Realisation

By Sukhendu Ghosh

Village Mouripota of Birbhum District. His ancestral house stands there. Five years after his retirement, he is returning to that. He means Mr. Arunachal Basu, former justice, Calcutta High Court. He is addressed as 'JajSaheb' by the villagers and is profoundly respected. In the present story, to avoid repetition of the term “former justice”, he'll be referred to here as Justice Basu.

It’s a cool, sunny morning in mid-December. The black Honda City is moving fast along Bombay Road. Justice Basu's eyes are closed. No - he is not sleeping, nor is he in a state of drowsiness even. In fact, he’s dived deep into the Past by closing his eyes. During his long service tenure and even after that, he visited his ancestral home only on rare occasions whenever he found the time. But this time's homecoming is quite different. For the first time, Ramola, his wife and life partner, who had always accompanied him to Mouripota, is no longer with him. She was gone two years ago. Kolkata was a finally closed chapter for him after he sold his extravagant house in South Kolkata. So, free from everything, he is now moving toward Mouripota.

Every individual is basically alone. Separation and seclusion, especially in the twilight years, is an integral part of life -- Justice Basu realised well in advance. But he is a devout father, more practical than emotional – never became a stumbling block and left no stone unturned to establish his children in their lives. So the two younger ones - son Anirban and daughter Monisha are well-settled abroad. Getting married there, they don't have any plan to come back to India again.

On the other hand, his eldest son, Abinash, the only black spot on the milk-white paper of his successful life, somehow managed to pass the Madhyamik (Secondary level) and stopped there for good. So he was sent back to Mouripota to take care of the ancestral house and property there. Ramola raised an objection by saying,

“Everybody cannot do everything, but everybody can do something, and nobody can be sure about one's inherent quality beforehand. What a sweet, melodious voice my Bubla (nickname of Abinash) has. Have you ever listened to or tried to listen to that? So many people come from faraway places to this city to try their luck here. Why don't you send him to a good music teacher to take taalim (formal training) under him? Who can tell for certain that he'll not be a great singer in the future? "

Justice Basu didn't pay heed to her words. Because, in his own life, he chanced to see many good singers live miserably in their later years, for want of money. So it's money that matters. Besides, music was never his family tradition and a contentious subject rather. So, he stuck to his decision - a great relief for Abinash, who never liked studying, and the suffocating city life was stealing his soul every day,slowly but gradually. Mouripota, together with its lush green open fields and clear blue skies, its murmuring rivers and pure refreshing air, was much more

tempting to him. The faint sense of separation from the parents was momentary and covered up by Dadu-Dida (Justice Basu's parents, alive then) and Chhotka (his younger brother Archisman), who gave him profuse love and care.

"Are we going along the right way, Sir?"

The new driver asks. The Google map on the dashboard of the car is displaying the direction. Still, he wants to be more sanguine. Justice Basu comes back to the present at his word. Looking at the world around very softly, he says,

"Yes, we are in the right direction. The Palashdangamore (the intersection of Palashdanga) is just ahead, and then turning to the left, Mouripota is exactly five kilometres away from there. The peacefully placid nature with its bucolic serenity on either side of the road was, as though, a holy Rishi in deep meditation. William Wordsworth slips into his mind: “Poetry of earth is never dead.” Almost in an

inaudible whisper he requests the driver, “Go slow, brother.. a bit slower, please."

****

Almost a year has passed since Justice Basu settled in Mouripota. By this time, he had to go to Kolkata, and that too very recently -- a couple of weeks ago, for his prostate operation. According to the doctor, the operation was quite a success. But the biopsy report is yet to be made available. Anirban and Manisha are damn busy in their professional world. They hardly talked to him in the last fortnight. The most interesting thing is that they used to call him frequently, almost every day, until they had had their respective share of the money out of the sale of the kolkata property.

Abinash, on the other hand, as to the question of his part, smiled and said,

“Why are you in such a hurry, Bapi? Keep the money with you. I need money, no doubt, but I need you more. The construction work of my old age home, GODHULIA, my passion and my dream, is going on in full swing. It might take another six months to get it completed. No one could be better than you for its Chief Adviser’s position. The elderly and infirm are quite helpless nowadays.

Their agonies are like a boring chapter in a book and are often skipped by most readers. I’d love to read the book, understand it line by line, and interpret it word for word, should you be with me.”

Then, abruptly taking a turn from the issue, he talked about his pride and joy over his younger brother Anirban, renowned Cardio of the city of London, and their only sister Monisha, Professor of Physics, California University, although both the siblings have always considered him an illiterate, ignorant, uncultured country fool.

The morning in the last week of November is quite chilly this year. Justice Basu, covered in warm clothes, is now sitting in an easy chair on the first floor hanging veranda and ruminating over the words of Abinash.

The saffron sky at a faraway distance is paving the way for the Sun god’s arrival. Turning a bit toward the left, the temple of Radha-Gobinda can be seen from here in the north-east corner. Traditional pujas and prayers have been taking place there for generations. The generation has changed, and the onus is now on Abinash and his wife, Riddhima, a hard-working, sweet, and kind-hearted girl. Justice Basu, absorbed in deep thoughts again, is distracted – rather attracted to the song drifting from the Radha-Gobinda temple.....

“ Amay sakol rakame kangal korechhe Gorbo korite chur;

Tai jasha, ortho, maan o swasthya Sakali koriche dur”

[ My Lord, to crush my ego, has made a pauper of me, by all possible means. And is detaching me now from everything – name, fame, money, and esteem.]

Rajanikanta’s song. Abinash is singing the Morning Prayer like usual. It seems the melody, surpassing all earthly boundaries, is wafting into eternity. Justice Basu’s eyes are filled with tears! The body, especially the mind, doesn’t go smoothly these days. The biopsy report will be delivered tomorrow. He is not afraid of dying. But what he fears is whether Abinash could mercy him at all. Hon’ble Justice Basu, the pride of the Judiciary once, has utterly failed to deliver justice to his own family.

To give meaningless priority and importance to so-called education, name, fame, and wealth, he’s ignored real knowledge, wisdom, and humanity; whereas Ramola, unlike him, realised the truth of life much earlier without reading voluminous books and gathering an ocean of knowledge. So all those children whom he once considered gems have turned out to be cheap stones now, whereas Abinash, treated as a very common piece of glass, has proven himself a priceless diamond today.

The most distinguished Hon’ble Justice Arunachal Basu puts himself on trial and asks,

“Who is to judge your judgment, My Lord?” His reflection is paused,

“Here is the tea, Bapi. Your son is going to take you to GODHULIA today.

Could you remember? I’m getting everything prepared accordingly.

Justice Basu turns his head and casts a look in her way. Riddhima is there with a steaming cup of tea. He takes the cup, sips the fresh morning tea, and feels life is not as bad as it seems.

By Sukhendu Ghosh