Seventy years ago, a boy was sitting under a banyan tree with a torn kite in his hands. He took out his flute that his maternal uncle had gifted him on his last birthday. It was a pleasant spring afternoon with a cool breeze coming from the west. With his mind on several things, he started playing his flute.The place was deserted like it always used to be at this time of the day.
1: ENTER SAHADEV da...
"The pale wind seems to bring
Along with it, another spring
Little brother, will you sing
For me, a distant dream ? "
Mukul turned around in a little shock to find a young man with a fine moustache who was smiling back at him. The young man folded his dhoti in order to sit beside Mukul. "Hello", he said, "what's your name, brother?".
Mukul took a while to reply, "Mukul."
Sahadev smiled for an instant looking at Mukul and then looking straight ahead said, "Aptly named."
Mukul was feeling a little disturbed at the vanishing of his solitude. He wasn't able to play his flute any longer. He didn't think it appropriate to walk away and so he remained seated. Sahadev, feeling his state broke the silence, " bhaloi to bajacchili. amay dekhe lajja pash na. ektu shona na."
Mukul turned towards Sahadev and quizzed,"What brings you here? You aren't from Balurghat or I would have known you."
Sahadev : Do you know everyone from Balurghat?
Mukul: More or less.
Sahadev: Do you roam around a lot?
Mukul: Quite the opposite. I stay at home and every other day people come to my father.
Sahadev: Is your father an important person?
Mukul: He is the village head. So that brings us back to the question, why are you here?
Sahadev surveyed Mukul for a few seconds. THen, somehow lost in his own thoughts, he started to sing,
" While the fire was ignited in our hearts
They shook hands behind the bars
And when we thought we would reign
The world conspired to put us to our end."
Mukul had heard this song. Everyone in Balurghat had. Amartya da was singing this song before being gunned down in the marketplace. Three, along with Amartya da left the world that crimson morning. The police had been looking for the group for last few months. Word was out that they were sheltered at Amartya da's place when the news was leaked. The police couldn't catch one of the mercenaries. Rumour was that he was hiding somewhere near by.
Mukul was looking at Sahadev in awe. He couldn't yet take in the death of his Amartya da, the ever smiling footballer who had introduced him to music and poetry. He brought himself together to ask this young man beside him who now seemed to appear so similar to Amartya da, "tumi Amartya dar bondhu?"
Sahadev looked into Mukul's eyes and nodded," they killed them all. They named us mercenaries to make their job easier. All they needed to churn out was that we were hired killers of an unknown pay master. Yes, Mukul we have killed people and we have masters, not one but many. We have been and many more like us are being used. They have termed it Swadeshi. There is going to be no Independence,brother. It's just going to be a transfer of power."
Mukul hardly understood what Sahadev said. But the manner in which he spoke convinced Mukul that Sahadev believed in what he was saying. He felt a strange pity for Sahadev. Word was out that the fifth member of the group would have asimilar fate once he was caught.
Mukul: you should be as far away from here as possible. They will kill you too.
Sahadev: Do you know, brother what we used to call each other? "Pancha Pradip." Amartya had told me about you,about how you would keep listening to his songs without interrupting,about teaching you how to ride a cycle. He loved you dearly. The day we were given away, I had his specific instructions to take a different route. I have my own mission to complete now. The first task was to meet you.
Before Mukul could ask anything, Sahadev broke into singing while urging Mukul to play the flute,
" The flame fights the melancholy
With the pure hue of soul
The tree will shower holy
Blessings over the newborn goals;
The Sun will smile at the world
Like the proud father of a triumphant child
The five flames will ignite again
In the glow of the hard won shrine"
Sahadev: Amartya, Hriday, Narayan, Tuhin, Sahadev. The "Pancha Pradip".
With one ever lasting smile towards Mukul, he walked towars the west where the river played abode for the Sun.
2: Fifty two years later...
Mukul Chakrabarty, the respected retired school headmaster on the eve of his grandson's eighth birthday takes a look inside his trunk. Yes, the flute is still there. The ownership will be changed the next day. An eight year old Animesh, the legacy bearer in waiting.
Epilogue:
The year is 2013. Animesh goes through a historical fantasy.
1: ENTER SAHADEV da...
"The pale wind seems to bring
Along with it, another spring
Little brother, will you sing
For me, a distant dream ? "
Mukul turned around in a little shock to find a young man with a fine moustache who was smiling back at him. The young man folded his dhoti in order to sit beside Mukul. "Hello", he said, "what's your name, brother?".
Mukul took a while to reply, "Mukul."
Sahadev smiled for an instant looking at Mukul and then looking straight ahead said, "Aptly named."
Mukul was feeling a little disturbed at the vanishing of his solitude. He wasn't able to play his flute any longer. He didn't think it appropriate to walk away and so he remained seated. Sahadev, feeling his state broke the silence, " bhaloi to bajacchili. amay dekhe lajja pash na. ektu shona na."
Mukul turned towards Sahadev and quizzed,"What brings you here? You aren't from Balurghat or I would have known you."
Sahadev : Do you know everyone from Balurghat?
Mukul: More or less.
Sahadev: Do you roam around a lot?
Mukul: Quite the opposite. I stay at home and every other day people come to my father.
Sahadev: Is your father an important person?
Mukul: He is the village head. So that brings us back to the question, why are you here?
Sahadev surveyed Mukul for a few seconds. THen, somehow lost in his own thoughts, he started to sing,
" While the fire was ignited in our hearts
They shook hands behind the bars
And when we thought we would reign
The world conspired to put us to our end."
Mukul had heard this song. Everyone in Balurghat had. Amartya da was singing this song before being gunned down in the marketplace. Three, along with Amartya da left the world that crimson morning. The police had been looking for the group for last few months. Word was out that they were sheltered at Amartya da's place when the news was leaked. The police couldn't catch one of the mercenaries. Rumour was that he was hiding somewhere near by.
Mukul was looking at Sahadev in awe. He couldn't yet take in the death of his Amartya da, the ever smiling footballer who had introduced him to music and poetry. He brought himself together to ask this young man beside him who now seemed to appear so similar to Amartya da, "tumi Amartya dar bondhu?"
Sahadev looked into Mukul's eyes and nodded," they killed them all. They named us mercenaries to make their job easier. All they needed to churn out was that we were hired killers of an unknown pay master. Yes, Mukul we have killed people and we have masters, not one but many. We have been and many more like us are being used. They have termed it Swadeshi. There is going to be no Independence,brother. It's just going to be a transfer of power."
Mukul hardly understood what Sahadev said. But the manner in which he spoke convinced Mukul that Sahadev believed in what he was saying. He felt a strange pity for Sahadev. Word was out that the fifth member of the group would have asimilar fate once he was caught.
Mukul: you should be as far away from here as possible. They will kill you too.
Sahadev: Do you know, brother what we used to call each other? "Pancha Pradip." Amartya had told me about you,about how you would keep listening to his songs without interrupting,about teaching you how to ride a cycle. He loved you dearly. The day we were given away, I had his specific instructions to take a different route. I have my own mission to complete now. The first task was to meet you.
Before Mukul could ask anything, Sahadev broke into singing while urging Mukul to play the flute,
" The flame fights the melancholy
With the pure hue of soul
The tree will shower holy
Blessings over the newborn goals;
The Sun will smile at the world
Like the proud father of a triumphant child
The five flames will ignite again
In the glow of the hard won shrine"
Sahadev: Amartya, Hriday, Narayan, Tuhin, Sahadev. The "Pancha Pradip".
With one ever lasting smile towards Mukul, he walked towars the west where the river played abode for the Sun.
2: Fifty two years later...
Mukul Chakrabarty, the respected retired school headmaster on the eve of his grandson's eighth birthday takes a look inside his trunk. Yes, the flute is still there. The ownership will be changed the next day. An eight year old Animesh, the legacy bearer in waiting.
Epilogue:
The year is 2013. Animesh goes through a historical fantasy.
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