your worthy father. Very well, hold this bag while I go for the holy dip.”

So saying, Matai ram gave the bag in the care of the nephews. He took off all his clothes but for his under pants. Then he carefully descended the stairs to the river. The steps were slippery with accumulated water and filth. He went up to the river, folded his hands in deep reverence and chanted a hymn in praise of the river. Then he closed his nostrils with the fingers of his right hand so that the water may not go into his nose while he took the dip and entered the water. He experienced ultimate bliss. He picked up water in the hollow of his joined palms and poured it back in to the river as offering to the river. Having finished his undertaking he turned back and ambled up the stairs, ready to meet his nephews and reclaim his bag.

When he reached where he had left the bag with the two youngsters, he did not find the bag or the nephews there. He looked around. There was no sign of then. He looked around some more for the two boys without any success. As the time elapsed he became panicky. He had no money and did not even have his clothes. He was shivering with cold in the late afternoon breeze. He saw some people there and asked them where the boys were. But no one could help him because he could not even tell them the names of the boys. He did not know their names. He now had a sneaking feeling that something was amiss. In shear desperation he shouted aloud, “Where are the boys? Where are my nephews? Whose uncle am I?”

A person standing close by, teasingly asked, “How do I know? You tell whose uncle you are?”

There came a constable. Matai Ram ran up to him and related the story and then put the same question to him, “whose uncle am I?” the constable looked up at him and replied, “Sir, How can I tell you whose uncle you are, if you cannot? And I would say to you that unless you have been duped, which I suspect is the case, you nephews should come back soon.”

So Matai Ram sat down on the step of the ghat, in his under pants, quivering with cold, awaiting the return of his nephews.

A story for my Grandson to read when he grows up; of the times he was born

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Tue, 29 Apr 2014 06:07:00 +0000

Ah! Boy you wish to know about the India in the timed you were born? You say you have come across many versions of times and events and it has roused your curiosity. All versions, you find are partisan accounts, you say. All accounts emotional and abusive of some one or the other, confounding the confusion, you discover. Well, let me narrate to you my bias of the times.

Well, those were, indeed, bewildering times. India was in transition, economically and morally. We humans tend to believe that morality and justice make for good literature to be read, in times of distress or leisure and then left to adorn the display shelves. People in 2014 were no different. Excuse me, I sense I am rambling.

The change was quick and had acquired, can I say unmindful of the inset contradiction, permanence, making people lose their moorings. The goal that remained was self aggrandizement. Ah! I mean, not quite though; for there were as many people who lived substantially the by values dear to them. If I am ambivalent then please do not chaff at me. You see, I too lived those times and continue to suffer from then contemporary symptoms of confusions and suspicion.

Actually the times were not bad at all.

Well! On second thoughts, times were really bad. You say that that does not make for any degree of clarity! Well, you see, those were enigmatic times with no clarity of bearing and I am also getting on. Let me try again.

Political discourse had cease to generated informed debate to establish the right course for the national activity. Unsubstantiated accusations were hurled thick fast and fast and worst, people were enjoying such slanging matches. Obnoxious and vicious literature was considered witty and propagated over the social media. Leaders had stopped to explain their vision to the nation. Instead they sought popularity by mimicking their rival. The times were bad because the parliament would not be allowed to function. Gone were the days when a Shyama Prasad Mukherjee would tell a miffed Nehru who has offered to quit that the parliament had made him the Prime Minister and Nehru would have to continue doing both, remain Prime Minister and listen to his chastisements, for the MPs had elected Nehru and he could go only when the MPs so desired. Several bills of national importance failed to receive approval which would have helped improve the fortune of the country, in the time of worldwide recession. The Parliament no more a forum for debate had become the forum for the expression of hatred and derision and sectoral demands. Was it like the Jats take over in the dying hours of the decadent Moghul Empire- India fragmenting and withering away? Let me think again.

I suspect that I am becoming a prisoner of my own rhetoric. It was not as dark as I paint. Though the parliament was stalled, its select committees worked feverishly and earned the admiration of the professionals who were called upon or chose to depose before the committee. Many important laws were legislated. Several measures of potential for transformation of the society were implemented, some substantially others partially depending upon the states which were the agency of implementation. Several measured pooh poohed then, proved their intrinsic worth, later.

Times were bad for the government under attack from various quarters, including sniping from within, who had, for a time, all but abdicated. Most activity by the government was stayed and made subject to prolonged legal scrutiny and it appeared as if the courts had taken over the governance. Height of a dam or if an under the sea range is the remnants of the bridge built by Lord Ram and his monkeys, to go to Lanka to reclaim his stolen spouse, became the subjects of adjudication by their learned lordships, increasing their backlog of work by several years and increasing the misery of the other litigants. The parliament, unwilling to legislate, was inclined to investigate instead. National accountancy had stopped to pin point correctives to government accounts and taken to compute presumed losses to the delight of the political opponents of the government. No institution was doing what it was supposed to do but vying to do what the other institution was expected to do.

Well! Perhaps it was not as bad as I make it sounds. The young nation had just experienced a decline after a high rate of economic growth. In the first rush of economic redistribution and political activism bad coin was driving away the good coin. Yet it cannot be said that all was so moribund. The government after the first shocks had revived itself to an extent it could for the fresh elections had been announced. The courts under severe criticism from several sources had begun to murmur need for corrective action. The parliament was expected to function normally after the elections.

For the hopeful it was a much needed renaissance and for the skeptic, the end of the world. Stories are born of desolation and history records renaissance. As the story telling is a favorite human pastime, skeptics ruled the discourse.

Hopes soared for those who believed that Modi was about to sweep the national elections and sweep away the much derided Man Mohan Singh government. His supporters had begun early, prepared well and spent humongous amounts of money on advertising and the deployment of man power. Modi had taken to the dictum that to be famous, make people laugh. In his speeches he would caricature the prime minister and others adversaries aggressively, indeed impolitely. By the time he had finished his speech no one had the thought or the patience to ask him, how he proposed to right the national wrongs. Media had taken to Modi because he provided sound bites which kept TRP healthy and did not require them to strain their faculties. Modi had even pre-empted the national verdict. He had proclaimed that the nation had decided to make him the prime minister. Manmohan Singh had already been consigned to history. And yet, the tall claims of the Modi group notwithstanding, his party was missing from large tracks of the land. Many sects and communities preferred to lay trust with their own, ignoring complex concerns of the political analyst and the inevitable, the self proclaimed intellectuals, commonly known as the journalists. After the exhaustive publicity over a sustained period, people where getting bored of Modi, even the media had begun to ask questions.

Times were not good some claimed because there was corruption in the government offices and the government. This upset the people much. They would collect at Jantar Mantar make all kinds of speeches condemning the government and its official without giving up on stealing on the taxes themselves or bribing to get their work done without suffering the queue. Their leader, one Kejriwal, had caught the imagination of the people. He received much adulation and approval. He began by making allegations against the government official and in time converted it into his pass time, casting aspersions upon all and sundry, without fear or favor. Me think; without reasonable proof too. But soon people got fed up of him also and began to ignore him. Notwithstanding his penchant to hurl invectives at the powers that be, which was enjoyed much by the people, he had no prescription for the national ills except unimaginative palliative of free water and electricity to those who could afford to pay for it for they alone had the connections for water and electricity. We will never know the extent of wrongdoing by the powerful or the McCarthyism of this sect. Yet, the Kejriwal phenomenon had swept away the complacence of the national political spectrum

The times were bad, really bad. There was lawlessness. Female foeticide as well as the killing of brides for dowry was often reported in the country. There were reports in increase of the number of rapes, murders and other felonies. Fatwas by the mullahs were common and khaps frequently liquidate young lovers, married or otherwise who did not follow the customs of the khap. Honour killings too had been reported. Jean clad girls visiting pubs or restaurants would be harassed by the Hindu chauvinists. Mullahs would shriek through the loudspeakers atop the minarets and Jagaran and rat-jaga were popular.

On the other hand the fatwa by the mullahs were commonly flouted and Khaps under pressure from the law as well as the media had begun to exhibit weariness and a tendency to succumb. Honor killing, rapes and dowry were being now reported, investigated and punishment meted out to the felons. Ladies had taken to jeans and pubs with a vengeance.

It was distressful to see young people not on the football fields or the tennis courts but in the Dhabas and the Mall. They would rather play computer games than move their limbs. And yet the cricket had caught the imagination of many and the six pack abs popularized by the film stars had persuaded several to join the gymnasiums which were appearing in larger numbers in the cities.

India had begun the mission to Mars and mastered the cryogenic technology, polio had been eradicated though Japanese encephalitis was the new terror, e governance had begun to take shape. The much criticized and less debated poverty line had been crossed by a large number of poorest Indians. India had several modern industries including the much admired information technology industry and the pharmaceutical industry, telecom had reached every nook and corner and financial inclusion was running apace. Airports, metros and roads were being built.The national economy was third largest in the world. So perhaps times were not too bad after all.

I apologise to you if I have confused you some more. But one thing I can assert with object clarity, that lot had changed and more change, and at a lot quicker pace, was manifest.

More of Akbar Allahabadi

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Thu, 29 Aug 2013 10:22:00 +0000

Iniquitous! How can the preacher sacrifice the rhetoric, give up his nature,
Renounce religios qurrels and at risk, put his career
In his grief, Farhad when counselled restarint,
Asked,'' Tell me, what shall I do with the spade.

**************************************************
To the armies of the Sultan, Akbar never capitulated
But of the gibes of the wife dear, lay decimated.

**************************************************

Shall I divulge to you, what after death happened?
Friends dined and the Koran was canted.

****************************************************************

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Sat, 11 May 2013 10:34:00 +0000

Laila and Majnoon the legendry lovers put in modern perspective.

by the poet Akbar Allahabadi

Whispered Mother of Laila to Majnoon

Son! If you pass the M.A., soon

Without more ado, I will marry Laila to you

And be gracious mother in law, to you too

Sayeth Majnoon; Pity old woman! You do not differentiate

The baloney and the ambience passionate

Between the natural ardour of an admirer

And the tedious explanations of the lecturer

What has gone wrong with you! Thou lady old

A deer is not made to carry load

Indeed poor appreciation of my personality

Like Harchran Das, I cannot be

I come to sacrifice my heart, and my intent make plain

But refuse to let you con me or strain my brain

If this be the condition of engagement

With hope and regret, I tender, herewith, my resignation

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 12:35:00 +0000

ये क्या हो रहा है, ये क्यों हो रहा है .

यह क्या माजरा है, यह कैसी सबा है.
निगाहों में उलझन, दिलों में धुआं है .
कुछ ऐसी भी मुश्किल नहीं दास्ताँ है.
कई अंजुमन हैं, कई रस्ते हैं .
न जाने ये क्यों, फिर, समा बदगुमां है.
ये किस मोढ़ पर आज, मेरा हिन्दोस्तां है.
यह क्या माजरा है, यह कैसी सबा है.

यह मोदी की हवा है, य राहुल की सदा है.
मन मोहन की दवा है, समझ में न आए ये क्या सिलसिला है.
ये सुषमा के नाले, लो अब तो जेटली भी खफ़ा है.
औ, लोगों का क्या हाल हम तुमको बताएं.
उसी उस ने लूटा, जिसको अवसर मिला.
जो कुछ भि है, हिन्दोस्तां बदगुमाँ है.
यह क्या माजरा है, यह कैसी सबा है.

यह स्कैम में हुकूमत य, फिर,हुकूमत में स्कैम है.
किस किस क नाम हम तुमको गिनाएं, न इससे कोई भी अछूता रहा है.
ये यू पी औ एम पी, बंगला भी ए पी भी.
ये सियासी दियारे, औ अफसर के दफ्टर भी.
चोरों कि बजती है सारे में तूती.
जो कुछ भी है, बस हिन्दोस्तां बदगुमाँ है.
यह क्या माजरा है, यह कैसी सबा है.

टी वी दिखए सियासी तमाशे,
स्टूडियो के माहिर इनक़लाबियों की जलवे.
रिटायर्ड अफसरों के जवांमार्दी के क़िस्से.
जजों की हिकायत, वकीलों की नसीहत.
इन तमाशों से सुधरी, वतन की न हालत.
इसी सब से शायद वतन बदगुमाँ है.
यह क्या माजरा है, यह कैसी सबा है.

चले पोछने सबके आंसू, भारत के रतन थे.
मिली राह में जब सुबह की किरण.
सुबह ने दिखाया धनो का द्वार.
रहबर बन गए रहज़न, बे-शुमार.
मुश्ल्किलें तो बहुत हैं, पै इरादे जवानां बुलंद.
यही है बस हिन्दोस्तान का मरम.
पै, अब तो मंज़र ये है, हिन्दोस्तां बदगुमाँ है.
यह क्या माजरा है, यह कैसी सबा है.

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 10:59:00 +0000

Vagary of an old and idle mind-2

A drop, in bosom of the river, I flow from birth to the end.

मैं क़तरा हूँ लेकिन बआगोशे दरिया अजल से अबद तक बहा जा रहा हूँ

If life moved in a salient then one would do well to be master of his trade and avoids the risk of being Jack of many trades and lose out on core competency. Therefore, should one concentrate on a good career and earn lots of money or should one also widen his horizons, acquire knowledge of topics other than one’s trade, have hobbies; interest himself in art and culture, stress good health and good relationships? Does life follow the pattern of modern day specialist, a heart specialist or a rocket scientist? Is it important for individual to bother himself with these questions or it is a charade because lives are unique and follow no patterns.

Can a life said to be well led if it is spent pursuing single course and one remains oblivious of other splendors and beauties surrounding life and living? Will contentment elude a person who is so focused? The point is what makes for completeness in life; all of a solitary feature or substantial aspects of man. If latter then in what proportions or the mathematics of proportions, here, is in fructuous. Would you agree, I do subscribe to the idea that one may, indeed legitimately conjure up a sense of achievement, yet the euphoria it will remain ephemeral. It would be like eating something you cherish but once you have chewed it and swallowed it, it is all over. The after taste does not linger for long. Even if it is so, so be it? Why deny one that sense of elation for the fear of its being is transitory? Further, question arises that if so, then why one must not strive for more achievements in his chosen field, a continuum of achievements to create reasonable degree of permanence through a series of transients rather than scare himself into dividing his energy in to several areas This issue does not appear important and the argument appears fallacious to me because the point is not to deny any thing to one self but to recognize that life itself is made up of various elements. Therefore, even single minded pursuit of an idea will need inputs from several other disciplines for neither the life nor the society in which sustains life, can continue upon fractions. The life appears to be focus of numerous the radiations.

Thus, I deem it that sense of satisfaction will come by getting to lead a more rounded life where there is input from several welcome sources. In the Hindu thought, emphasis is laid on सन्तुलन, the nearest inadequate English expression, to my mind, would be balance. I think the word has stronger connotations of optimal amalgam rather that balancing the powers. I accept that it is perfectly legitimate to seek more money so that efforts are not diluted and development is not stunted. However, when this desire for more riches becomes a craving and entirely over powering, it must disturb the सन्तुलन.

Another aspect is personal needs and relationships. Relationships need extra care because in pursuit of everyday activities and career one tends to take relationships for granted or just ignore relationships. If such a relationship even barely sustains then it is either efforts of the others or sheer providence. Whatever the reason, it shall hang by a thread and certainly not be a reason for sustained satisfaction of life well led. How does one nurture relationships? True it takes two to tango yet, to my mind, it can be achieved by not giving much or at least secondary importance to one self and giving more importance to others without professing covertly or overtly, ones exertion. Is there danger that the people tend to take you for granted? Well then perhaps one can practice it at least in closer circles and take the loss to sustain relationship. This effort will also mature one and prepare him to extend the idea to a larger group. Nurturing of relationship requires love and not treatise by Hersey and Blanchard. In this, there has to be a degree of surrender; not technical precision nor contractual exchange. One can practice it only when one enjoys doing so.

It also implies an ability and desire to internalize everyday problems. ‘Kicking the dog’ syndrome will not serve the purpose. It will involve inculcating in oneself strength to look the issue in the eye and start to search for the solution without getting overwhelmed by the issue itself.

Lucknow Mangos-Akbar Alahabadi

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 07:42:00 +0000

Neither memo nor no dispatch mate send,

In this festive season only mangoes send.

For awhile I will enjoy and devour,

So twenty be ripen and ten not mature.

You know the address of yours truly ,

Send the consignment to me directly .

Hope not, you convey in reply,

It shall be done but mail the cash firstly.

Akbar Alahabadi-shayari-translation

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 06:29:00 +0000

(Alas, Curzon has done it!)

Watch the mug of the womanly guys,

Esteem men by their fashionable ways.

If truth be told, at the storey top, people, lightened,

Campaign with the beard began, with the moustache concluded.

Vagary of an old and idle mind-1 Governance, leadership and corruption

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 04:49:00 +0000

The widely prevalent corruption in the Indian nation has left the people insensate and, paradoxically, seething inside. However, the recent media coverage of CWG and 2G scams and the judicial pronouncements, thereon, brought the issue forth into public focus. The conniving, for the antagonist, or hapless, for the sympathetic, government of Dr. Manmohan Singh was jolted out of its stupor of ambivalence and take note of the public anger.

The Anna Hazare team, fixated on its own version of ombudsman, Jana Lokpal, bill, spearheaded the agitation to force a bewildered government to abandon its reluctantly drafted bill, which was labelled ‘toothless’ and angrily dubbed ‘jokepal’. The rhetoric was reinforced with threat of fast unto death by Anna Hazare. This technique of protest was resorted to, effectively, by Mahatma Gandhi, during British occupation of India and pronounced unsuitable in independent India, by the Mahatma himself. There has been a lot of debate about the alleged intrinsic governmental apathy to fight corruption and the role of the civil society to force the government to accept its prescriptions for the social ills through methods which are not necessarily envisaged in the Constitution of India. It is argued that as all political parties come to close ranks on the issue and have a vested interest in perpetrating corruption from which they gain immensely. Therefore, people of India, as represented by the civil society of Mr Hazare, have no other recourse but to accept and support the discourse of the group. The agitating group, in fact, received immense emotional response from the people of India. The ills were not categorised and a simple and single cure was sought by the harassed population. The people also did not recognise the difference between corruption which can be addressed by an institution like the Lokpal and corruption due to maladministration which indeed hurts general public much more and may require humongous infrastructure for detection, training of personnel and provision of equipment et cetera over a considerable period of time and therefore, may have to be tackled differently. They also ignored the possibility of an omnibus Lokpal turning out to be Frankensteinian monster, in the course of time. The hope of Eldorado here and now has pushed back the possible scenarios of future. Be as it may, the popular response put a faltering government on the back foot. The political opposition smelt blood and several riff-raff also jumped in to the fray.

The issue has been discussed on TV and other media ad nauseam. However, I suspect that the role of the government in the modern society and the concepts of leadership which are also involved have not received the attention that it deserves as more radical views and exotic solutions caught more eye balls.

The cliché, ‘of the people, for the people and by the people,’ is often repeated with considerable vehemence and passion in order to remind the government that it must carry out the wishes of its masters, the people. People's wish it is implied must reflect in governments policies. However, it is important to realise that governance per se involves coercion. People’s will and governance, is, perhaps, dichotomy of democracy, yet inseparable. There is an element of juxtaposition in governance and reflecting the passing moods of the people. If everyone is doing what one ‘should do’ then where is the need for government? If social good is aggregate of maximum good for an individual then there is no scope for conflict. Each one of us will, without any compunction, pursue what one perceives is best for him or her. (since aggregate of individual good is hypothesised to be the good of the nation then we need not pursue any grudge against a Raja or a Kalamadi!) If it is presumed that individual action can never impinge adversely upon the interest of other members of the society then elaborate rules, laws, courts and other instruments of governance become redundant. Therefore, the important question is, if this concept of ‘godly person’, who would always do what gels with the general social needs, is correct and acceptable? The planet Earth is not Eldorado yet: as such a modicum of governance, albeit minimal, with the consent of the governed and which respects individual liberty, is requisite. It will be naive to presume that every person or a group of persons can be granted complete freedom of action and the liberty to pursue what he or they may consider good for themselves or even good for the people at large without audit. Passionate rhetoric and intemperate language must not take the place of considered and informed arguments. Noise is not music and as Shaw said, ‘sneers are no arguments.’

In the milieu of national governance who can be this auditor? I believe it can be the representatives of the people duly elected by them and ultimately people themselves who would express themselves at the time of elections. There may be no short cuts to this and no group proclaiming to be the voice of the people can appropriate to itself the right to represent them without their consent.

A nation state will require a government and the people must ensure that this government is a good government but they must not circumscribe it into incapability.

Political leaders are much reviled lot who constitute, probably, the largest group who are the butt of the most cruel of jokes and gossip. God knows, several of them have earned it for themselves. However, the politicians are drawn from the same society as the rest of us and, therefore, as a class, must have good people as well as the bad ones, in the same proportion as in any other trade, indeed in the society itself. To contend the MPs are villains and the rest of the society which elects them is Lilly white, is naive. Indeed politicians, even the bad ones, are the instruments through which the various interest groups interact and arrive at an optimum share of benefits for the groups. This process fulfils the aspirations of the people and ensures inter-group peace and harmony. Therefore it will not be wise to decry the institution of the political leadership entirely.

In a democratic setup people are supreme but almost, for the governments cannot function by the Gallup polls. It is well argued that the politicians must project and carry out the wishes of their constituents. However, the politicians have a role, apart from being one of them and representing the people, that of being a leader; a role which a society can deny to them only at its cost and peril. Obviously, a leader should be a person of acumen with ideas for future direction. He must be able to communicate with people and persuade them to accept his paradigms. Perhaps, a tall order but that is what is requisite. The society needs to assume responsibility to elect such people instead of berating its own choice, at all the times. A leader cannot be a mere mouthpiece for the multitude. And politicians cannot be replaced with any number of wise Judges, heads of tribunals or commissions lest the nation is lost to a dictator or an oligarchy of dictators.

(This was written during the first Anna agitation)

More of Iqbal-Sher

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Tue, 08 May 2012 11:32:00 +0000

Be it the majesty of monarchy or the distraction of democracy,

Divorced from politics, there remains, but tyranny.

***********************************************************

Ay Qais*! Why has your passion gone cold?

(though) Laila** still has the same flair of being Laila.

*Legendary lover Majnoo

** Legendary beloved

Muaarri

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 21:00:00 +0000

It is said, Muaarri never par-took of meat,

He survived on flower and fruit.

A friend sent to him partridge baked ,

The virtuoso, by the dodge, perchance, be plagued.

Muaarri, spied the appetizing fowl baked,

The poet of gurfan-o-lajumaat, thus, mused.

Tell me, what was your crime, O bird wretched,

For which you deserved punishment so wicked?

Alas, a hundred times,alas you were not born an eagle,

thy eye did not perceive the nature’s signal.

From the time of creation, the Dispenser of fates has ordained,

The penalty is abrupt death, for the crime of being faint and drained.

Jibrael and Iblees............

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 20:04:00 +0000

Jibraeel (Gabriel)and Iblees, both, were angles, together in the heaven. Iblees was turned out of the heaven for disobeying God and turned into Devil
Jibraeel," Old friend! How is the world of colour and fragrance?"
Iblees," Full of heat of heart, of pain, wound, quest and
aspiration."
Jibraeel," Of you, often in the heaven, angles mull over,

                Is it not possible, bygones ignored and your damaged wear be
                put back together?"
Iblees,"   Alas! Jibraeel! You are not aware of the secret profound,
                My broken glass of wine, truly, has bestowed upon me vision unbound.
                Impossible now my habitation here! Impossible here now my
               habitation!
                How subdued is this place, without streets and bastion.
                The exuberance of universe, diminished by pervading nothingness,
                For such a place, neither despair nor hope, is goodness."
Jibraeel, " Repudiation has lost to you the pinnacles lofty,
                What appeal remains in eyes of God, for angles holy?"
Iblees, "   It is my fortitude that advancement fascinates man, of dust made,
                By my endeavour, the clothes of wisdom’s fibre made.
               Sitting on the shore, the war of good and bad, you eye,
               But who is receiving the blows of storm, you or I.
                Without hand and feet, helpless, are the wise and the prophet,
               My struggles from moment to moment span from river to river
                and from rivulet to rivulet.
                Enquire of God, if granted audience ever,
                Whose blood made the life of Man so full of colour?
               I am, niggling, like a thorn, in the heart of God,
                And you merely whine,” Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

Intones the Preacher............

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 14:38:00 +0000

Intones the Preacher, renunciation, here, fulfilment bestow!
Renounced the world? Then, renounce the heavens too.
Commendable to die than to follow without question,
Find your path! Give up the refrain of Preacher’s exhilaration
The sacrament of love, is to rest away from the assembly,
Renounce the temple, the gratifying and the holy.
It is no deal making, it is worship of God,
O gullible! Renounce also the desire of reward.

The Confused Idea of Pakistan

noreply@blogger.com (Arun Harkauli) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 09:45:00 +0000

The idea of Pakistan was, perhaps, initially articulated by Md. Iqbal, a brilliant poet, inconsolablely pained at the plight of Muslims for which he blamed almost everyone on the planet and beyond with, possibly, singular inability to introspect. Yet it was a poet's imagery and no more. He was what Rt. H'oble Hacker would call a closet Islamist It was taken up later by others, Jinnah being one among them.

Jinnah was a brilliant lawyer but not a devout Muslim or a Muslim scholar or fiercely anti British to be chosen leader of, which may be described as a national Islamic movement, for independent statehood. He was a suave and a successful) lawyer comfortable in the dinner parties thrown by the British official as well as with the Indian aristocracy. The hoi polloi was not his concern. Jinnah was accepted and allowed to lead the Muslim League party because he was the best known Muslim face with interlocutory ability with the British patrons. The Muslim league was a party of the Muslim landed aristocracy devoted to preserve their self interests.

Jinnah was a member of the congress party, initially. When Gandhi attempted to turn congress into a mass based political party Jinnah did not comprehend the import of the endeavour. He was chary of getting involved with the vulgar. When Gandhi gained ground in the congress, perhaps, Jinnah felt that a status which should have been his was slipping away from him. He became disdainful of Gandhi and ever remained so and competed to gain equal status. Eventually and frustrated, he joined the Muslin league. The Muslim league which purportedly espoused the cause of Indian Muslim was in indeed more concerned with cause of the Muslim land lords than Muslims per se. Although, he made the most of the tenuous communal situation in India to consolidate his position yet personally he was not a communal partisan. This is obvious from his life style and from his speeches, in India and after he took over Pakistan. He was emphatic that the Pakistani state will not be influenced by the religious propensity of its citizen. How could he have hoped so when he demanded Pakistan on the basis of religion? Thus Pakistan was begat in contradiction and political naivety, peppered liberally with Jinnah's ambition.

Pakistan was not the creation of the indigenous people who inhabited the areas which now is Pakistan. It was created by the Land lords of the central and northern area of modern India. Jinnah was from Bombay and his number two, Liaquat Ali Khan from the central province. Pakistan was created by these groups with the benign acquiesce of British government of India. In a way, Pakistan never got its freedom. The British were replaced by Jinnah and his cohorts.

It is noteworthy that Jinnah or his colleagues of the Muslim league were never arrested or sent to the jails by the British. The British government of India was not too uncomfortable with the party which did not take any direct action that could strain the administration. Hardly, approach of a leader or a party seeking independence from an alien power.

The nett result of this manoeuvre was that though British gave Pakistan to Jinnah, Pakistan had no polity rooted in the masses which could provide stable leadership or give conceptual content to the idea of Pakistan.

The idea of Pakistan, borne in confusion and fear remained nebulous. If the land lords were not willing to contemplate upon economic, political, administrative or geopolitical issues the Mullas were not capable of it. Both had separate agenda and both were fighting for their personal turf with tacit support of then government.

Thus the idea of Pakistan was

1. A mixture of religious chauvinism,

2. An attempt to safe guard privileges by the land lords who were uncomfortable with mass politics,

3. Induced fear of Hindu domination in Independent India and

4. A simple notion that the religion alone can be basis of a nation. Islam is monolithic and will overpower the issues relating to economics, ethnicity, language, geography culture etc.

A situation tailor made to create chaos but not develop the concept on which a nation can be built.

Jinnah was appointed head of Pakistan. He was never elected and did not even get the time to do so. When he died, Liaqat Ali took over. His rule too was never legitimised by the people. When he was assassinated a series of bureaucrats and generals ruled the directionless country.

By the middle of fifties the army had taken control and lost it for a few years when Bhutto was in power in the seventies. This Machiavelli of Pakistan was in India till 59 or so claiming privileges of an Indian from the courts in Bombay. He had migrated to Pakistan and rose quickly in political stature. He gained power after the breakup of Pakistan. He was no political thinker. He was but a political opportunist. He did not nurture democracy but used the same old methods to silence his mildest of critics. Aptly, though tragically, he met his nemesis in Zia ul Haq. Thereafter, Pakistan has never seen democracy. The two stints of Nawaz Sharif and Mrs. Bhutto at the helm were under the regency of the army.

Pakistan also failed to develop a credible or effective civil society. A large unlettered, poor, heterogeneous society ruled through the heavy military boot is not the fertile soil where tender plant of civil society can grow.

Indo-Pak trouble had to be sustained to ensure that the people see the army as the saviour of the country and let it rule. The army cannot compromise on its rule because the stakes for the army are extraordinary. The army commands the government and the economy of the country. The army officers own the 12% of the national assets it also usurps the major part of the national budget. The army has to be sustained not only because the generals willed it so but also because the American government who bank roll the country. Intellectually feeble and too powerful, American have always have been comfortable with dictatorships around the world. It is always easy to deal with a centralised power than a country where there may be many centres of power and numerous checks upon the administration.

In the present uncertainty one thing is certain which is peoples always survive. Therefore, redemption will happen. I believe it will rest in the following: (whatever route the relationship with India eventually takes.)

The lawyers' movement and the ascent of judiciary signify rule of law and dispersion of power.
Modern technology will prove to be crucial in the political change which we shall see in Pakistan. The immense power of the television to communicate will rouse the popular expectations as it will inform the citizens and empower them to dream of bright future for themselves and their children. This will discourage the army in to any adventure in pursuit of it political and economic interests. The power of internet to communicate and the difficulty of administration to stop it, will compliment what TV alone may not be able to do.
Willy-nilly, the middle class has increased. It will demand more share of power and privileges.
The Pakistani military are no Taliban. Elite anywhere and Pakistan can be no exception, are seldom zealots; their stakes in status quo are too high. They are unlikely to accept the Taliban on the mainland; shariat etc in the far-flung tribal north which does not affect them, is another matter.

The American author, Cohen in his readable book says that it is in American interest to sustain democracy in Pakistan but do the American government think so? At one time the Latin America and the Middle East etc. were in total American influence. Countries there remained kingdoms/dictatorships (many still do) as long as they were under American spell. Some of these later turned in to republics after they were able to substantially reduce American interference. It appears that American Governments think of democracy as well reasoned treatise on morality; to be sermonised and perhaps to be sworn upon but not to be practiced, beyond America and the Western Europe!

The Pakistani military and administration can deliver. They are competent and the Americans can force the issue with them. Without American backing the army cannot sustain. The Americans could also stop indulging in Rambo politics. They are now flogging Bin Laden. What is important is his organisation. It is important to tackle the circumstance and the process of thought which create terrorists organisations. The Americans shy away from such analysis because they know that they themselves are to be substantially blamed for the scourge of Al-Qaida and the Taliban. It is indicative of bankruptcy of rationality that every new ruler in Pakistan is termed by the American establishment as 'the last best hope'. They can learn to deal with issues.

Circa 1954, Nehru once said to the effect that the people of Pakistan got freedom without paying for it. They are not able to value it. They will also have to go through what India had suffered in the wake of the struggle for freedom and make similar scarifies. Then they will understand the value of freedom and achieve it too.