Chennai Diary

Sunday, 7^th December 2014, 20:00

Last year in November, my parents in Delhi met with an accident. I was working for an earth moving equipment manufacturer in Chennai then.

No train tickets to Delhi were available that night. And apex fare in airlines was close to Rs 20,000. Delhi is 2100 kilometres away from Chennai. There was no other way I could go to Delhi. I hated Chennai for many reasons, that night I hated it for being so far from Delhi. I cursed the moment that brought me to Chennai.

On 7^th December 2013 I took a vow. I promised myself that I would not shave my beard till the time I return home, to my family in Delhi.

Today while I celebrate my birthday with my family in Delhi (for the first time in last 8 years), I am feeling nostalgic for Chennai. It was this day, a year back, when I actually started falling in love with this city.

*******

My affair with Chennai started when an interviewer, during my college’s placements drive, asked me “What if our company decides to post you in Chennai?”

Fearing a negative response to this question may hamper my chances of selection, I said “Sir I am adaptable. I can go anywhere.”

Interviewer smiled and said “I have two things to tell you. You are selected. You are going to Chennai”.

I landed in Chennai on the night of 31^st July 2011. That night was horrible.

My company had booked a guest house for me which was only 10 Kilometres away from the airport.

I decided to take an auto from the airport. But with no common language between the autowallas of Chennai and me, negotiation was definitely not an option. I could not find any pre-paid booth. As a result, I had to pay a whooping Rs 800 to the autowallah for dropping me at guest house (that’s Rs 80/km. India’s Mars mission was Rs 7/km).

The next few days were even more terrible.

I was like an alien in the office. I could not understand the language my colleagues spoke. I ate only idlis and dosas every single day. Chennai was so hot and humid that I had to change my clothes at least thrice in the day. There was nowhere to go in Chennai. I spent my weekends sitting at home and watching TV. My room mates in PG left the room because of my typical “north Indian habits”.

It took me 6 months to find someone whom I could call a friend. And I found three of them at once. Ironically none of them were from the North. They all were from different states of South India-Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Kerala. We decided to stay together.

We took a 2 BHK flat on the East Coast Road on rent (By the way, East Coast Road runs parallel to the eastern coast of India, with Bay of Bengal on one side and eastern ghats on the other side. Absolute Bliss.). We stayed together for 1 year and every single day became unforgettable with them around. I didn’t really start liking Chennai, but with them I became more tolerant towards the city.

We four shared similar interests. We loved travelling and bike rides. We often went to beach and spent hours discussing about girls, politics, religion, sports and everything else that existed under the sky. We had English breakfast and Ibaco’s ice creams for dinner.

We were crazy bunch of guys. When Cyclone Thane made a landfall on the Tamil Nadu coast we decided to chase it from Mahaballipuram to Chennai on our bikes. We were fearless.

Beautiful things don’t last forever. The Malayali in our group found a job in Gulf, he moved out. The Tamilian in our group was next to go. He had found a job in Qatar. A month later, the Kannadiga went to Germany. By August 2013 everyone had moved out and I was left alone in Chennai. I decided to continue in the same house.

A cousin and a school friend came and stayed in Chennai for a few months in between. But like many others, they didn't like the city and they asked for a transfer from their respective companies. Their companies obliged.

Then last year in November, while my parents were going for a marriage, a lady driver lost control of her car and rammed her car into my parents’ car. My parents were seriously injured. I was informed about their accident on phone. Sitting alone in the house, 2500 kilometres away from the spot of accident, I shouted for help. I called up every person whom I thought can help me financially or otherwise. I was desperate to go to Delhi, but I couldn’t.

On my birthday I promised myself that, I will not shave until I return to Delhi forever. I started discovering a new Chennai from the next day onwards.

The Indian economy was in a bad shape then and automotive industry wasn’t hiring much. But I had to go back, preferably with a job in hand. I decided to give interview for every company that could take me to Delhi, irrespective of the nature of job and industry.

I travelled in local trains and buses to reach to the venues. For the first time I discovered that the local trains in Chennai were the most joyous way of commuting within the city. I sat on the doors of the train and observed the bustling city outside. Trains were not even crowded like Delhi’s Metro. The buses were equally convenient. The fares in buses were as low as Rs 2.50 (conductor returned 50 paisa coin).

Locals I met on my way were courteous. They helped me locate my destination. Some shopkeepers even went to an extent of drawing a rough map when they could not communicate the directions to me properly. Contrary to my belief, they all knew English very well. And they understood enough words of Hindi to comprehend any sentence spoken by me.

I gave interview for a BPO, an Event Management firm, a Consultancy, a Logistics firm and a truck manufacturer. These interview took me to places I had never been before - Santhome Basilica (One of the only three churches in the world to have been built over the tomb of Jesus’ apostle), Broken Bridge (an unfinished bridge on Adayar River; the only place in Chennai where you can see sunrise and sunset), Santhome Mount (You can see the entire city from the top of the hillock. And if you love planes, you can watch them take off and land all day as the runway is in the vicinity), Crocodile Park (Have you ever seen 1000 crocodiles at one place?) and Marundeeswarar Temple (When doctors give up, patients come here for treatment. Hear their story; they are unbelievable, but true)

My neighbours started interacting with me for the first time in last two years. They invited me home for dinner and on festivals. They sent food whenever something special was cooked in their kitchen. I tasted Chettinad cuisine for the first time; it tasted better than Kadhai Chicken I found a beautiful Marwari family, who promised to provide me lunch and dinner, every day for a minimal charge.

I continued to go on beach in the night. I spent hours sitting alone and watching waves hit the shore. The noise of the waves made me forget all my problem and worries. I could spend my entire life sitting there.

For the first time, I started interacting with my colleagues in the office. I shared my problems with them. They informed about it to my Team Leader. My Team Leader offered me assistance in bring my family to Chennai. He assured me that company would reimburse every single rupee of their relocation. It was a humbling experience.

Obviously I didn’t accept the offer but for the first time I realised how ignorant I was about this city and its beautiful people who were always ready to help.

I started finding solace around my colleagues, my neighbours, sitting alone on beaches and roaming on Chennai roads. But when I returned home every night and stared at mirror, my ugly face reminded me of my unaccomplished mission.

It took 8 itching months to accomplish my mission. It was 26^th of July 2014, when I finally bid farewell to the city I had started loving. My neighbours had packed food for me for the train journey; my office colleagues brought their cars to drop me till Railway station.

On our way, every single traffic light turned red for us as if the city didn’t want me to leave. The train was delayed by a good 2 hours from the station. For the first time in 3 years, I wasn’t desperate to go back. Waiting for my train at the iconic Chennai Central, I wanted the time to stand still.

I reached Delhi on 28^th morning. The first thing I did was I shave my beard.

*******

Some Pictures:

The Dream That Wasn't

Chapter: Eklavya

(For Chapter:The Dream - http://mool-dhara.blogspot.in/2014/04/the-dream-that-wasnt.html)

I was packing my bags to go back to Delhi forever when my landlord came rushing inside my room without even caring to knock on the door.

“I read about your Dream on mool-dhara” my landlord said and fell silent. His eyes were stuck on the brown leather suitcase lying on the top of the almirah in my room.

“So… did you like the article?” I asked him in an attempt to distract him.

He looked at me and said, “I want to narrate you a story”.

* * * * * * *

I remember I was coming back home one day when I saw a huge crowd gathered outside my house. There was a make-shift stage in our veranda and a leader was giving a speech from it. My father was standing right beside this man.

“Who is he?’ I asked my amma.

“He is the new president of Indian National Congress, Subhash Chandra Bose” she replied.

At first I thought Netaji was too young to be a Congress President. There were other stalwarts in Congress like Nehru; then why should Congress elect a young leader like him as their president?

“Oh, his status is even bigger than Pandit Nehru”, my Amma replied.

I sat among the crowd to listen to Netaji. He was a powerful speaker. His ideas were unconventional unlike his contemporaries. For example when other Congress leaders like Gandhiji and Nehru wanted freedom from British in phases, Netaji was advocating complete, unconditional Independence for India. He was demanding ‘Poorna Swaraj’. I decided to join Netaji there and then.

Netaji's demand for Poorna Swaraj and idea to use force against the British to achieve means had won him fans in Congress. But Gandhiji was unhappy with this cultural change in Congress. Netaji’s schemes were against the moral principles of Gandhiji. In Gandhiji’s opinion Nehru was a more appropriate leader to lead Congress.

To put it aptly, the triangular relationship of Gandhiji, Nehru and Netaji  could be compared with Guru Dronacharya, Arjuna and Eklavya from Mahabharat. It was a known fact that Netaji considered Gandhiji as his mentor. Rather Netaji was the first person to address Gandhiji as 'Father of our Nation' long before the title was officially given to Gandhiji after independence. But Gandhiji seldom gave Netaji that status of a pupil. Gandhiji had a special liking and an even more special plan for Nehru.

But within Congress, in presence of Netaji, Nehru’s importance was diminishing. And Gandhiji-led clique didn’t like it at all. So in the next year’s President Elections of Congress, Gandhji decided to place a candidate against Netaji. Gandhji was confident that his candidate would be more acceptable to people than Netaji himself.

But my father, who was also Netaji’s closest ally, understood the game plan well in advance. He galvanised all the south Indian votes of Congress towards Netaji. I, myself travelled to different places to convey this message of my father to other Congress leaders who wanted to see Netaji getting re-elected.

When the election took place Netajii was re-elected as the President of the Indian National Congress and Gandhiji’s candidate suffered a defeat. For Gandhiji, the water had breached the gates of the dam.

In a Congress rally, with Nehru sitting on one side and Netaji on the other side, Gandhiji whispered into Netaji’s ears.

“For a guru to have a pupil, the pupil must be ready to offer his guru a guru-dakshina".

"Bapu, please ask me. All I have, is yours" replied Netaji with complete sincerity.

"Leave Congress for Nehru."

Netaji stood up on the dais and announced his resignation there and then.

* * * * * * *

"Thus the Eklavya whom you were seeking in your article on mool-dhara was none other than Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose who gave away his proverbial thumb as a guru dakshina. That was his dedication towards Gandhiji" my landlord concluded. His eyes had become wet.

“I know what happened next” I interrupted my landlord.

“He went to Russia and Germany to seek help, but their response was disappointing. From there he went to Japan, where Subhash Chandra Bose established the foundation of Indian National Army. But the Japanese forces were defeated by the British forces in the Battle of Kohima and Imphal. And as a result, INA was forced to pull back.”

I didn't stop there.

“All the soldiers of INA were imprisoned by the British Army. To avoid arrest, Subhash Chandra Bose escaped to Japan. And then a Japanese plane carrying him crashed in Taiwan and he died.”

“Not all of that is true” interrupted my landlord.

“Which part are you talking about?” I grew curious.

* * * * * * *

Netaji didn't leave India before forming his own political party, Forward Block. My father was appointed secretary of the party. Netaji understood the risk India could suffer under the propaganda politics of Nehru and to some extent that of Jinnah who wanted a separate country for Muslims living in India.

Needless to say Gandhiji was happy because now Nehru could easily establish his dominion over Congress. But what did Gandhiji get in return from Nehru?

The independence was around the corner and Nehru was the president of Congress again. Gandhiji had complete faith in his favourite pupil that Nehru would never let the country be divided. Gandhiji assured everyone that if at all the country divides, it will only be divided over his dead body.

Nehru was in a hurry to be the Prime Minister. He no longer wanted to wait for the truce between Hindus and Muslims in India. He let the partition took place.

* * * * * * *

“Jawaharlal Nehru went on become the first prime minister of the divided India and Gandhiji died 5 months later in January 1948” I recollected.

“Yes. My father was present at his crematorium along with Netaji….”

“With Netaji? You mean to say Subhash Chandra Bose was alive when Gandhiji died! But his plane crashed in 1945..”

“He never died in any plane crash. He was always alive.” revealed my landlord.

* * * * * * *

India was partitioned in 1947. At that time he was in Lahore, in disguise, helping people to migrate safely to India. My father and many other associates of Netaji helped him in this task. When Kashmir was burning after independence he took up the work of providing relief and rehabilitation to the people. He used his experience of setting up Indian National Army to tackle this gigantic task with efficiency and resourcefulness.

Congress, under the leadership of Nehru, created a complete mess in Kashmir. He thought of making a political comeback in the general elections of 1951 and set things right in India. But Congress swept the elections and Nehru was elected the Prime Minister of India again. Forward Block couldn't win many seats.

And then somewhere in 1950s Nehru setup a commission to find out what actually happened to Subhash Chandra Bose. My father told me that Nehru had come to know that Netaji was alive and hence he had grown suspicious of Netaji coming back into mainstream politics. As a result, anyone who was found involved with Netaji and the Indian National Army was put behind the bars. Police came to our house also and arrested my father on the charges of treason. My father died in jail 4 years later.

But Netaji was untraceable.

Netaji perhaps realised that it was better to die as a hero than to live long enough to see you become a villain. And in my opinion, it was the right thing to do. We all love heroes who die tragic deaths, don’t we? And if there is a mystery involved around him, that is even better.

  

Soon Forward Block became redundant in most part of the country in the absence of Netaji. Dynasty became the policy and politics of Indian National Congress. There was nothing left of Netaji other than a troubled legacy.

What you wrote in your last article could actually have been true if Netaji had his way.

Shahid Afridi and Wasim Akram would have been playing for India. Mahindra & Mahindra would have been Mahindra & Mohammad. Kashmir would have continued to be known as 'The Heaven on Earth'. Terrorism wouldn't have existed. And India would have extended from Afghanistan-Iran in the west to Myanmar in the east, from Kashmir in the north to Kanyakumari in South.

* * * * * * *

“So what happened to Netaji if he didn’t die in the plane crash?” the mystery was still unsolved in my head.

“Honestly speaking, I don’t know. He lived a life of ‘bahrupiya’ for many years and never stayed at one place for long.”

“When was the last time you saw Subhash Chandra Bose?”

“In August of 1975. He had come to stay with us. He stayed in this house, in the room where you stay… And then one day he went to the beach for a walk and never returned. He left his brown leather suitcase behind.”

* * * * * * *

I pulled down the brown leather suitcase from the top of the almirah. 

It had a combination lock with three wheels of alphabets. I rotated the first wheel till “S”, second wheel till “C” and third till “B”. The lock opened.

The suitcase had clothes of plain white cotton. There was a case for spectacles. There was also a diary and an un-posted letter to someone called ‘Emilie’.

I opened the letter; it had a photograph inside. In the photograph Gandhiji was sitting in the centre whispering something in Subhas Chandra Bose’s ears, who was sitting on his left. Jawaharlal Nehru was sitting on the right side of Gandhiji.

There was a message written with blue pen on the other side of the picture.

“Probably this was the moment that changed the course of Indian history forever… Pakistan would never have been created”

* * * * * * *

Amba

“Salva, my soul has surrendered to your love and it would not accept anyone else other than you” said Amba as she placed her head on Salva’s chest. They sat beneath a peepal tree on the banks of river Ganga in Kasi.

King of Kasi had planned a grand Swayamvar for his three young daughters - Amba, Ambika and Ambalika. But Amba secretly loved King Salva.

“Amba, I love you more than anything else on this earth. I promise you, I will win you in Swayamvar tomorrow” said Salva reassuring Amba.

Despite of Salva’s promise, Amba had a premonition that something inauspicious would certainly happen at the time of Swayamvar.

*******

“I openly challenge everyone present here. If any one of you has courage, try to stop me from taking these three sisters away with me to Hastinapur” announced an unexpected voice in the royal court where Swayamvar was underway.

“Who is he?” Amba asked her sisters petrified of his sudden appearance.

“He is Devavrata, Prince of Hastinapur” replied Ambalika.

“People say he has taken a vow to never get married or even get laid with any woman all his life!! That is why people call him Bhishma, referring to his lifelong oath of celibacy” added Ambika.

“Then why is he here? Has he broken the vow?” wondered Amba.

Bhishma had travelled from Hastinapur to Kasi to find a bride for his step-brother and the crowned Prince of Hastinapur, Vichitravirya.

Bhishma was not only an unparalleled archer and warrior but was also blessed with a wish-long-life. He would die only when he would decide himself that it was time for him to go. Therefore no one in the royal court dared to raise his voice against Bhishma, except one.

“Oh Mighty Bhishma, you can take the other two sisters, but leave Amba here. Amba is mine. I love her” Salva resorted for his love.

Salva was hardly a contest for the great Bhishma. In the swordfight, Salva did not last even for 15 minutes. Bhishma defeated King Salva and spared his life.

Bhishma abducted the three sisters.

*******

“Oh Bhishma, the most benevolent of all, truth is that even I love Salva and I have taken a vow to spend my entire life with him and only him” Confessed Amba, after the troupe of Bhishma reached Hastinapur.

“Salva? He is a loser” Bhishma said rejecting Amba’s plea.

“Yes I agree he lost to you but he stood against you… and challenged you… which no one else in the entire court dared to do. He did all this for our love. He is my hero”

Vichitravirya took pity on Amba and asked Bhishma to let Amba go to King Salva. Bhishma arranged transportation on the order of the King, for Amba, to King Salva’s kingdom. But King Salva refused to accept Amba.

“He insulted me in front of so many people in Swayamvar!!” said King Salva referring to Bhishma.

“First he spared my life to prove his greatness to others, now he has sent you back to me because you were of no good use to him!!”

“I am Man and a Man does not live on anyone else’s pity. Moreover you were away with him for so many days, how do I know what all transpired between Bhishma and you. You are beautiful enough to make him forget his vow of celibacy”

Amba couldn’t believe those words came out of Salva’s mouth. Disheartened, Amba went back to Kasi. 

But now her father also refused to give her place to stay in the palace.

Amba decided to return to Bhishma in Hastinapur. She hoped Bhishma would accept her; after all it was him whose actions were responsible for Amba’s misery.

“I cannot marry you. I am sorry for whatever I did to you. But being a Kshatriya, I cannot break my vow. Yeh adharma hai. This is wrong” said Bhishma in his apologetically tone.

Amba could not bear this bare hypocrisy of Bhishma.

“Adharma!!! You have spoiled my life. I have nowhere to go, no one is ready to accept me and this is all because of bloody you. And over that you say you cannot help me because it is wrong to break your vow”

“You double-faced fox, you took away happiness from my life. You will see now how I take away happiness from your life”

For the next many months, Amba knocked on the door of the Kings of every possible kingdom; she asked the Kings to fight Bhishma and his army but no one agreed to fight against the mighty Bhishma for her. They were all convinced that Bhishma was invincible. And so they did not want to do anything that would earn the wrath of Bhishma and the army of Hastinapur.

Finally Parasuram agreed to fight for Amba’s cause and bring her retribution. Parasuram was Bhishma’s teacher. He had taught Bhishma the art of warfare.

The battle between the guru and shishya lasted for 23 days. The legend has it that Gods from heaven had to intervene just before Bhishma was about to kill his own teacher with the most destructive weapon which Bhishma had earned from Lord Siva. In the end Parasuram was defeated.

Amba was lonely again. She resorted to penance in the forest. Impressed with her determination Lord Subramanya descended from the sky and gave her a garland of ever blue lotuses.

“Dear Amba, I assure you, who ever wear this garland will become the reason of Bhishma’s death. And you will have your revenge fulfilled”

Having earned the license to kill Bhishma, Amba yet again knocked on the door of kings; she requested, otherwise acknowledged as “brave kings”, to wear the blessed garland and defeat Bhishma for her. But no King was ready to champion her cause.

Dejected by this world of superficial heroes, she decided to quit her life. She hung the garland on the gate of the King Drupad’s Palace, the last king she approached for help and got rejected from.

She jumped from a high cliff to death.

*******

“Bhagwaan, why did I suffer this miserable fate? Why wasn’t Bhishma punished for the wrong things he did? Why couldn’t I take my revenge?”

“Amba, sometimes you have to die in order to rise from your own ashes. Sometimes you have to die to reborn again, to believe in yourself and love yourself…. to become the person you had always wanted to be.”

*******

Amba was born again. That too in the family of King Drupad, the last King she approached for help and got rejected from. King Drupad named her daughter Shikhandini.

One day while playing in the garden of Drupad’s palace, Shikhandini’s eyes caught fancy of a garland made of ever-blue lotuses hanging on the gate.

“Remove that bloody garland from your neck, you fool” King Drupad shouted at her as soon as he saw the garland around her neck. But King Drupad was late.

As soon as Shikhandini wore that garland, there were a bright flash of light before her and the story of her last birth and misery flashed right before her. Shikhandini realised the purpose of her rebirth.

“I depended on others. That was the only reason I could not take my revenge”

“This time I will not wait for a Man to avenge my honour; because if I do, I will be again left waiting for ever”

King Drupad knew the dangers involved with that garland around her daughter’s neck. He was still not ready to do anything that would make the mighty Bhishma his enemy. So he had only one option left before himself, to save his kingdom from the army of Hastinapur. He asked the young Shikhandini to leave the kingdom at once and get lost.

Amba had barely reached puberty when she left for the forest. Before leaving she took a vow.

“I shall not return till the time I am ready and prepared to defeat Bhishma”

No one saw Shikhandini in her years of penance. She finally returned when the battle at Kurukshetra was announced.

And when she returned she was no more a woman. She returned with a body of man and physique of a warrior. Some said she developed that body by remaining under water all through those years. Some others insisted that she exchanged her sex with Yaksha and became a eunuch in the process.

*******

It was the end of 9^th day of the battle at Kurukshetra and Bhishma, the Commander-in-Chief of the Kaurava forces, was the strongest barrier that protected the Kaurava camp from impending defeat from Pandavas. Pandavas had no idea on how to defeat Bhishma.  

That night while finalising their strategy for the next day Pandavas decided to use Shikhandini.

On 10^th day of the battle before Shikhandini left for the battleground, Draupadi, wife of Five Pandavas, visited Shikhandini.

“Sister, I have come here to express my gratitude to you.  I overheard the plan of my husbands of how they plan to use you as bait to defeat Bhishma Pitamah”

“I just want to thank you for helping my five husbands avenge my honour”

“Honour?” interrupted Shikhandini. “Do you really think that they are fighting for YOUR honour?”

Shikhandini was surprised at Draupadi’s innocence.

“If your husbands wanted to avenge your honour they would have done it that very moment when Duryodhana commanded Dushasana to bring you into the court, forcefully if he must. I was told that you were clad in one piece of attire when Dushasan grabbed you by hair and brought you into the court. Why did the most powerful Pandavas remained silent then?”

“My husbands were bound by their dharma that day” defended Draupadi. “They had lost everything they owned to those cunning Kauravas in the game of dice”

“My innocent sister, which dharma on earth allows a man to pledge his own wife in a game of dice? Which dharma on earth lets a man sit helplessly while his enemy disrobe his own wife?”

“What good are those husbands for, who are otherwise considered the greatest warriors on earth, but sit quietly when their wife cries for help and justice? Even you know the Pandavas have the most lethal weapons on earth with them, gifted by the Gods themselves. And mind you they were not even physically chained at that moment.“

“A man fights for nothing, but his own pride and honour”

“The great saint Valmiki had already foretold that it will be only in this battle that Pandavas will receive the immortality for which world will remember them for thousands of years”

“Mahabharat was never about you, Draupadi.”

*******

Shikhandini was riding on a chariot driven by Krishna. As planned, Krishna cut his way through the battle ground and reached close to the chariot of Bhishma.

Bhishma at once recognised Shikhandini as Amba. He was startled. He always knew he had sinned and someday his karma would bite him back. But he had never expected it to happen this way.

Shastras preach that a Kshatriya never raises his weapon in front of a woman. Although the world recognised Shikhandini as a man, Bhishma knew that she was Amba, a woman. As a devout follower of Shastras, Bhishma lowered down his weapon.

Moreover as per the rules of battle between Kauravs and Pandavas, a woman wouldn’t be allowed to fight in the battlefield. Confident Bhishma was sure that he wouldn’t be attacked or hurt by Shikhandini as well.

But little did he know that Arjun was hiding behind Shikhandini on the chariot. As soon as Bhishma laid down his weapon, Arjun came out from behind and threw a volley of arrows at Bhishma. His body was pierced with arrows. Bhishma fell on the battlefield.

Thus as Lord Subramaniam had foretold, Shikhandini became the reason of Bhishma’s death and Amba had her revenge fulfilled.

The war stopped momentarily with the fall of Bhishma. Soldiers, commanders, Kings from both the sides left their weapons in their places and gathered near the body of Bhishma. Gods appeared in the sky to pay respect to the man who was often considered the greatest example of devotion and sacrifice.

Shikhandini also got down from her chariot and walked towards Bhishma’s body. She looked at Bhishma lying miserably and defeated on the ground. His eyes were filled with tears of pain. She leaned forward towards Bhishma and spoke.

“I was a woman; even then this world discarded me. I felt wretched when not only my lover but even my own father refused to accept me. Nobody came for my rescue even though everyone knew what you did to me was wrong. That is why I wanted to take this revenge from you.”

“Today I feel at ease when I see you lying helplessly like this…. and I regret nothing.”

*******

Shikhandini was finally killed by Ashwatthama on the 18th day of battle. She insisted that soldiers took her to Draupadi; she said she had a message for Draupadi before she breathes last.

“Draupadi” Amba spoke in a heavy voice filled with air, “Remember… if you wait for a man to avenge your honour, you will keep waiting for a lifetime”

*******

The Dream That Wasn't

Chapter: The Dream

(For Eklavya - http://mool-dhara.blogspot.in/2014/10/the-dream-that-wasnt.html)

It was morning.

I opened my eyes slowly. At first, there was too much of light for my iris to take in. But it adjusted itself soon enough.

There was a unique calmness in the room, or perhaps it was just a state of my state of mind; it was a kind of calmness you experience after having been dreaming deep in your sleep. And when you wake up, it takes a while before your mind can differentiate between what is real and what is not.

The only sound that my ears could gather was the awful din created by the rotating fan hanging from the ceiling of my room. The old brown leather suitcase was lying on the top of the almirah right in front of me. My house-owner had told me once the suitcase belonged to his father’s friend who had lived in my room 50 years ago. When I occupied this room in their house, he had taken this suitcase out from under my bed and kept it on the top of the almirah to make more space for my own luggage.

I raised my neck a little bit to look at the textured fostered glass of my room’s window right above my head. It was white and bright, an indication that the clouds of the previous night had given way to the sun this morning.

It was raining heavily in Chennai last night while I was leaving the office, an unusual setting for this time of the year. Hoping that the rain would drowse down in a while, I continued to stay in office even after the regular working hours. But the rain gods didn't oblige for a long time.

Next I remember that it was already midnight when I finally left my office. As a result there was no auto or bus or any other kind of public transport available on the road, walking back home was the only option for me.

My office and home are separated by 3 kilometres; as a result I was drenched completely by the time I reached home. My bed was still moist in the morning, I could feel it. My wet clothes were lying on a chair near my bed, still dripping some drops of water in the pool created right below the chair.

It was Saturday and a holiday for me, I wanted to sleep for some more time. I looked for my pillow. It was lying near my feet. I pulled it closer and squeezed it tight between my arms. A tag stitched to the pillow, popped out of the pillow cover. I noticed the words “Recron” written on it in big black letters and “Lahore, India” in the next line.

I had never noticed that tag before. I closed my eyes for a moment and opened it again to check if I read that right first time. It was still there in the second line - “Lahore, India”.

I wondered why anyone would write India when Lahore is in Pakistan. Or was it a misprint in the hands of pillow makers? I was having a heavy head and so I chose to ignore the mistake and close my eyes to sleep for some more time.

I woke up again sometime later. The tag was still there with the mention of Lahore and India side-by-side in the second line. It must be a major printing error, I took it for granted. I grabbed my wrist watch lying on the bed. Even that had rainwater inside but the needles were still ticking. The time was quarter past 9.

I got out of the bed, went straight to the toilet to carry out with my daily morning customary. After freshening up, I took my wallet from inside the poly-bag and keys of the house. I locked the house and started walking towards the idli-vada shop where I have my daily breakfast.

As I approached the shop, I saw its owner fighting with an unknown man who had apparently parked his big black Scorpio right in front of his shop. I noticed Mahindra’s brand symbol on the bonnet was a bit different on that car. It wasn't the usual two-way-road-narrowing-down-to-infinity. Rather it had something that seemed to me like triple M put one over the other. I doubted if it was really Mahindra’s Scorpio.

I took a walk around the car and reached the rear end of the SUV. The car was indeed a Scorpio, but the makers of the car were meant to be ‘Mahindra & Mohammed’. It was strange because for I had always known the company as 'Mahindra & Mahindra’.

The owner of the car must be some nut, I thought, trying to give a fancy touch to his car. I clicked a picture of the same and uploaded on Facebook. Then went inside the shop and ordered for a masala dosa. While my masala dosa was getting ready, I went to buy a copy of The Times of India from the next shop.

The front page of the paper read:

“AFRIDI’S SIX HELPS INDIA REACH FINALS OF T20 WORLD CUP”

Now this was the third weirdness of the day and the day had just started! What was bloody wrong with this day? How could TOI do such a blunder mistake on its front page headline? How could they write that Shahid Afridi, a cricketer actually from Pakistan, supposedly batting for India, scored 9 runs of the last 4 balls to help India reach finals of T20 World Cup!

I snatched a copy of The Hindu from the stands. Even Hindu had a similar article about “The Comeback Man Shahid Afridi”. It also had a photo of Shahid Afridi wearing the blue Indian jersey. I picked up Indian Express and Deccan Herald as well. They were no different.

Indian Express alongside also reported that India was planning to invest Rs 1000 Crores to build a new port at Gwadar, in Baluchistan, 100 kilometers from the border India shares with Iran. Deccan Herald carried pictures of the new Islamabad Airport inaugurated by Airport Authority of India. It said this was supposedly the 5th major airport-after Hyderabad, Bangalore, Delhi and Mumbai-to be built on PPP model.

I was chewing the last bite of my dosa still confused by the strangeness of the day when my phone rang. It was Prateeksha. I was thrilled that she called me up. I so desperately wanted to share with her the weirdness in my life today. I quickly swallowed my last bite, even before breaking them down into tiny bits inside my mouth.

“Did you see today’s newspaper?” I spoke up in excitement ignoring hello(s) and hi(s).

“Is the news of Sana Khan and her car crash already in the newspaper?”

“Who is Sana Khan now, Prateeksha? I am talking about Shahid Afridi playing for India in yesterday’s match... it is in every paper today”

“So? What’s the big deal about it?” she sounded indifferent.

“It is a big deal. He doesn't play for India, he plays for Pakistan yaar”

“What? What’s Pakistan?”

I ignored her reaction because I know she rarely follows cricket. The only cricketer she knew about was Virat Kohli and MS Dhoni because I had written about them in my articles on mool-dhara. And of course she knew of Dravid, Ganguly and Tendulkar as well. I told her I would speak to her later.

I went back home. Opened my laptop and connected to the internet. Yahoo, my homepage, was displaying the news about the death of the same female whom Prateeksha had mentioned to me sometime back. Yahoo reported that Sana and Babar Khan, apparently India’s most popular Bollywood couple, were on their way from Mumbai to Lonavala in a car when the vehicle, driven by Babar, went out of control and crashed. I had never heard of neither Sana nor Babar Khan before.

But they seem to be someone really admired in Bollywood. NDTV website had uploaded some photographs of other Khans and Kapoors from Bollywood, everyone dressed in white, visiting her home in Mumbai to pay condolence. Tweets from Anupam Kher, Shashi Tharoor, Gul Panaag among many others also kept flashing on the upper right corner of the page.

I googled Shahid Afridi. It threw up several links. I opened the Wikipedia link. It said Shahid Afridi was an All-Rounder from India. I searched for Wasim Akram next; even he played for Indian cricket as per cricinfo. I checked for Imraan Khan. Google offered images of him standing next to Aravind Kejriwal wearing the traditional “main hoon aam aadmi” topi. Shoib Akhtar was too an Indian.

These men were actually from Pakistan, but none of the website showed them as Pakistanis. Every page on internet claimed they were Indians. I searched for Pakistan next. Google returned no result.

This was unbelievable. I searched for India on Google. It threw up a million search option. I navigated the cursor to maps-the first link in the list. The maps page showed that the boundaries of India extended from Afghanistan-Iran in the west to Myanmar in the east, from Kashmir in the north to Kanyakumari in South. I was shocked.

Where did Pakistan disappear? Was I spelling it right? Or was I missing some alphabet?

I tried various spellings of Pakistan; nothing but only one yielded result.

As per a document with the National Archives of India, in 1933, an activist Choudhry Rahmat Ali published a pamphlet titled “Now or Never” demanding a separate Muslim state, distinct from India as a solution to the Hindu-Muslim problem that had surfaced during that time. There he first coined the term “PAKSTAN”.

“I am enclosing herewith an appeal, on behalf of thirty million Muslim brethren who live in PAKSTAN, for the demand of the recognition of their national status, as distinct from the other inhabitants of India”

He was referring to the names of the five northern states of British India: Punjab, Afghania Province (North-West Frontier Province), Kashmir, Sindh and Baluchistan that had the maximum concentration of Muslims outside the Bengal region.

On a little more digging I discovered an article that claimed two of the tallest leaders from Indian National Congress-Nehru and Jinnah-who were too ambitious to get the top job after British left India-supported Ali’s idea. The article claimed that if the country was divided they would not have to compete against each other in the race for pradhaan mantri ki gaddi; a race that was already becoming ugly every passing day as the British had started giving hints of leaving.

But there was one rising-star within the Congress, a defiant patriot, who ensured that personal ambitions of the two stalwarts-one supposedly a favourite of Gandhiji and other the head of All-India Muslim League-would not let the foundation of the nation crumble where millions lived, at least till the time he was alive. Hence he took it upon himself to make sure the country is freed as a united India.

But perhaps it was the influential Gandhiji who made the most crucial decision when he chose wisdom over nepotism. Unlike Dronacharya of Mahabharat, Gandhiji chose Eklavya over Arjun. Thus country was spared of a division and PAKSTAN was never created.

And it was true because there was nothing on Google regarding the 1947, 1965, 1971 or even 1999 Kargil war. Kashmir was never terrorised. India wasn't spending Rs 2 Lakh Crores on the military expenses to protect its borders. Even the relations with China were cordial since China recognised the influence India had in South and South-East Asia region because of its historically enriched trade-cultural-political relations with its neighbouring countries. And its influence over Muslim dominated middle-east nations considering India housed the biggest population of Muslims in the world-Shia and Sunni.

There was no history of Indo-Pakistan cricket ties. Rather we had the best cricket team in the world. We were No. 1 in hockey too, winning the last 3 of the 5 World Cups. Legends like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and Nazia Hassan belonged to India. Jal, Strings and Adnan Sami, were all Indians.

King Edward Medical College of Lahore and AIIMS in New Delhi were pioneers in medical research. Cotton Industry of Punjab was the biggest cotton market of the world, giving us a lead in the world market that was nearly double to the second biggest market. Port in Chittagong, Vishakhapatnam, Chennai, Kochi, Mumbai and Karachi gave India a strategic advantage over the Indian Ocean in South Asia. Nothing could bypass us.

Manufacturing and investments bloomed and so did tourism. India offered everything from archaeological sites of Mohenjo Daro in Sindh dating back to 2600 BCE to present day financial and industrial centres of Gurgaon in Haryana.

I paused and wondered what happened to Bangladesh then. Was it ever created? Google had no answers for Bangladesh, even after trying all possible combinations with the alphabets that made up Bangladesh.

I could not believe this alternation of history at first. But slowly it all made sense to me. Everything was so neat and real. I was beginning to get convinced that there was no Pakistan; that there was no division that took place, ever.

But then, I had read about Pakistan in my school books. I had heard my grandmother narrated the horrific stories of partition. I had spoken about Pakistan during cricket world cup matches with my friends. I had seen films made on Kargil war with my family. What did they mean? Or even if Pakistan never existed from where this idea of Pakistan creep into my mind? Was I hallucinating? Or was I dreaming all these years? Or was I dreaming now?

My phone rang again. There was a message from Prateeksha.

“Btw when are you planning to come back to Lahore? We are waiting”

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It was morning.

I opened my eyes slowly. At first, there was too much of light for my iris to take in. But it adjusted itself soon enough.

There was a unique calmness in the room, or perhaps it was just a state of my state of mind; it was a kind of calmness you experience after having been dreaming deep in your sleep. And when you wake up, it takes a while before your mind can differentiate between what is real and what is not.

The only sound that my ears could gather was the awful din created by the rotating fan hanging from the ceiling of my room. The old brown leather suitcase was lying on the top of the almirah right in front of me. My house-owner had told me once the suitcase belonged to his father’s friend who had lived in my room 50 years ago. When I occupied this room in their house, he had taken this suitcase out from under my bed and kept it on the top of the almirah to make more space for my own luggage.

I raised my neck a little bit to look at the textured fostered glass of my room’s window right above my head. It was white and bright, an indication that the clouds of the previous night had given way to the sun this morning.

I tried to recollect what happened yesterday.

I wanted to reach home early last night (it was a Friday) and wanted to write a new article for mool-dhara. I had thought of something - "What if India was never divided at the time of Independence?"

It was raining heavily in Chennai last night while I was leaving the office, an unusual setting for this time of the year. Hoping that the rain would drowse down in a while, I continued to stay in office even after the regular working hours. I planned to utilise my time by doing research for my article. I came to know many things that I never known before. Like the history of Mahindra & Mahindra, which was initially steel trading company started by K.C. Mahindra and J.C. Mahindra in partnership with their friend Malik Ghulam Mohammed who later moved to Pakistan during partition.

There were a lot of articles on the cotton industry in erstwhile Punjab and how it flourished in its heyday courtesy to the Grand Trunk Road that offered the traders a free passage from Chittagong, now in Bangladesh to Kabul now in Afghanistan via Kolkata, Varanasi, Delhi in India and Lahore and Peshawar in Pakistan. I had even read articles on the leadership tussle between Nehru and Jinnah too.

I remembered I was so engrossed and astounded by my historical discoveries that I didn’t realise that it was already midnight.  My curiosity had multiplied with every new article. The layers of history were uncovering before me and I wanted to dig deeper and deeper. I would have stayed more if it was not for the watchman who wanted to lock the office.

The rain hadn't stopped yet and I knew I won’t get any public transport as well. I will have to walk three kilometres distance from my office to home on foot. I found a poly-bag lying on the table of my colleague’s desk. I safely wrapped my phone inside it and started walking back home. I reached home completely drenched. I remember I reached at 1 AM.

As I washed my face after cleaning my teeth, the scenes from the dream of last night flashed before me. What a dream it was!! It had put all the pieces of information that I collected during my research at the right places and given me an apt story to write. I had the perfect plot and all the information to begin writing my next article for mool-dhara. I had all the information but one.

Who was that defiant patriot, the Eklavya, whom Gandhiji chose in my dream over his favourite Nehru?

None of the articles on net could confirm me about his real identity. Perhaps I would have to reopen history books to find that out. I wasn't in a hurry because the second part can wait. For now I had the first part and I decided to give it the title “The dream that wasn't”. 

I started writing.

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