Biswanath Babu

Every muscle of his bare torso moved under the glaring Sun in a fascinating rhythm with each stroke of spade that devastated rocky surface of the barren land. The sweaty black body emerged to be a chiselled work of granite; handsomeness of Bhishe Bagdi was startling among the herd of agricultural labourers working on the field of Zaminder Harihar Ray. Blazing Sun indicated noon, Bagdi headman Jagai Morol announced lunch break; it was time to relax under the shades of adjacent trees, the wives and daughters would carry hot meal of rice and curry for the fortunate ones. Rest will manage with panta (previous night’s soaked rice), onion and green chilly that they carried in the morning from home.

Bishe was lying down under a tamarind tree at a distance; his pack of panta rested unattended beside, his mind trailing a private dream. Sweet chime of anklets disturbed his meditation; a pair of soft feet and fancy border of a sari appeared within his sight, he looked up. A smiling face, fresh as a blooming lotus greeted him; she offered something on a Sal- leaf, ‘spicy shrimps, to go with your panta’ those large eyes reflected her emotion unhesitatingly. He remained static holding the packet for a while, dazed; she disappeared like a restive doe without much delay. It was quite a routine for Kamli, the daughter of Jagai morol to offer goodies to lonesome Bishe during lunch break while she brought meal for her father.   

In the semi-darkness of a smoky earthen lamp Bishe dreamt of a beautiful face, pearly white smile and a pair of expressive eyes that said everything in in her muteness. He imagined a household with kids trailing after Kamli, him coming back from weekly market with patterned sari and glass bangles for her; life was blissful, he didn’t feel lonely anymore in his solitary grim hut.

Bishe Bagdi, an orphan from tender age was brought up by his grandmother; indulged by the old lady, he was mischievous, invincible, yet a large hearted boy. At coming of age he proved to be the best pupil of Nimai Bagdi, a legendary lathial on his own right; Bishe earned name as a skilled lathial gradually around the locality. Bagdis, a warrior community always served as mercenaries for Zaminders and worshiped weaponry skill for generations. Jagai morol, a right hand man to Zaminder Harihar Ray led a large group of tough men; there was reason to believe Jagai liked Bishe for his reputation.

The entire village was immersed in celebration of ‘Tusu’ on the eve of Makar Sankranti; women dressed in colourful saris and flowers on their huge buns gathered around the deity, each one emerged as a vibrant flower in the eyes of aspiring young men intoxicated with their harmonious songs and ample supply of ‘handiya’(home brewed liquor). Kamli, dressed in a red bordered yellow sari, marigold garlanded on her lopsided bun danced along the centre. Her suggestive smile, sideway glance played a rhythm unknown to his young heart; Bishe was mesmerized, life without her seemed impossible.

It was quite late in the night, elders and women had taken leave from the festivity; Jagai with his men was pondering over the success of the evening as Bishe approached him. ‘Bishe, come sit here my dear boy, someone give him a drink!’ Jagai’s tongue slurred. ‘How much you remind me of your mother, such a beautiful woman, she used to dance in Tusu like her name Bijli. It was a pity she chose your penniless father over me’ he sighed with elaborate gesture.  ‘Morol, can I ask for a favour?’ ‘Ask for anything, Jagai won’t refuse you tonight’ handiya was surely causing such generosity. ‘Morol, I want to marry Kamli’. ‘hmmm, what?’ ‘I want Kamli’s hand, she likes me too.’ The words registered in the intoxicated mind in second attempt, Jagai looked at Bishe, gradually his jaws hardened. ‘How dare you take kamli’s name!’ Jagai hissed under breath. ‘I will do anything to keep her happy Morol trust me’ Bishe was desperate. ‘I warn you for the last time; don’t take her name again, not even in your dreams’ Jagai’s voice was cold. ‘What is my shortcoming? Why can’t I think of her?’ Bishe sounded rebellious like any young lover. ‘You penniless beggar, don’t raise voice in front of me’ Jagai roared. ‘I will marry Kamli, you can’t stop me Morol’. Bishe’s voiced drowned as Jagai’s men pounced on him like a pack of hounds.  

In the darkness of the night, the listless body of Bishe lied submerged in the mud at the jungle side of the river bed; flies swarmed around the once handsome blood smeared mass, the crescent moon remained the silent witness of the ordeal.       

***

‘Day after tomorrow at night there will be raid at your residence, be ready to receive me. Biswanath babu’ Zaminder Harihar Ray was perplexed to receive the message stuck at the grand entrance of his palace. Banditry wasn’t unheard of in these interior parts of Rural Bengal, neither the custom of sending previous alarms; that was the reason Zaminders maintained large bands of lathials after all. But, who was this Biswanath?

It was a new moon night, every house around the estate remained locked from inside; not a ray of light betrayed any window of the village huts. The palace of Harihar Ray was secured from every possible entrance; the teak wood entrance of the main residence was sealed from inside with bars. Jagai with his men remained on guard at the grand entrance to face any possible threat. The men with their professional agility strolled around the outer rim looking for any sign of disturbance, but in vain; occasional cry of owl was the only sound to catch their attention. Eventually, the tension slackened, everything started looking like a hoax with hardly a couple of hours left for dawn. ‘Whoever it is has turned back knowing your reputation Morol, someone new to the trade’ this remark created quite a laughter among the guards. ‘ha re re re…….’ a deafening war cry echoed in the silence of the night as a string of blazing torches adorned the darkness at some distance. A band of oil soaked daring figures led by a black giant poured over the guards in lightning speed, their shorki (spear) talked quicker than any move from Jagai’s men. Few of them scaled the wall and approached the paddy husking site. The leader extracted one of the huge dhenki (paddy husking pedal) with great strength from its base and looped a rope at its side. Four men together pulled it in front of the closed door and suspended the dhenki in front of it with the help of three bamboo poles already fixed firmly on earth. Then with each push at the suspending end of the pedal it created a magnificent blow on the wooden door. The seasoned door was good enough to take ten such blows before it collapsed, Zaminder’s residence fell in the grip of the bandits quite defenceless. ‘Don’t venture into the ladies’ quarters’ the deep voice was enough to dissuade the gang members from any such attempt. Harihar Ray brought money and valuables to the leader rather gratefully, ‘Bishe Bagdi!’ he recognised the ruthless face smeared with vermilion even in semi darkness.

Dacoits left with the booty, Zaminder and his associates remained unharmed with one exception; each of Jagai’s trusted men were brutally murdered. Jagai himself went missing during the night; two days later his mutilated body was discovered at the river bed near the jungle.

***

Epilogue

Bishe Dakat (Dacoit Bishe) remained invincible for next two decades until he fell in hands of British rulers, majorly after seizing indigo factory of a Samuel Fandy. He was tried and executed in 1808 for his crimes, but remained immortal in stories and folklores for his exceptional courage and compassion towards poor villagers. Biswanath was a victim of circumstances that turned him into a devil from a simple youth hungry for love, though he succeeded in retaining his humane side intact; that was what made him a hero and evoked imagination of many writers like me.

*** ***

Note: The story is based on those very little facts that are available about Biswanath, rest is all my imagination. The scene of robbery described in the story is based on the usual modus operandi of dacoits of that era. 

©2014 ananyapal ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Orb of Night

The room no bigger than 10¢x12¢ was crowded with a bed, a cloth horse and a dressing table, each one a fine specimen of curved wood in pure Burma teak; time had taken away the shine of polish, yet they stood tall in some innate glory. A gramophone sat on a rack at a corner with its majestic presence. In the soft glow of morning sun, an assortment of empty perfume bottles of varied size and shapes glittered over the dressing table. A puny figure of a woman, also ancient like the furniture, crouched on a mat in front of the small temple fixed at the corner of the room. Her silvery hair complemented the whiteness of her sari, though both were merely a skeleton of their original lustre. 

‘Pranab, is that you son?’ she reacted on a rustle at the corridor. Her voice, though frail chimed like a musical note. ‘It’s me, Bhola; every time someone passes the oldie has to call out. Don’t know why I even bother!’ a grumbling voice faded with the footsteps along the corridor that connected a number of rooms in a row, housing an ensemble tenants staying at meagre rent for years. She felt for her stick and advanced towards the bed with effort.

‘Ma, how are you keeping?’ a middle aged man in dhoti kurta with weather beaten face entered her room on a Sunday morning. ‘Pranab, why didn’t you come for so long son? My old eyes seek for you all the time’. ‘You think I have no work other than giving you company?’ ‘Son, do something for my failing vision, I get scared at night’. ‘Doctor already told its cataract, need operation; you know very well it is expensive and I am always hand to mouth.’ A sigh escaped involuntarily under her breath. This was a weekly routine between the discounted mother and her foster son, ever since, she had been indisposed and he too independent.  

‘Burima, your lunch’, a girl no more than fifteen placed a plate of paltry food on the ground; she also helped the lady to sit for her lunch. ‘Weren’t you late today Rina or is it my impatience?’ ‘Yes I am late, you must be hungry?’  ‘It’s not so much the food, it’s your company I wait for dear’ she muttered with affection. ‘Don’t you know Burima today is Holi?’ she radiated. ‘Holi!....’ the lady’s aged insipid eyes lit up with some distant memory. 
 

***

It was a musical soiree at Mysore Palace; the enormous hall was graced by great musicians and eminent personalities. The day was Vasant Poornima, there was riot of colours in terms of dresses and colourful jewels; each one present in the hall was vivacious in the mood of Holi.

‘Na maro Pichkari saiyan paiyan paroon tori….’

(Don’t sprinkle colour dear, I beg of you)

ch one of the of dresses and colourful jewelsal of colour; colod Indubala dressed in an indigo coloured sari just like Sri Radha, performed on this composition of her mentor Gauhar Jaan. Radiance of the immense crystal chandelier overhead reflected on her diamond tiara with each move; she looked every bit the Moon (Indu), the Orb of Night.

She was only twelve when she performed for the first time in Calcutta along with her mother Rajbala; the music world embraced her with open arms instantly. She became a professional singer against the wish of her mother who tried to keep her away from the tag of being from Rambagan, a notorious red light area of Calcutta, her childhood home.

Mother was naïve, she failed to come to term with the fact that the daughter of Motilal Bose of The Great Bengal Circus, the famous Gramophone singer, a prominent stage artiste, a Film star, none of these could wipe out the tag of Rambagan from her name; no matter neither of the mother daughter ever joined the trade.

It was Gauhar Jaan the diva, gorgeous, enigmatic took her through the finesse of Thumri; she taught her to be bold, not to be ashamed of her background. ‘It is your talent that draws people towards you, not your family name’ she always emphasised.   

‘Mantu-da’, Mahindra Nath Ghosh a famous Gramophone singer knew her as a promising child, as he was acquainted with her mother. He introduced her as a record artist to HMV, she was only sixteen. ‘You can do it Indu, it’s there in you’; he encouraged the nervous teenager. Her songs were big hits ever since she recorded the first one.

***

‘Mohe punghat par nandlal cher dino re,

mori nazuk kalaiyan maroro dino re’.

(Nandlal teased me at the riverbank,

He grasped my delicate wrists.)

That handsome face vibrant in youthful intelligence, always present at her concerts as a silent admirer; she considered him as her Nandlal. Romance blossomed secretly amidst name, fame and prosperity. He often gifted her exclusive perfumes, indulging her fetish for fragrance. ‘Why do you waste so much of money?’ she would ask while playing with his unruly curls. ‘It’s not a waste dear, it’s an investment. Whenever, you put them on I shall be around.’ ‘What if they all finish?’ she teased. ‘The empty bottles will remind of me’.

The empty bottles still reminded her of him, much after he disappeared from her life.

A dashing young man dressed in saffron kurta of pure khadi and yellow silk turban came to Manmohan theatre one evening at the rehearsal of their upcoming play. Those large compassionate eyes contrasting the boldness of his character made her curious. He was the famous poet, singer, composer and freedom fighter Kazi Nazrul Islam; beloved ‘Kazi-da’ to all the theatre artists.  Kazi-da opened a new poetic world for her; she started singing his compositions for Gramophone Company as well. The depth of his composition, the poetic value of the lyrics took her to a different arena of music; she became an adored household name with his songs.

‘Cheona Sunayona ar cheona ei nayon pane’

(Don’t look at my eyes you doe-eyed beauty)

It was one of the two Nazrul songs she first recorded, ‘this song suits you Indu’ Kazi-da said light-heartedly hinting at her beautiful eyes.

***

The morning air carried a soothing chill at the onset of winter in November; a strip of sun touched the corner of the bed. The frail frame of Indubala laid still, her pale face serene with eternal peace. ‘Burima!’ the tea cup fell on the floor as Rina shrieked in alarm. A long play record kept playing of Indubala’s Nazrul song,-

‘Mor ghumo ghore ele manohar namo namo,namo

srabono meghe nache natabar, ramochamo chamachamo ramajhamo Shiyare boshi chupi chupi chumile nayan

mor bikoshilo abeshe tonu, nipashamo nirupamo manoramo’

(My greetings to you beloved, you came in my sleep; the dancing Lord, you kissed my eyes in silence. My body and soul blossomed in thrill, dearest, my love)

***  ***  

Note: Indubala was born in Amritsar in the year 1899; her father Motilal Bose the proprietor of The Great Bengal Circus married her mother a trapeze artiste of his circus in a temple at Ujjain. Her mother Rajbala declined to resume her circus job post Indu’s birth that annoyed Motilal greatly. As a result he disowned Rajbala who eventually landed up at Rambagan. Rajbala trained herself as a singer and earned a name in the profession. Indubala declined to be a trained nurse as per her mother’s wish and came into singing world to gain extraordinary repute. She died in destitution at the age of 85 on 30^th November, 1984.

©2014 ananyapal ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Labyrinth

Simi watched Aditya through the crowd of friends; tall, disarmingly handsome, charismatic, pulse of the entire gathering. The smartly decorated terrace with clever illumination created a perfect atmosphere for the surprise birthday party in the late evening of pleasant Mumbai winter. It was Aditya’s initiative to bring together all the college friends scattered due to career move; for that nothing could have been a better occasion than Aliya’s birthday. Aliya, ‘Face of the year’ of their batch stole sleep of many ravenous youngsters in her college days; looks, attitude, money she had all.

‘You haven’t taken anything yet’ Aditya came to Simi, he was quick to bring a cola of her choice in a few minutes; she felt a secret thrill with this subtle gesture of intimacy. Friends, since, high school days they had practically grown up together, still he never failed to fascinate her; she could no longer term it as infatuation. Her feelings were far deeper and too fervent by now to get recognition.

They were deep in conversation when the general murmur of the crowd fell in sudden silence with the entry of the birthday girl. In a pale blue crochet dress complementing the perfect pink complexion, her lustrous hair arranged in sideway Aliya looked ravishing like a princess straight from fairy tales. Simi missed a breath in awe; next moment she realised Aditya was gone, a pang of jealousy tainted her mood. For the rest of the evening Aditya did not find time to engage in conversation with her again.

*******

Aditya, Simi, Disha, Gaurav and Chintan, the group was legendary in high school and then in college. Aditya the dashy hero was matched by intellectual Gaurav and Chintan the humorous happy go lucky guy. Disha was an academic a lot in sync with Gaurav; their fondness for each other flourished naturally in subsequent years. Simi had always been the introvert, sensitive girl who spoke the least; though quite pretty in a simple way she never worked on her looks. She was the type one would never take notice in a crowd, though bound to like her in close interaction.

Aliya and Aditya came close to each other in early days of college much to the envy of many class mates of both the gender; Aliya’s inclusion to the group was a natural process which nobody seemed to mind except Simi, but then she never voiced her feelings.

Now five years on, Aditya worked in his father’s construction business, Gaurav was an executive in a private bank, Chintan had been in the creative team of a leading advertisement agency ever since he left college and Disha was a lecturer of history at a private Junior college. Simi took up the post of receptionist in a consultancy firm; true to her nature she was content with her plain job. Aliya did not bother to opt for any career option; she was already quite sought after in the social circuits much in line with her socialite mother.  
    

*******

‘Simi, how fast can you pack for a weekend trip?’ Chintan sounded excited on 30^th evening, minutes before Simi left office. ‘What’s the matter? Are you up to some mischief as usual?’ she wasn’t taking him seriously, knowing his nature. ‘It’s Aditya, not me! The plan is to celebrate New Year eve in Aditya’s bungalow at Lonavala. We will pick you up in the afternoon tomorrow.’ Simi spoke with a pause, ‘He asked you to inform me?’ the trace of disappointment didn’t escape Chintan’s attention. 

The duplex bungalow pertaining to an upmarket enclave faced the hill, away from the bustle of tourists. The artistic garden with a neatly maintained swimming pool, the mystic surrounding justified its name ‘Ecstasy’.

The live in caretaker and his wife welcomed the travel worn group in the evening as they arrived. The ground floor had a hall big enough to accommodate a small gathering, attached to a dining corner at one side and a guest room at the rear. The kitchen along with a store opened to the backyard garden. The only toilet was designed to be accessible from hall and guestroom both. The first floor contained three bedrooms, all with hill view and attached toilets. The terrace was probably the most attractive segment of the house with intriguing lights and interesting sitting arrangements; a corner was designated to barbeque provisions too. The girls decided to share the master bedroom; a string bed was accommodated for the third occupancy. Gaurav and Chintan chose the east facing room, leaving Aditya to occupy the other solely.

‘Green doesn’t suite her, she should realise’, Aliya confided to Disha as Simi came out of the toilet in a sea green long dress accessorised with a single string of pearl. ‘Not everyone is as blessed as you dear’, Disha put a stop to the discussion on a lighter note. ‘Will you ladies be ready by this year at all?’ Chintan teased from outside. ‘You make a move; we will come in a few minutes’, Disha halfway through her make up suggested to Aliya.

Simi spotted the handsome duo lost in conversation at a cosy corner under the dreamy light of a concealed shade; Disha tugged her lightly to draw into the main gathering at the centre, arranged around a radiator. The soft music playing in the background sounded melancholic to her touchy mind.

They were playing Antakshari, it was Simi’s turn; Aditya joined her in the song while taking a seat beside her. An earnest sense of camaraderie passed between the two childhood friends. Aliya was no-where to be seen, ‘she has gone back to her room for a while’ he explained her absence.

The clock struck mid-night, fireworks illumined the night sky from the neighbourhood to mark the New Year. They hugged each other with great warmth; their youth, their zest for life memorialised the moment. Disha and Simi returned to their room, Aliya still hung on; she was little tipsy from over indulgence of alcohol.

It was over an hour when Aliya returned, supported by Aditya; ‘take care of her’ he told Simi before retiring to his own room. Both the girls helped her to bed; she was flushed and perspiring even in the winter chill. ‘This girl has made fool of herself’ Disha was irritated, she dabbed a wet hand towel on Aliya’s forehead. Simi silently made the sick girl drink a glass of water. ‘Let’s catch up some sleep, she should be alright now’ Disha went under the blanket on her string bed.

A nagging groan alerted the girls around three in the morning; they rushed to Aliya to find her pretty face contorted in great pain, a bubble of froth rushing out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Aditya!’ Simi rushed out of the room screaming.

‘I am sorry, we need to inform the police’ Dr. Bhogle the local practitioner informed in grave voice. Aliya’s steel body lied on the bed like a wax doll devoid of any mark of pain; she looked captivating even in death. ‘Do you suspect any foul play?’ Aditya faltered. ‘That only police can decide, but it is definitely an unnatural death, most likely from poisoning.’  The pronouncement shocked the five youth more than the death; each of them shied away from others in unknown horror.

Police came within an hour, routine procedure of searching, screening, photographing continued with usual proficiency. Aliya’s parents, holidaying in Dubai were informed; her father a reputed surgeon of Mumbai refused to accept her sudden death and vowed to get into the bottom of the matter. He contacted big shots of Mumbai police for intervention; the unfortunate parents were to reach by next day noon.

*******

‘Can’t say I am glad to meet you; Detective Inspector Nishit Kulkarni from Mumbai police’ a man in his early forties with sharp features and athletic build approached five dazed figures gathered at the hall. Dr. Bhogle briefed me about the series of incidents, but I need to talk to each of you individually. Can you arrange for the guest room for that?’ he asked Aditya.

‘Chintan tell me about the time sequence of the evening’ Kulkarni sounded casual and friendly in contrast to Inspector Malpani of local police station who looked formal and grave while making note of the interrogation. ‘We reached here at 5.15 yesterday and went to our room after taking light refreshments. Around 7.30 we gathered at the terrace, Disha and Simi joined a little later. The party was on till mid night then we started retiring. Disha, Simi and Gaurav went back almost immediately; I reached my room around quarter to one. Aditya and Aliya were the last to come down. I woke up with the noise at around 3.00.’ ‘No one left the terrace in between?’ Kulkarni questioned. ‘Aliya did, around 9 – 9.30 she went to her room to make a call to her mother, she forgot her mobile at the room. She came back within half an hour’. ‘Who do you think could benefit from her death among you all?’ Kulkarni was blunt this time. ‘What do you mean? We are all friends; best of friends’ Chintan broke down for the first time.

‘What happened when Aliya came to the room after the party?’ It was Disha facing the interrogation this time. ‘She drank too much, so started feeling sick. We made her relax on her bed, comforted her with wet towel and a glass of water. She seemed alright after that and we went off to sleep.’ ‘Who gave the water to her?’ ‘Simi gave’. ‘Where from she got it?’ She thought for a moment before answering, ‘I think from the jug kept on top of the cabinet below the TV.’ ‘How was Aliya’s relation with each of you?’ Disha pondered over the question for a while then replied, ‘She was a sweet girl, but a little self-obsessed, at times quite callous about our plainness! The way she came between Aditya and Simi; of course she can’t be blamed for it.’ ‘Who else drank alcohol last night?’ ‘We all did, though both muself and Simi are casual drinker; but then it was New year eve and none of us drank heavily except Aliya.’

‘Who gave the water to Aliya at the bed room?’ Kulkarni asked Simi. Nervous from last night’s shock she faltered while answering. ‘I did, a cold glass of water would help I thought.’ ‘From where did you take the water?’ ‘From my bedside table. I prefer to keep a glass of water at bedside, since, I feel thirsty during the night.’ ‘What did you drink at the party?’ ‘Cranberry flavoured Vodka.’ ‘Do you think Aditya could have some reason to be angry with Aliya?’ ‘Of course not!’ she almost shouted then continued in whisper, ‘They were fond of each other.’

‘I was down with a bit of headache when we reached here at 5.15, took a Saridon from Aliya to wash down with tea; she always carried handy medicines. I went up to the terrace with Chintan at 7.30 and came down at exact 12.25 in the mid night, checked the time while entering my room; woke up with the scream outside. Aliya was still alive when we reached, but in great pain. Aditya called up the local doctor referring to the emergency numbers noted in a diary. By the time Dr. Bhogle came she was already still, that was around 3.30’. ‘Thanks a lot please send Aditya in’ Kulkarni observed Gaurav's precision in describing the event.

Aditya looked haggard from the emotional strain; his usual spontaneity had been replaced by a sombre reticence, more so probably due to his personal loss. ‘It was my idea to celebrate the New Year in a special way this time. For most of the evening we were all together. Yes, I spent some time talking to Aliya alone, but can’t see how that could have any bearing on the accident. The conversation was very personal in nature and I don’t want to divulge it.’ ‘Is it normal that she drank so recklessly?’ Kulkarni persisted despite being resisted in earlier questions. ‘She loved her drinks, but yesterday she went quite overboard’.

‘My name is Mahesh Sabji, I have been working here since, last five years along with my wife Madhuri. My wife was busy in the kitchen entire evening, while I went up to serve the food. I made five six trips to the terrace for serving snacks then finally laid the dinner in hotpots around ten. After that Chote Saab released us and we went back to our quarters in the backyard. I met Aliya Madam in the stairs while carrying first batch of snacks. She stopped talking over phone to help me; could never imagine she will meet with such tragedy.’ He wiped his eyes in genuine grief.

The party went back to Mumbai after getting reminded by Kulkarni not to leave the station; awaiting post-mortem report would lead to further interrogation.

*******

The friends gathered at the studio apartment of Chintan over next weekend. The mood was sombre; tragedy of Aliya unfurled a cloud of doubt among the trusted comrades, though no one was willing to voice it out. ‘Damn it! This must be some kind of mistake. We all are dying every day with the death of Aliya,’ Chintan exploded in exasperation at last.

‘I called up Aliya’s dad yesterday, the post mortem report suggests toxic effect in the body; the glass of water offered to her being the source, police suspects,’ Aditya informed. All four pairs of eyes focused on a dazed lone figure unknowingly.

*******

Ten days later, on a pleasant evening they again gathered at Chintan’s apartment with one addition; Detective Inspector Kulkarni arrived in plain clothes with his usual easy manner. ‘I wanted to meet you all informally to discuss the recent developments; calling you at my office could have been unpleasant’. He scanned the nervous faces with piercing gaze before continuing. ‘The cause of death was consumption of Paracetamol on top of alcohol’. ‘Paracetamol killed her? Is it your way of joking or some new kind of interrogation?’ Chintan was rash. ‘Shut up Chintan, Paracetamol could be lethal if taken with alcohol; it’s a known fact. Please carry on Mr. Kulkarni.’ Gaurav tried to handle the unpleasant situation.

‘The motive of the crime was jealousy; the third angel of a love triangle, as has been since ages. One of the two damsels brooded on unrequited love, mixed few Paracetamol tablets in the glass of water that could lead to lever failure. The intention probably was not to kill, but definitely to cause harm and inflict pain.’ ‘It’s not true! You must know the facts,’ Aditya sprinted out of his seat. ‘I know everything; take your seat,’ the officer in Kulkarni spoke out to impose his superiority. ‘Paracetamol was accessible as Aliya always carried a medicine kit; everyone drank alcohol, being New Year eve. There was ample opportunity to mix the stuff, since our offender shared the room with the target victim’. It’s not me! Believe me Inspector, I never even dreamt of it!’ Simi broke down howling.

‘I believe you,’ Kulkarni reached for her. ‘It’s not you I am referring to. Aliya mixed the medicine in your glass of water. Aditya, that day you turned her down, siting Simi as your lady love, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, that’s why she got upset and returned to her room to talk to her Mom probably’. ‘No she returned to take revenge on Simi; it was a crime of impulse. She always carried her mobile; Mahesh saw her talking while joining you in the evening. She, being from a doctor’s family knew well Paracetamol should be avoided after drinks. The irony is that, she failed to notice in her inebriated state that the same water was being offered to her by her target’.

‘How did you know all this?’ Simi whispered in her stupor. ‘The medicine strip discarded in the wastepaper basket, a tissue paper on which she crushed the tablets with the help of a brass Unicorn all these carried her finger prints’. ‘Does her father know it?’ she persisted. ‘Yes, he requested us to close the file; further scandal is not desired. I thought of clearing the cloud with you all. It’s not easy to live with feeling of guilt and mistrust, I know that’.

‘Good bye and best of luck! Hope not to meet again!’ Kulkarni left with a charming smile.

‘Simi, it was always you and no one!’ Aditya murmured at the privacy of the balcony. Droplets twinkled in her gentle eyes; she looked charming in the soft glow of twilight.

*****  *****

©2013 ananyapal ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

A Journey to the Ancient time

Summer holiday is the best time for Indian travellers to explore Europe, though the excessive crowd at times can make a romantic or serene location look like a famous pilgrimage spot. However, a thermo-sensitive Bengali like me prefers to face the crowd than the grievous Europe winter; so I decided to pack my bag for Italy and France this summer for a family holiday.

We, a family of three including my teenage daughter had our own agenda for the vacation. My affinity for history, my husband’s love for nature and the young one’s interest in shopping influenced our selection of destinations to make it a mix-bag holiday. We were to visit Venice, Florence, Rome, Nice and Paris in the two weeks’ vacation.

Our journey started on 18^th of May morning with Emirates Airlines via Dubai to Milan. We had few hours break at Dubai that I utilised in reading the materials I carried to brush up my knowledge in ancient Roman civilisation. My daughter took a thorough view of the duty free shops, so as to identify the items she wanted to pick up while returning.

We reached Milan at local time nine p.m; the immigration was fastest I ever faced. We decided to take a train to reach our hotel, since it was very close to the Central Station. The journey was of fifty minutes that passed in seconds while talking to a Pakistani Gentleman settled in Milan. I have seen very few people as helpful and friendly as him before; he helped us and several others in getting tickets from the vending machine (it was complicated and vernacular) and escorted us to the train.

It started raining, by the time we reached Central station; but our hotel was just across the road that saved us from any hassle.

Next day morning our real journey began with a train to Venice (we had pre booked tickets). The two and half hours’ journey was thoroughly enjoyable with picturesque view and comfortable interior.

Venice

We reached Venice station (Ferrovia) around one o’clock in the afternoon; the first look created an impression of an ancient city bustling with lively crowd. The architecture of the station and the neighbouring church fascinated me instantly. On reaching the water taxi stand we came to know about an on-going boat race on the Grand Canal that stranded the traffic for next two hours. Someone, suggested a walk to the hotel which could not be more than twenty minutes (Venice is a small city, locals prefer walking). A large crowd of tourists were on their way with baggage that encouraged us to follow suit. We were quite enjoying the walk (with interesting restaurants and café on both sides of the pavements) until numerous tiny bridges came on the way. Tackling them with cases to carry wasn’t really a cake walk; especially with our kind of fitness. Reaching the main square (Rialto) near the hotel we encountered the real challenge ie; getting direction from locals who speak only in Italian. I was the only one succeeded in communicating, obviously with body language. The language I spoke didn’t matter, so I even tried with Bengali (to my joy) that yielded same result as English. It took us well over an hour to reach the hotel, Italians are definitely an optimistic race, I must confess!

The Church near the station

One of the many tiny bridges

We were pleasantly surprised with the large suite we were allocated in the hotel (Trip Advisor award winning Resident Corte Grimani) that wiped our fatigue. Our hotel was adjacent to a canal; all the buildings in Venice faced the canals on one side and the road to the other. After a short rest we headed for the Piazza San Marco, a five minutes’ walk (by Indian standard) from the hotel.

The boat race

Piazza (in our term ‘square’) San marco, the main promenade of the city of Venice was surrounded by San Marco basilica (Church), Clock tower,  Doge’s Palace (House of the elected ruler in Medieval time) and former guest quarters of the palace now converted in to shops and interesting restaurants. The cold breeze and roaring of the sea welcomed us at the vast piazza; the imposing structures and intricate artistry captivated my imaginative mind. What I liked most about the historical monuments was the fact that they had not been face lifted in order to attract tourists. They looked old and there lied the real charm. Evening time was most enjoyable there with lots of live music played, courtesy to the restaurants and the wonderful coffee and wine served with delicious food. One needed to sit and enjoy the moment, the company and the lively gathering.

Piazza San Marco

Live music at pavement

We finished our late lunch and strolled to the promenade at the sea shore, It was a long stretch with beautiful statues, imposing heritage buildings, veporettos (bus taxis) and glimpse of the nearby islands. One could simply spend hours viewing the sea, the strolling tourists, the hustling in the water transports.

San Marco Promenade

View from Promenade

The imposing statue

We went for a Gondola ride from there touring the Grand Canal and some other smaller canals. Our handsome boatman Victorio showed the house of Marcopolo and Casanova at the bank of the canals. All the houses at the bank with decorated balconies looked dreamy, straight from the pages of fairy tale books at the soft evening twilight.

The Boatman

Grand Canal from Gondola

From gondola

Next day, we had leisurely breakfast at an interesting café and headed for Doge’s palace. The fresco paintings on the ceilings of the palace by famous artists like Tintorreto, Veronese, Antonio Rusconi e.t.c. were simply breath taking. Specially, the grandeur of the Chamber of council was awe inspiring; one could simply visualise that era sitting quietly at a corner there. The paintings depicting Venice as a beautiful lady in different stories particularly caught my eye.

Doge's Palace

The Ceiling decor

Fresco Painting at palace

 The San Marco Basilica was equally beautiful and serene; the 24 carat gold Altars the intricate decorations could not be depicted in words.

San Marco basilica

The Church exterior decor

In the afternoon we took the Grand Canal tour in Veporetto that highlighted the important historical buildings at the bank of the Grand Canal (with audio guide).

The evening was spent at a quiet restaurant at the bank of the Grand Canal accompanied by the soft glow of candle light, twittering of the canal water and the sparkling wine (Prosecco).

The twilight saga

Rialto Bridge

Venice at Night

On the third day, we decided to explore few islands around Venice and started with Murano, famous for hand blown glass factories. We went to the island in a water taxi arranged by the hotel and visited one of the glass factories (Veteria Murano Arte). We watched the wonderful process of making decorated wine glasses by the artists and the final touch by the master. Glass making run in the family and each family run separate glass factories; there were some fifteen such factories in the island. Afterwards we visited the factory showroom of masterpieces, we bought a small beautiful 24 carat gold plated vase as a memento. It was truly an enduring experience.

Glass blowing

Masterpieces

 We strolled around the residential area of the island with pretty bungalows and lustrous gardens, away from the tourists. The small island with its simplicity appealed to our urban mind greatly.

Murano Art work

We took a Veporetto and went to Burano, a fishing village of forty minutes rides from Murano. The first thing that struck me about the island was the riot of colours among the houses; each one was painted with a vibrant one. Probably they reflected the colourful mind of the villagers too. There were quite some crowd at the jetty and the market place. We took a round to the rear side of the island and enjoyed a quiet lunch of Pizza and coke at the sea shore.

Colorful Burano

Peaceful fishing village

The evening was spent near the Opera house and taking up another quiet fine dining.

Next day morning we took to strolling near Della Accademia (museum) and the some other squares before bidding farewell to the city of romance. Venice was not a city to be seen, one need to feel her true charm. She emerged as an ageless beauty, not a glossy youngster; one need not be in hurry to appreciate her.

We took a ten minutes Veporetto ride to reach the train station and started for our next destination Florence.

We had just one and half days for Florence, hence, carefully planned our visit to best utilise the time. On reaching Florence (1&1/2hrs.) in the afternoon, we checked in the hotel (very close to the station) and immediately started for Pisa in a local train. It was seventy minutes comfortable ride through the picturesque countryside. The evening was spent in Pisa with photography and gelato.

The tower

Dumo, Basilica, Tower

Next morning, we had early breakfast and reached the SITA bus stop (also very close by) to take a bus for Greve (famous for Chianti wines), in Tuscany region. The one and half hours bus ride through the beautiful valley of vineyards was like a dream, not to be awaken from. Once reached, we enjoyed the serene and breath-taking surrounding, took a stroll around the area trying to capture the moments. In the afternoon, we went to the ‘Le Cantine di Greve’ (a wine testing bar). With a prepaid card one could test as many as one hundred and forty varieties of wine from the taps. It must be a wonderland for wine lovers; at least my husband felt so.

In the late afternoon, we came back to the city and went to Galleria Della Accademia, where we had pre-booking for ticket (done through hotel, the previous day). This historic museum housed the famous Michelangelo sculpture of King David and many other mesmerising works of masters from Renaissance and before.

Greve

Landscape

Vineyards

Vineyards

Wine tasting bar

We spent time around the historical district, enjoying the beauty of Dumo Cathedral, Baptistry, Dell’opera, Uffizi Gallery and the astounding Palazzo Vecchio with grand sculptures, including a replica of Michelangelo’s ‘David’.

Piazza Dumo

Piazza Vecchio

Next day morning we took a train to Rome (two hrs.) that was our destination for three days. We parked our luggage at the hotel (check in time was in the afternoon) and took a short walk to the ruins of four temples of Republica era and also the place of assassination of Julius Cesar in 44 BC. There were also a beautiful fountain and a church with a pendulum designed by Galileo.

The Church and ruins

The Pendulum

We came back to hotel, checked in and went to Colosseum in the afternoon. We took Roma pass for 3 days that allowed us direct entry to Colosseum and Palatine without waiting in the long queue. We started with Palatine hill, where Romulus killed his twin brother and founded Rome. The vast ruins of the ancient civilisation, the ancient Temple, Roman Forum; they all echoed the mysteries of a different time, belief and thoughts of different people. Who could tell whether I wasn’t one of the masons putting stones in the temple wall or a commander in the army of Emperor Constantine fighting for freedom of Rome!

Palatine ruins

Palace courtyard

The Colosseum, built in in AD 69 – 70 by Emperor Vespasian for entertainment of the nobles as well as Masses. The massive stadium with underground rooms for Gladiators and levels of sitting arrangements right from Emperor to commoners were intriguing. Those who watched the film ‘Gladiator’ could probably visualise the imposing structure, the platform; where men fought with animals and other fighters to entertain the blood thirsty audience. There were several collections and information about the relevant history around the 2^nd floor gallery, along with a BBC documentary running in different languages.

Colosseum

One piece of advice for my friends planning to visit Rome; Reading material about Roman History and a pair of best quality walking shoes could be of great use in order to make the visit successful.

The next day we had a booking for Vatican Museum at 10 a.m.; we reached by 9.30 and got instant entry without the hassle of waiting in a long queue. The weather that day was cloudy and expected to rain, we carried umbrella; though our outing was totally indoor within the museum, Sistine Chapel and St. Peter’s Basilica. The treasure of fresco paintings of Michelangelo, Raphael, sculptures of Bernini were all masterpieces on their own right; my words would fall short to describe the artistry.

Fresco at Vatican Museum

Belvedere

Laocoon

Ceiling decor

Paintings

St. Peter’s Basilica, the largest and most spectacular Church of Rome and the holy city epitomised religious artistry, the solemn atmosphere of the holy shrine radiated message of love and forgiveness.

Ceiling at St. Peter's

St. Peter's square

The main altar

The holy Church

There was mild rain on our way back, which we resisted with the help of umbrella and delicious gelato. After taking considerable rest at the hotel (the excellent Italian coffee always helped) we hunted for an interesting small restaurant run by a family of old parents and their middle aged daughter. The food was excellent, price unbelievably comforting and so was the cordiality of the host.

On our third day in Rome, we decided to do local sightseeing. Since, we stayed at the historical locality we took a local bus for few stoppages (that could have been walked down) to reach the centre of attractions. The bus was so crowded by over-zealous tourists that one needed to be quite an acrobat to remain in perpendicular position.

The jewels in the crown of Rome, Fontana Del Ponta (fountain), Pantheon Church, Elefantino, Minerva Opera, a French Church, Navona square with three fountains of Neptune (the sea God), Ignatius Loyola Church and not to forget Trevi fountain were all magnificent and gorgeous.

The Pantheon Church

Pantheon Altar

Trevi Fountain

Navona Square

Fresco at Ignatius Loyola

Ignatius Loyola

Elefantino

Del Ponta

French Church

The delicious lunch at road side café and a quiet dinner at a happening Restaurant helped us to appreciate Rome better.

Next day we took a flight to Nice, the famous French Riviera, a small picturesque city with rich heritage and bounty of nature. The green hills and stunning Mediterranean collaborated to mesmerise the onlookers. The beautiful promenade, the interesting shopping square, the cafés all contributed to elevate the mood; this was a place one would like to go back again.

From Hilltop

The sea

We leisured around, spent hours viewing the sea; took a little white train from promenade to go up the Castle hill. We did some shopping too that delighted the young one.

The toy Train

The hills

At hilltop

Our stay at Nice was for two days and then we took TGV train to Paris. The Railway track ran parallel to the sea for more than half of our journey, accompanied by the view of the green valley on the other side. The journey had been definitely one of our cherished memories.

We reached Paris in the afternoon and reached hotel via metro (two stops from Gare de Lyon station), which was very near to Louvre museum and Opera House. This was our second visit to Paris, last time we went to Paris Disney and skipped Louvre; that prompted us to visit Paris again. I was doubtful whether Paris would appear as beautiful as earlier even after my visit to Rome, but I got my answer the moment the opera house came in view. Paris didn’t fail to enchant me even for the second time.

Pont Alexandra III

Grand Palais

Opera House

Louvre

The evening we spent strolling around Grand Palais and Champs de Elysees, enjoying coffee at a café at the happening roadside. The shopping malls compelled us to do some shopping too.

Next day we reached Louvre main entrance just before nine o’clock. The queue was very moderate and moved fast, we took hardly fifteen minutes to clear security and obtain tickets. The collection of Louvre wouldn’t need my introduction, the masterpieces of Roman Empire and French Artists enriched the world’s most visited museum. Contribution of Napoleon Bonaparte in acquiring a large part of the collection as booty could not be ignored.

Wedding feast at cana

Venus de Milo

The crown

Sitting Scribe

Tiara

Napoleon's Apt

Psyche & Cupid

The dying slave

Few of the many masterpieces leaving lasting impression in my memory were paintings of Monalisa, Self-portrait of Durer, the wedding feast at Cana, the Consecration of the Emperor Napoleon; sculptures of Venus de Milo, horses of Marley, St. Mary Magdalene, Psyche and Cupid, the dying Slave; Apartment of Napoleon III and collection of crown jewels.

‘All good things come to an end’ and so did our remarkable holiday. The moment we reached Mumbai airport, a sweet feeling of familiarity and warmth touched the heart. We rejoiced our homecoming as much as we cherished the memory of our holiday.

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