THE OTHER SON OF GANGES: PART 5

PART 5: THE BIRTH

Sinha looked at him- smiling to himself as he said, “For a few months from now on, you will not be Shravan. Your name would be Bhanupratap. And you will remain here, in the lock-up”… (PART 4)

Ganges was flowing all over his mind and body. There can be no place where he would stay forever. He would go on. On. Not knowing where it would lead him to. The flow was not a path he chose. It was there. He would only flow along. The choice was not his. There was no choice. The destination was not his. The Ganges- would lead his way…

Sinha continued, “No one would question you. You can remain anywhere within this prison. But you would not go out of this place. Understood”?

His mother would lead him. “Yes saab”, replied Shravan.

Sinha looked satisfied. He said, “Good. I’ll get you `1000 by the end of four months”.

“Yes saab”. And that was their contract.

The Gangotri sees her in a form so different. The child about to enter into a new world- a world that would worship her. A world that would depend on her to wash away its blackness. No more the soft infant touch- but the rough wrath over the ever mounting human sins! That was how she was- washing away the sins of sinners. Only- the prison was no holy Kashi! He was in his mother’s lap- but there were other prisoners- foster children of his mother.

It took him a while to get used to his new identity. Bhanupratap. He was now, officially, a criminal. But what crime? He wouldn’t know, would he? Sinha checked on – every day. Was he friendly? May be. But the new Bhanupratap understood that “food never comes free”. Sometimes- there were small packets of white powder to be given to a certain Motilal. Brown covers- heavy at times, to be given to Sinha. Powder- Motilal’s food. And food- never comes free. Bhanupratap was learning…

Soon, the sinners within the walls became people with names. And everyone knew him as Bhanupratap. There were thieves, rapists, fraudulent geniuses, may be a few murderers even. But they were the ones who could not afford a `1000 every four months!

And slowly, the people with names were people with stories. Husbands who murdered wives who had made a cuckold out of them. Or young boys- who had been offensive about rich girls. There was a certain 496 that was most common. These numbers became more familiar to him than their names. He made friends with 446s, 489Cs, 463-464s. He was often asked what his number was? He might have mentioned it to Sinha once. He had replied-
“Bhanupratapji, tell them that you are the King of all that. Tell them- you are Government”! And shooed him away- laughing to himself…

Four months- and he was almost Bhanupratap. A man with just a name. No birth. No life. No death. Somewhere amidst everywhere. Sinha called him that night. He held a `1000 in hand. Smiling as he spoke, “Would you like to earn more, Bhanupratapji”?

(..To be continued., Part 6: “He and I…”)

THE OTHER SON OF GANGES: PART 4

PART 4: HIS DEATH

He opened his eyes, slowly. Things were a nebulous wreck in the beginning. But they were coming back to him. The streets- the strangers- the buildings… The police station. (PART 3)

Shravan looked at the creaking old-fashioned ceiling fan, full of dust, hanging there, doing everything else but that which it was suppose to do. He heard someone say- as though from a far-away land- “He’s awake”! He sat up and looked around. It was not a police station as he’d seen in movies. The movies, had clean pictures of famous leaders like Gandhiji, Subhash Chandra Bose and a few other people whom Shravan did not know. There was a hero- who spoke the language of honesty. He fought for justice and had a beautiful heroine singing songs about him. This was nothing like that. This was the real one. The dirt, the disgust. There were real people around.

“You- you there! Are you dumb or what? Can’t you hear”? He heard someone yelling.

He looked around and saw a hefty police man, with a big mustache. Dark. All the meat in him, Shravan could tell, did not come through the honest means. Honest money could never feed a belly that big. He could be a villain. But definitely not a hero in movies, Shravan felt himself thinking.

“Come here”! said the hefty police man. And Shravan felt himself obeying.

“What’s your name”? demanded the inspector.

“Shravan.. Shravan Kumar, saab”

“Where are you from”? Though, the inspector appeared least bothered about the details that he was about to hear.

“Kashi”, replied Shravan.

“Ran away from home? Did you steal anything”? Shravan felt- may be this was what it meant to be a police.

“No saab. Just wanted to see the city” replied Shravan, looking at the inspector, uncertainly.

“Hmmm…”- the officer appeared to be in a deep thought.

Sometime later, the officer spoke again, “You hungry”?

Shravan did not know what to say. This was the first time he was coming across this question in the city. The officer called out to a constable and made him bring Pav and tea for Shravan. Shravan had his food- his first taste of the city- in those murky corners of the Police Station. The officer did not seem concerned about Shravan anymore. He appeared busy- beating up a few petty thieves, signing papers. May be he was wrong. May be the officer did want to help Shravan. He went up to the officer once he was done with his food. He was not sure what he must say to the officer. He stood there- looking at the officer. The officer looked at him closely, for a few minutes, and then spoke-

“I am Inspector Sinha. I. P. Sinha. I run this place”.

Shravan did not reply.

“I want to give you one advice that I want you to remember for the rest of your life”.

The inspector came closer to Shravan. Shravan did not feel intimidated. And Sinha almost whispered- as though he was initiating Shravan about the secrets of the world- he spoke:

“Food- never comes free”.

Sinha let his words sink into Shravan and then continued.

“You will do a job for me. I’ll pay you well, have no doubt”, said Sinha.

Shravan understood that he was not supposed to deny. So he asked, instead- “What job, saab”?

Sinha looked at him- smiling to himself as he said, “For a few months from now on, you will not be Shravan. Your name would be Bhanupratap. And you will remain here, in the lock-up”…

(..To be continued., Part 5: “The Birth…”)

THE OTHER SON OF GANGES: PART 3

PART 3: IN A NEW WORLD...

He also promised her, that he would come back to her. One day. Some day. And he felt her hand pat his feet, gently. His mother let him go… (PART 2)

It all began with water…

May be this was why people came to the city. The buildings were so tall that Shravan felt that they could almost touch the sky! Growing up in Kashi, he had never seen anything like this before. He needed two more eyes to see everything.

There were colours in Kashi. Saffron, turmeric, red and gold all around. Shravan was tired of colours. But here, it was white, or black or just grey. He felt better. His eyes needed a break from all the colours. Kashi was a destination. An end. But the city- was a beginning. There was life here. A never-ending rush, a craze to live. There was pulse. And no one here, paused to see the next person beside themselves on the road- walking alongside. Shravan felt his space too, as he tried to take in the city around him. He too was infected by the life around. He felt as though it was in his dreams that he was “living”. The fire and pyre of Kashi, was moving away from his mind. They were now- a faded painting…

He wandered on those roads- his eyes, finally getting tired of the things around- could take in no further. His leg carried his dead weight, but it could go on no farther. He soon began to realize that the sun in the city was different from the one back home. It had no sympathy for the weary traveler on the road. May be this was why, the city moved fast. May be this was why, the city was never tired! But Shravan was not used to the sun yet. He was hungry. But he had no money. And people of the big city did not believe in charity.

He lay there for how long, he knew not. He did not remember it. People told him about it later.

He felt the boot kick his ribs. But he had no strength to open his eyes and see who that was. There were strange voices. And suddenly, he felt that he was being lifted off the ground. He was swinging. His hands bearing his weight. He knew not when his body would drop off his hands. He was dead. But no. This was not death. He came from a place where people knew most about death. Death could not be it. Or did people think that he was dead? He could not let this happen to him..

He mustered up all the strength left in him- and let out a moan of help. There were voices again. He felt that now, he was being taken to a different place.

The city was a fair judge. Here, the life presented itself- only when one seeks it. There were people, back home, who disliked the city. They did not like the speed- the colours, the life in there. But they were the ones who did not understand the life. The living. This was a place, Shravan thought, where the dead have to prove their death and the living- their living. Else, they were all the same. The city, welcomed him.

There was water, once more…

The sudden chill of disgust and anger! The water slapped him hard. But it gave him strength. Water, he knew, was always with him. But he could not stop wondering that even the water in the city could be so different! His mother, though had the strength and power to overturn the city itself, still was gentle. She had so much love in her. May be that was why, she was Mother Ganga! But the city- it changes everything. The water of the city, Shravan smiled to himself, his step-mother!

He opened his eyes, slowly. Things were a nebulous wreck in the beginning. But they were coming back to him. The streets- the strangers- the buildings… The police station.

(..To be continued., Part 4: “His death…”)

THE OTHER SON OF GANGES: PART 2

PART 2: “LET ME GO, MOTHER..."

He somehow knew after this incident that, whatever position he might be in, she would be with him. Help him. Love him, unconditionally. His mother… Ganga… (Part-1)

His father got him enrolled in the school. He liked going to the school. Having kids of his age around him- talking to them. And he was gifted. He could remember anything on just hearing it once. But somehow, he could not always concentrate. He could not help it. But whenever he looked outside the window, he was lost in thoughts. Sometimes he was so lost that-

“Shravan.. SHRAVAN..!”

“Ouch!”

It hurt that day. That tiny piece of chalk thrown at him with such anger, it hurt.

“Where is all your attention? Do you think this is a joke? The whole of Kashi’s kids sitting here and listening to me and my OWN son- let alone listening, doesn’t even care looking at me as I speak…”

His father was indeed very upset that day. He would not talk to his son, that entire day. And if Shravan would try talking to him, he would go away from that place. Shravan felt that he was a lone human in the entire world. There was no one else with whom he could talk to. And he had nowhere to go. He rushed out of the house and ran as fast as he could. He ran to his mother. Ganga would always be there. Flowing with such force- such raw energy! Watching her hurry towards the sea- it could make you forget all the negativities in you. Shravan sat himself on his mother’s lap, both his feet touching her surface. He wept. That was the saddest day of his life. The Ganges, patted him. She consoled him…

But that day, his mother helped him realize something. Shravan was more like his mother. He found her in him. Her free spirit. Shravan saw the Ghats around. Then he felt his mother’s soft touch upon his feet. He felt her say- “Do you think I flow within these man-made boundaries? These stones- the bricks? Do you think they hold me back? No. I am all around. Look around, son. Look beyond the stones. See those sinners washing their sins? They think all their sins turn into puffs of smoke when they wash themselves in me. Fools. I flow on them. Over them. But I never am inside them. These walls, the Ghats- they are physical. Ganga flows into lives. Into minds. That is my strength. A strength, these mortals can never bear in them. A strength known only to a few. I can only be trapped in minds. Like I am bound in you, by your love…” he felt her say.

Each day, Shravan would spend all his time thinking about what lay beyond his world? Sometimes, he would watch the television at his neighbour’s place- strange places, and strange people in it would capture his imagination! They were so different from his world here. He wanted to go away. See those people. Meet them.
One day, he told his father about his desire. His father listened to him, patiently. He then said, “Shravan, you belong here. In Kashi. Those strange places are not for us. Those places would never like people like us, visiting them. Those places would never be good to us. Your life is here, son. Kashi knows you. The soil knows your scent. The air around has seen you grow up. The walls around have seen you loose your first teeth. Your mother, Ganga, flows here. Not anywhere, but here. I am here… You understand”?

He understood. He understood that his mother was in him. Ganga’s spirit in him, urged him to know himself. Identify his soul with hers. He understood that, he needed to leave…

And he left. He remembered the night he left, very well. His father was asleep. He had managed to tie up some of his things in a bundle. He touched his father’s feet while the later was asleep. He left the house and went along, to bid farewell to his mother. He took her in his hands and placed her on his forehead. Somewhere inside his head, he had a feeling that this had happened before. An initiation. He was just about to leave- when his mother took his bundle from him. He tried to take it from her. But she would not give. It was as though she was pleading him, not to go. Perhaps there was something out there- that would harm him. It was as though she held him by hand and did not allow him to leave.

He made her understand that he was ready for it. Ready to see the world beyond here. He was like her, he made her understand. Just like her, Ganga. He convinced her to let him go. He also promised her, that he would come back to her. One day. Some day. And he felt her hand pat his feet, gently. His mother let him go…

(..To be continued., Part 3: “In a new world…”)