Wasted Hopes

Shamin was troubled about his sister’s marriage. It was a huge expenditure for them. He was the only bread earner in the family. His father was old and the mere allowance he got as the priest of the mashjid was not enough to sustain the family even for a fortnight. His mother ran the house labouring from dawn to night. She had no complains. Her only wish left to be fulfilled was the successful marriage of her daughter. A prospective groom had come to see her last week. Today they informed them of their approval for marriage. The only hindrance was a sum of fifteen thousand rupees that was to be paid to the family of the groom for the safe keeping of their daughter. The expense of the marriage was almost arranged. But the main amount of the dowry remained to be settled. He had promised to hand over the sum on the day of the marriage which was a week away.

A sudden wave in the age old torn curtain veiling the termite eaten door made Shamin turn his face. It was the meek innocent face of his sister looking from behind the curtain. She was only nineteen. But they had no way other than sending her off to an apparent settled life. The dim glow of the flickering bulb of the passage cast a shade of melancholy on her face. He smiled back and slowly walked out of the house. The house was itself in a bad state. The walls needed a new coat of clay, the roof new hay. That could be done in due time, the marriage was of prior importance.

He walked out to the tea stall near the market of the village. With the tea the news of advance of the paramilitary forces also came along. The whole area was tensed with the operation that was going on to curb the surging maoist activities in the region. Most of the times the villagers had to face the ire of the hostility caught between the two parties. It was a peaceful village otherwise. He looked at the forests at the far end of the fields. The red glow of the night sky rendered a fiery calm touch to the trees. The forest echoed with the shrill notes of the crickets. The trees looked like regiment of soldiers standing in the fortified castle of the forest. It was hard to believe how dreadful things were under the veil of calmness. He paid for the tea and went to meet someone. The money was to be arranged. The only way to meet that was to take a loan from someone. One of his friends who worked in the city had promised him the loan. He was not very satisfied with the meeting. His friend will not be able to hand over the sum before the day of the marriage. He had no way but to wait upon his word. It was one week left. He came back to the market place.
The sudden sound of consecutive gunshots from the forest stirred the atmosphere. People began to hurry to their homes. He slowly walked back to the house. The central forces walked through the village that night. There were knocks on some doors. Some people were taken away. The wails of the mothers, wives and sisters drove sleep away from the entire village for the night.

The week passed off quickly. It was spent in making arrangements for the wedding, mostly the money. Three thousand of it was saved from Shamin’s salary which he earned working in a local brickfield. He called his friend for the money. He informed he will be reaching in the evening and hand him the money then. He came back to the house. He could not say it bore a festive look. A few colour strings over the small courtyard, a few faded carpets on the floor and a two tubelights on the wall. A few people had gathered in the house. The laughter of his sister could be heard from inside the house. The mood of celebration was a forced one. He wanted to make sure his sister got away before things turned worse than the present. He was sure it would.

Evening trudged in slowly. Every minute passed made Shamins’s heart grow more restless. He went ahead of time for collecting the money. Things back at house were in order. The groom would arrive three hours later. The money was the last thing to be secured. He walked along the village path which passed through the forest. The late august sky was laden with dark rain bearing clouds. The last rays of the sun were trapped behind the wall of the authoritative clouds. Through the few cracks in that wall the dying sharp rays of the sun oozed out. The rebellion of the region seemed to portray itself through the scenes in the sky. It took him one hour’s walk to reach the station to meet his friend. Things turned out to be good and his friend was already there with the money. He also handed over a bangle set which he had ordered from the city for his sister. Shamin offered his sincere gratitude and left the place with the promise to return the money as soon as possible.

He walked back with a light heart. Maybe things would look up from now onwards, he thought. He would be fulfilling his responsibility towards his sister after all. He smiled to himself. It was already dark when he reached the forest. The sky was a burning red reflecting the rage of the forest. A few hundred yards and he will be home. A blinding flash of white light tore across the sky with a loud explosion and after a few steps it started pouring heavily. If the weather continued it could delay the arrival of the groom. The trigger of an unknown instinct made him start running. A few seconds later there were numerous rustles in the forest and shots of gunfire coincided with loud bursts of thunder in the sky.


The rain continued till the next morning. Under the gloomy skies the newspaper arrived at the tea stall of the market place. The steam rising from the glass of tea melted into the moist air of the dawn. At the bottom of the first page there was a news which read :

“One maoist killed in central force’s combing operation. Money and jewellery recovered from the dead body suggest to looting for collection of funds”.

An Unknown Journey

The evening was setting in. Pre winter chill mingled with the hazy air surrounding the river. There were few boats in the river. A little distance away the steamers were plying. Their black smoke thickened the already saturated dark air of the city.


It was the Ganga flowing through the heart of the city of Calcutta. People came to spend their evening out here. On the railing running along the banks of the river rested the elbows of countless couples of all ages.

In one such boat plying on the river was a group of friends. It was a break from the everyday monotony endured by them. It was not a very picturesque surrounding. The river was drying up slowly. Not a single speck of green could be found anywhere around. The banks were lined by dead concrete structures. Most of them were factories dumping their vile into the river. More structures were still coming up. Civilisation has succeeded in making the river a part of the city. They missed the restless and playful river running between the green valleys. It was a sad mood of the river that prevailed within the boundary of the city.


Diwali was celebrated a few days ago. The few remaining idols of the goddess were still being immersed in the river. They had the boatman row the boat towards the bank where an idol was being prepared for immersion. The remains of the celebrations were still afloat on the river. Melted down skeletons of the goddess lined the banks. Shakti was reduced to a mould of hay and canes.


A little distance away there was a crowd at the side of the river. The boat rowed in that direction. After going a few feet ahead they had the boat turn back. A body was being fished out of the water. Somebody had drowned. It was a common scene here. People die and sometimes it was the river that served as the death bed. The people in the crowd were not interested in the person or the death it seemed. They never are. It is an opportunity of experiencing something out of the ordinary which they relished. The men in uniform were there too. They had to keep the city clean, get rid off the trash. The ambulance left after sometime along with the police. The crowd dispersed too. The man who died lived in a nearby slum, they heard from the boatman.

The glowing sky gradually gave way to the engulfing darkness. The day was dying slowly. Narrow strips of maroon still lingered on the horizon. Swarms of crows flew past the sky piercing the atmosphere with their shrieks.

The bank was empty. The show was over. In the white light of the halogens put up for the immersion a figure of a woman became visible. She wore a torn and old saree. Holding the end of the saree was a small girl about five to six years old. Both of them seemed to stare at something which was not seen by anyone else there. There was something sparkling in the woman’s face. Broken pieces of bangles lay mixed with the dust around the naked feet of the woman. She turned her face to look at their boat. The white light reflected off the tears running down her black dry cheeks. Her eyes were filled with an emptiness that existed beyond the human reach of the universe.
From the radio of some tea stall the faint words of a song blew in with the breeze

“ Koto je elo, koto je gelo
Nahi to kichui songe
Amra ke kothar kothai chole jabo….”



(How many have come, how many have gone
Nothing is with me.
From where we came and where will we go…”



Then and there began an Unknown Journey for the woman.