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Goodreads Reader Review: 

 

Soumyabrata Sarkar: Really a great start!

Keeps you hanging at the end. The writing is a bit amateurish, like the conversations between different people felt kind of strained and plastic, but emotions were all in the right place. All the back-stories and fables were really really good, as well as their usage. The descriptions about places and the feelings that the characters were going through were written beautifully. What I didn't felt right is at times, the story goes in an ultra-slow, and there were some small mistakes like there's an instance where Abiral being a small child smashes a water-melon with his hand which seemed far-fetched. Also, the fables relating God were good, but I felt it would be much better if all of these would have happened in a contemporary parallel universe, because the concept of GOD is different and diverse throughout the world, and here it is only leaning towards Christianity. Also, the concept of God given here contradicts the theory of evolution, so it would be better if all of the real-world references like Merlin or Buddha were not there. . . . Saying so, I also must admit, the attempt to decode all this is itself a huge task, and it is here, in portraying his notion of GOD to the reader that the real potential of author comes out. The ease with which he has described is nothing short of WONDERFUL, yet there are also some glitches. The tribe mentioned here is supposed to be the oldest on earth. But, it is scientifically proven that the species "homo-sapiens" originated from Africa, not India! Also the concept of God creating the Goddess and the Earth that eventually moves towards Adam and Eve clashes severely with that of the Big Bang!

I would recommend this book to every fantasy-bookworms and would advise to read this one, devoid of any real-world connections or references, unlike I have. . . . to enjoy it more thoroughly!

and for the author I would say. . . . .Bring the next one out soon, sir! :) 

You can download and read the book here. 

Or copy-paste this link in the search tab:  

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1K2X3N1TlgK8qyMTwvrJ7BVW94mTXE-08/view?usp=sharing 

... and yet it's true!

They were not of this planet. Not even of this galaxy. Their home was a few million light years away from the furthest point of the universe. They were the reason for dinosaur wipe-out  It was not an asteroid. It was their spaceship. They had run out of gold. Their ship had been pulled into a worm hole the size of a peanut and the next thing they knew, earth was pulling them down. They escaped in an escape pod just as it entered the atmosphere and hurtled towards Mexico. That country has still not revived completely. The ship ran on nuclear energy of ladders. So when it crashed the nuclear explosion was so to say… elevated. Everything was gone. Well almost everything. Rodents are cunning creatures. They survived. They knew The Subway was always free of unnecessary heat and radiation.

Their home planet was mostly ice. They had evolved on ice and ice they needed to keep themselves alive. So they hung around the poles looking for gold and a way to escape. On their travels they realized what a big mess they had created. The dinosaurs were gone. The continents were breaking. So they decided to stay and make things right. The sky was full of smoke, ash and clouds of colors like shit. There was no light. So they accumulated these clouds and stacked them together. The sky was clear. And there was light.

A few of those shit colored clouds had scattered around in this endeavor. But that was permissible. They regrouped as much of them as they could and made them rain over a vast landmark that people later called Africa. It was big enough to allow a significant amount of space for what they called a desert. The scattered clouds made similar small deserts at the other places they had spread out to.

After clearing up the sky and making the deserts, they believed they deserved to have a proper place of operation for themselves, something like an office. They pulled in a few strings with the continents and assembled them in the certain way. Some of the bigger landmasses had to be broken away. This partition was more effective as well as practical. Boundaries were separated by water. Yet the dragons were heartbroken. They couldn't have their barbeque smokers anymore and flying across continents was expensive. Also there was this whole new concept of jet lag. Maybe that’s why they decided to commit mass harakiri. Only three of their eggs were left behind. Time turned them into stone. That’s how Daenerys Targaryen found them anyway. But that’s a completely different story. The continental drift, unlike Tokyo drift, lasted longer.  Of course it wasn't an easy job. They still tend to shift wayward even after eons of discipline. Though the pace is very slow. It was much like driving traffic on a jammed road. There was a lot of collision. Fortunately, by mistake, the Indo-Australian ran like a raging bull and rammed into the Eurasian plate. The land sandwiched between the two made the Himalayas. They had formed other home too. The Alps were one of them. But the excitement of a new home is hard to kill. Besides the Alps were ancient. So they waited for it to grow and gather ice.

Meanwhile the rodents and mammals had evolved significantly. They still felt sorry for the dinosaurs. It was fun watching the little raptors draw doorknobs on tree barks and try opening them. The Orange heads were reminded of their igloos back home. This gave them the idea. They set out to make humans. They set out to make them in their own image. They had no idea how much they would hate it later. It took a lot of work and a lot more Gold. But the time span it took the humans to learn what sarcasm meant was most excruciating. Even more than raptors making door knobs on tree barks and knocking on them. To some, sarcasm is still a foreign language.  

They tried telling people the truth about themselves and their stories the whole time, but something more important always cropped up. Alexander, Genghis khan, Hitler, the plague, the world cups and puppy love affairs are a few examples. The Sumerians were smart people. They made clay tablets about the Orange heads. Okay they were probably not that smart, but still. Who can tell if Steve Jobs actually lifted it up from there? The Vikings didn't find it hard to grasp the fact of another world. The rest of the world bi-polarized it into heaven and hell. It wasn't as precise as the Vikings had envisioned it but who was complaining. At least they were true to its heart. Heaven was a cool place which almost always appeared blue. Like ice. Hell was fire.

But the best were the Indians. Some of them at least. They came up with a theory that left even the Orange Heads baffled. ‘Everything is an illusion’. Now how can one argue with that? And then they grew Cannabis  One puff of hash and everything was actually an illusion. Even the Orange heads couldn’t deny that. They loved it so much that they became a kind of brand ambassadors for it. One of them once smoked so much in one day that his throat became blue. He sat on a mountain and didn’t get up for days. His friends, the other orange heads, tried to scare him up by putting a snake around his neck, but he still didn’t move. Finally when he got up he told them he had seen God. They understood that he was permanently high. It couldn’t be reversed.

The rest, as they said was history.

The massive use of gold had led to the scarcity of the mineral. Hence it became precious. Everyone wanted them. It became hard for the Orange heads to accumulate it. Life was hard. Hash was banned. They began spreading out into the human world, living human lives. That’s when they started hating it. The humans were still struggling with their shaggy dog stories. Yet the one thing they probably loved as well as hated about the human race was their inability to understand and appreciate a good joke.

http://evilbay.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/IMG_1483-768x1024.jpg

                                                                                                     -- kafir.

The Ninth Child.

Uttarakhand floods: 10,000 dead? Congress squabbles over body count.

http://www.dnaindia.com/india/1854945/report-uttarakhand-floods-10000-dead-congress-squabbles-over-body-count

The Uttarakhand Congress is playing politics over the bodies of flood victims in the state.

While Uttarakhand chief minister Vijay Bahuguna has been insisting that the official death toll is under 600 and has also asserted that the precise figure would be known only after the debris is removed, state assembly speaker Govind Singh Kunjwal on Saturday said that more than 10,000 people could have perished in the floods.

Bitter political fight over Bodh Gaya blasts

The serial blasts in Bodh Gaya led to a political slugfest between the Congress and the BJP on Monday (July 8 with Digvijay Singh targeting Narendra Modi, saying the incident happened a day after he asked BJP workers to teach a lesson to Nitish Kumar. 

"Aren't they suggesting a Muslim involvement without full investigation? Flip side of this. Amit Shah promises a Grand Temple at Ayodhya. Modi addresses Bihar BJP workers and asks them to teach Nitish a lesson. Next day Bomb Blasts at Mahabodhi Temple at Bodhgaya. Is there a connect? I don't know. ALLOW NIA TO COMPLETE INVESTIGATION PLEASE !," Singh said in his tweets posted one after one in the same order.

http://www.timesnow.tv/Bitter-political-fight-over-Bodh-Gaya-blasts/articleshow/4431638.cms

Revenge of nature one calls it. The other wrath of God. Army calls it work. The politicians point their fingers at each other. The 'God fearing' fold their hands for priests. The priests point their fingers up at the sky. The environmentalist points his finger at the industrialist. the industrialist shrugs. The anarchist stifles a laugh. The existentialist sighs. The Protesters are ready with their flags. But the rest, the victims are already dead. We sit in our homes watching it on TV. Deciding what we should call it.

The Hindu epic, Mahabharata tells that the Vasus, cursed by Vashishta had requested Ganga to be their mother. Ganga incarnated and became the wife of King Santanu on condition that at no stage shall he question her actions, or she would leave him. As seven Vasus were born as their children, one after the other, Ganga drowned them in her own waters, freeing them from their punishment and the king made no opposition. Only when the eighth was born did the king finally oppose his wife, who therefore left him. So the eighth son, Dyaus incarnated, remained alive, imprisoned in mortal form, and later became known in his mortal incarnation as Bhishma (Devavrata), who is one of the most respected characters of the Mahābhārata.

The Ninth Child.

The goddess drowned her seven children

Delivering them from birth and death.

A thousand died few days ago

Still fighting for one breath.

Rain poured hard as clouds burst open

The wild wind razed all new and old

The river still swelled, and surged, and swept

Everything that man can hold.

A small boy lost, a child of ten,

Clung unto some rocks of sand

Pale and wet and cold and scared

With no one out to lend a hand.

The current yet strong pulled on his legs

His hands still weak held on to life

The rain like arrows, weighed him down

And wind cut him with thousand knives.

His family lost, his hopes diminishing

He cried out for his mother’s voice

She had said God punishes sinners, that

All was just in heaven’s eyes.

And this land was heaven, God’s abode

And God knows best, he knew.

Yet water rose and rocks fell loose

As death painted it all anew.

Thus, a child of Goddess ages later

Struggled and was ‘cured of sin’.

The very same river claimed his soul

That drenched the ashes of his kin.

They said one dip in holy water

Delivers one from birth and death

That boy must have just loved to live

For many a bubble rose up for breath. 

                                                             -- kafir.

The Girl from Nowhere

continued from: http://abiral-novel.blogspot.in/2013/04/the-girl-from-nowhere.html

II.

Over a plate of sizzling steamed momos, I came upon her face. It was a small one with skin the complexion of honey, a shade darker. Her nose, though small, stood prominently defining her sharp features. That’s all I could notice in the first glance. She turned around rushed back into the kitchen. Her dark, thick hair swinging on her back. she was a small girl

I turned my gaze back to the Momos in question. This hadn't been my first visit to Bodh Gaya. I went there almost every year. But I had never come across a restaurant that offered Momos this far from the place. I must have already traveled no less than a hundred kilometers from my destination. It was this sudden sight of flimsy steaming momos painted on the board that caught my attention. The curiosity did rest of the job.

Just as I was wondering how to gulp them down without anything to go with, she called out from the kitchen,

“Stop, bhaiya! I’m almost done with the chutney!”

That distinct tone of her accented Hindi brought a smile to my face. With a nod of my head I put down the momo and gave in to her request. In a few moments she came out with the promised delicacy. I looked up at her for a moment too long. And for a small fraction of that moment our eyes met. I wouldn't say there were flairs and flames and sparks flying all over. She had already addressed me as ‘bhaiya’, and we Indians take it more seriously than it is meant most of the times. She was like a little girl whose innocence had taken away her freedom. She was a lost child with no home to go back to. She was a lone mother who could show her motherland to her daughter only through stories and fairy tales while the world marked her out as the girl from nowhere.

She must have been around thirty five years old. The wrinkles on her forehead suggested more, but I didn't believe them to be that revealing. There are many things that leave a mark on our faces. If the lines on our hand say what we all go through, the mark on our foreheads tell what we've been through. And I was sure she had been through a lot. What could bring a lone Tibetan refugee to the middle of this unheeding, unthinking place of scarecrows? It was a reason better left unknown. There were plenty of reasons rather, but none of them pretty. Only those eyes knew the truth, and even they were afraid to spell it out.

I guess I stared at her too long. Her lips turned up in a slight smile and then she turned around and disappeared in to the kitchen. I meant to thank her for her service, but I never got the chance to.    The people on the counter had fallen on some other topic, more local in nature. But their words from the previous conversation still rang loud in my head. I had just met the one they had been talking about. I imagined plastering their view on the figure I had just encountered. If nothing, i felt pity for them all. the tainted and the pure. the 'us' and the 'other'. 

To my relief, the momos still held their distinct flavor and were not so far removed from their originals way up into the mountains. They had managed to retain their essence in this strange land. Unlike that woman who was talked of disgracefully, these momos sold. And nobody had a trouble finding out their cost.

The Girl From Nowhere

The Girl from Nowhere

I.

                      http://www.redbubble.com/people/icandor/works/4449598-storyteller-accused-of-abstract-dream-weaving

“…because she’s a slut!”

I must confess I had no interest in this conversation prior to the utterance of that last word. I was just a passive subject to meaningless sound waves in a small restaurant, miles away from Bodh Gaya. I cannot generalise my interests by saying that everyone’s attention was riveted to the counter where the discussion was taking place. I was the only customer in the restaurant. All I can say as justification to my sudden interest is that you would’ve been interested too.

The men at the counter seemed to have noticed my intrusion by the sudden turn of head. They lowered their voices and speeded up the fan. But the lack of power and amount of interest such topics arouse could not keep the voices from reaching my ear. With my back towards the counter and an air of relative ignorance, I kept on eavesdropping.

A voice went on in urgent whispers, “I’ve seen a man enter her lodge on nights when there is no moon. I’ve seen him leave before daybreak. I’ve even seen her taking money from him. He is one of hers’. Not ours. Though I wonder if anyone of us has asked her price yet….” 

This was followed by a moment of silence and a sudden outburst of laughter.

“Kapis da!” another voice mused, “What do you think? How much would you pay?”

“For the pains our government goes through to sustain these foreigners? Not a piece!” Supposedly, Kapis Da boomed. But soon being aware of my presence, he lowered his voice again. “I say why can’t they just go back and face their problems? We had our problems too! We faced them! We were victorious!” I could imagine everyone nodding their heads in unison to his inspiring words. He peppered it with a verse,

sar kata sakte hain lekin sar jhuka sakte nahin;

apni azadi ko hum hargiz mita sakte nahin.

                                     http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/bve/lowres/bven871l.jpg

“Or maybe she’s a witch!” another one intervened with his new theory. “Why else does she live with us, completely isolated from her people who flock in majority at Bodh Gaya? Maybe she was driven away from there! I've noticed how she goes on with her strange ways. My wife says she practices some evil magic. She cursed a boy once and he broke his leg twice!”

“I wonder what difference any of this will make…” someone else spoke up, finally injecting some sense into the conversation. “She is just a lady who lives in our village. I don’t trust her, but I have no reasons to hate her either. Also, she has a child to care for, as most of us do. We all know how difficult it is to be a lonely parent! What harm is she doing us anyway?”

Interestingly, I waited for the supporters (who seemed to support every statement blindly). I was certain they would extend their support to him as well. But alas! It never came. Instead one loud scoff rose and Kapis Da concluded the whole discussion,

“It seems you've taken a liking to our refugee. Finally someone can tell us how much she costs!”

                                http://www.dailyyonder.com/files/imagecache/story_side/imagefield/65YXw.AuSt_.jpeg

                                                                                                                                                     

                                                                                          Cont… 

After The Fall

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again...

It was on the eve of December 6, 2006 that I had tried to kill myself. The sins I had committed were far too heavy for any shoulder to carry. The pain I had caused was way too much to compensate. Killing myself was the easiest way I could find to end this all. Perhaps there was a heaven. Maybe a hell even. I was sure to find hell. They say the pain inflicted in hell is never ending. There are four suns shining continuously, and the heat melts us. Literally. It doesn’t end. It never ends. We just go on melting and melting. We are thirsty but there is no water. We are hungry but there is no food. We are tired but there’s no shade. We are lonely… and there’s no friend… that’s what hell was. But I knew I deserved worse. Even hell with all its agony could not match the magnitude for my chastisement. Each and every minute I was spending on this land was a shame to God and his billion followers. To my late family. To my late sister…. Every passing second was a reminder of the pain. I wanted her to know that she was the most beautiful soul in this world. That she was my little princess. That I would give her all possible happiness in this world! But the only thing I could ever acquaint her to was pain. And the greatest gift I could ever give her was death. I knew could have saved them. But I didn’t. When I pulled out their dead bodies from the rubble and debris, I knew this was my entire fault. That was where I had decided to kill myself. I was devastated. My soul lay in pieces, torn and tattered from the same blow I had caused this world. I was not fit to live on this planet. Not after realizing the magnitude of my act. Hell was one place I was ready to welcome. But I wasn’t sure if Hell was ready to welcome me.

That’s how much I hated myself.

 

 

“Excuse me…? Could you please take a picture of us…?” a man said coming up to me with a camera.

I looked at him and then at his family. His wife along with her beautiful daughter stood on the shoreline facing me. I say she was beautiful because even at such a moment, her smile cut a curve across my face. Perhaps that’s what beauty is…. Anyway, I took the camera and clicked the photograph.

“Thank you!” the man said taking back his camera. The girl too turned and smiled a sweet goodbye before disappearing in the crowd.

One good scored! I have also heard that all our good deeds and bad deeds were accounted in the books of God. I wondered if this would make any difference. But every breath of air I took was a sin as well. I had to hurry up with my death.

 

As I walked along the beach I watched the sun set in a cadence of colours. It kept sinking lower and lower into the sky. But it was still pretty high up above the horizon. Enough for me to make it in time. I held my shoes in my hand and walked barefoot on the wet sand. Dying waves touched my feet and the ebb dragged back everything that was left of it. A beautiful evening to die it was and a beautiful way too. I only hoped they could have the same fate as me… why the hell did I have to be so damn lucky!

I hated myself even more.

I looked at the horizon once again. There was no one on the beach except me. People were tiny dots at a distance. I couldn’t save my family. No one could save me.

With calm placid steps, I started walking towards the sun. Into the deep blue sea, that welcomed me with the garland of its waves. Perhaps they were more like the hanging noose for the situation, yet no less than garland for me. That was my answer for redemption. That was my answer to death.

I kept walking deeper and deeper. The water rose to my knees, to my chest, to my neck and finally it was over my head. Adrenalin rushed through my blood but I had no space for fear. Instinctively I took in a gulp of air as my head went in and soon ran out of it. The burning sensation in my lungs was growing in geometric proportions. Soon I was all out and in madness I started flinging my arms around. I knew I wasn’t supposed to do that. I was supposed to die as peacefully as possible. But I couldn’t help it. It was my stupid reflexes that were controlling my mind now. Nothing else. But the damage had been done. The water was way up over my head by now. There was no chance that I could have made it to the top. My senses had started growing weak. My efforts were heartless. I was dying…

For one last time I looked up and saw the beautiful colors of the sunset glimmer through the water. It was the most amazing thing one could see at the dying moments… and then darkness followed.

And then… I woke up in heaven!

 

Yes! I’m not joking! I was pretty sure it was heaven. There was God and there were Fakirs… lots of them. And there was a distinct smell of roses. Who else could it be with but Allah… the Great almighty! But I was still confused. What was I doing in Heaven? How did I end up here? Was hell overloaded? Hell it was! Why else would they throw me out? But perhaps it was a mistake… because moments later, I passed out.

 

It definitely was a mistake. The next time I opened my eyes, I knew I was right. A long queue of beggars stood ahead of me. Most of them were lepers and all of them wore a pitiable look on their faces. This was hell. Their helplessness was the proof of it. Drops of their skin peeled off from their body and slid down unto the parched earth. All of them were crying for relief from this inferno of molten pain. I looked up to check if there were really four suns as they said. Sure enough there were. But one thing still puzzled me. Why was I feeling good? A warm tingling sensation embraced me. I was comfortable lying out here in the open. But something was off key. I was  enjoying this. The fire of hell is not meant to be enjoyed. I started feeling drowsy again. And before I could understand anything out again!

 

“Oh! So you are finally alive!” that old man laughed with pleasure and relief.

“Alive…?” I mumbled, confused, “I don’t understand…”  

“Understand…? What’s there to understand here…? Allah is merciful. He spared you your life!”

“How is that possible? I drowned myself! I am dead!”

“No my son, you aren’t dead… you are as much alive as everyone here!”

“But I’m sure I was dead!” I whimpered, “I woke up in heaven… but it was a mistake… so I woke up in hell again… how can I be alive…?”

“I don’t know about where all you’ve been. But this certainly is the third time you’ve woken up.” The old man answered looking intently at him. “The first time you woke up when I had taken you to my Namaz at the Dargah. I guess the roses had brought you to senses. The second time you woke while I was busy giving food to the beggars. And now the third time…”

“Oh no… this can’t be happening to me..  This is so not possible…” I sank back down into darkness. 

 

This might appear weird. But I got to know the weirder stuff when I got up and asked him more about myself. I had drowned myself at chowpatty and he had found me at Haji Ali Dargah. A strange tide had brought my body to the dargah. And he pulled me up. But that was not all…

 He knew I would come.

 

I wanted to run away from him after I heard that. But I was weak and hungry. And yet a hell lot more scared. So much that I could’ve died out of fear. Still death was one thing I had totally lost my faith upon. I wanted to look up and yell at the stars that had set up such fate for me. I did. After a few hours of my resurrection I went out under the open sky. The stars were in their full blaze.

‘What the hell is this?” I yelled. “This isn’t fair! Why can’t you just let me die! Is it that tough?! What is this? Big boss!?? Whenever you feel like you take me in… whenever you feel like you kick me out! I’m not your personal entertainer! I’m not up for whatever you are doing! I despise you god… and I hate myself. So please let’s make up and help me end this… I can’t take anymore… can’t take anymore…”

With tears in my eyes I waited for a bolt of lightning to strike me. but nothing happened. I guess I had overacted.

 

I guess the old man must have heard me scream at those dark domes of heaven. His light touch on my shoulder made me turn around to meet his puzzled yet compassionate gaze.

“Not that it matters much…” he spoke hesitantly, “but who are you…? And what ails you so much?”

The idea of inventing another truth occurred to me. But I knew it wasn’t going to work. Every invented truth starts out as a lie, only somewhere in the process we fool ourselves into believing it as truth. Also, it points to the absolute in its attempt to hide it. Just like religion.

I hung my head in the answered in the same miserable voice that has echoed throughout creation since the first rebellion.

“I am… just another Adam. And I’m falling…”

   

 

                                                                                                                                  --- kafir.

Blinds and Blindfolds.

http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me2iq21dci1rkfzwto1_1280.png

I was sitting in the dining hall. Dinner time. I had managed myself a clean plate, a cheese cup with three standard pieces, the bigger dessert plate and all the rest that goes with it. (I am not a glutton, but that’s the way it is in a hostel. We take the bigger share even though we are going to leave it anyway.)   

In came this senior of mine. I do not know his name. but I have managed to find out he is doing his M.A. and that he is blind. By birth (though I am not sure). He came and stood beside me. there was no chair. I pulled one in for him and offered a seat. Next as usual he called the bearers and asked them for the plates and usual.  He was given his share, callously though. After a few dips of the roti in the cheese cup he felt uncomfortable. I didn't ask why. I saw. There was no cheese to his share. Only gravy.

I looked back into my plate. I didn't feel like eating anymore.

Blinds and Blindfolds.

I met a blind old man one day

A blind by birth was he

But still he lived and loved and laughed

In a world he could not see.

I too was blind, but not as old

Nor deep as he could be

When I could see the blues and green

He saw the dark in me.

And so I asked, “never have you known

The world, its myriad hue.

How do you know if green is green

If I’m not dark, it’s you?”

“You’re right my friend,” he said at length,

“Dark I am, I know.

But don’t you see, the green you mean

Could just as well be blue?

Your visions are colored, you've been taught

That green is green and friends are foe.

And yet I see, as well you can’t

You are me, and I am you.  

‘Cuz I as blind and you blindfolded

Argue of meanings, grace.

You run, you fall, you cry, you call

And curse this uphill race.

But I care not, and it don’t matter

For green be green and red be blue

I see darkness ‘cuz the world is dark

I know that now, & so will you…”

 

                                                                                  --- kafir.