The Unadorned

My literary blog to keep track of my creative mood swings with poems n short stories, book reviews n humorous prose, travelogues n photography, reflections n translations, both in English n Hindi.

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I'm a peace-loving married Indian male on the right side of '50 with college-going children, and presently employed under government. Educationally I've a master's degree in History, and another in Computer Application. Besides, I've a post graduate diploma in Management. My published works are:- (1)"In Harness", ISBN 81-8157-183-5, a poetry collections and (2) "The Remix of Orchid", ISBN 978-81-7525-729-0, a short story collections with a foreword by Mr. Ruskin Bond, (3) "Virasat", ISBN 978-81-7525-982-9, again a short story collection but in Hindi, (4) "Ek Saal Baad," ISBN 978-81-906496-8-1, my second Story Collection in Hindi.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

The Ghost-Killer


The Ghost-Killer

The sun is out and the dream will melt
Like a sand castle succumbing to raindrops
Like a tiny fluff of cotton getting blown away
An ice-cream dripping to finish before one’s eye
A cotton candy shrivelling out of shape
The sun is out and the dream will melt….

Is it possible to finish everything unfinished—
Oh yes, the task one leaves in the midst dream?

The dream: that’s my dream that ended just now
With a scream ecstatic welcoming the joy
Within my reach and so very tickling.
A feel of warmth still running down my spine
Look, still rigid are the goose bumps, all over my skin
And refusing to fade they are, never ever for a minute.

Is it, then, possible to finish the unfinished
Now that I’m out of the wonderland
Bright is the sky and crumpled is the sheet
With no dream advantage worth the name
Sans weapon and empty-handed?

Well, the answer could be ambivalent
Perhaps ‘nope’ and perhaps ‘yes’.
Perhaps sometimes, one cannot say.
Perhaps…it depends...but then and how come?
If ‘yes’, then how to restart?
And if ‘nope’, then how not to?

Here’s the ghost I’d killed while sleeping
Bodily present before me and taunting
And tormenting me a lot just for nothing
I’d have to chart it afresh,
The tortuous course of agony, the labyrinthine
And he is happy and alive, howling and dancing.

Just a minute ago in my dream
He’s so meek, you can’t believe
Aha! His nose touching my feet, so submissive
Loved to die for a change to dole me a victory
Only a drama then it was, his begging for his life
To make me enjoy the kick of killing!

Gave him I the choice, his due, a dying soul’s due
AC or DC, the current of his choice
To die awake or asleep, depending on his wish
To lacerate to death or gasp his way out
To drink hemlock, if I could arrange a gobletful
Nevertheless he went dead before me, and I’m sure.

The ghost deserved to die so very cruelly
After all, what hadn’t he done all his life?
With no compunction how he stole everything
Wresting my life’s possession from my grip
How could I stand the scene
Enjoying he with vengeance everything of mine?

True, he had the power to choose when to die
But who on earth did dare him for once?
Merrily ceding him what they possessed
Lived they by choice, on borrowed time
Everything needed his permission
To love and to breathe and to call a spade a spade
But none did care about raising his voice.

A pact with the devil?
Was there no way other than this?
For honour’s sake, he deserved to die
Did anybody think it even for a moment?

But dared I, I dared him in my dream
He had no go but to choose his nemesis
That was his end, and I can vouch for it
Just a minute ago, when silence had seized.

If not left to be finished some other time
Jobs are easy always in dream
Like stealing a glance or smelling a jasmine
But easy jobs rarely appear in my dream.
My dreams are only for killing
But they’re always half-finished.

A N Nanda


Saturday, September 22, 2012

A Pair of Coffins

Here is the story, translated into, nay transcreated in English for the benefit of this blog readers who would prefer to read it in English. I have in the meantime translated some more than ten stories from Virasat for this blog. In time my efforts will build up an interesting archive in my blog. I look forward to that day when all my thirty stories from that book will get translated in the process.
A Pair of Coffins

We’re from Dalit sections—is that our fault? Aren’t you going to remove the letterbox from our lane only for that? Do anything as you wish to but do it with care, or else take it from me, you’ll be inviting a satyagrah,’ Y. Madhav Rao minced no word as he warned the Senior Superintendent of Post Offices.

‘Just listen to me for a second, Mr Rao, please. The matter is something else. There’re two letterboxes within a distance of one hundred metres only. And there’s hardly any user of the facility. So, any one between them will have to be moved. Please allow me to do that,’ the Senior Superintendent of Post Offices Mr Balakrishnan was trying his best to convince Mr Y. Madhav Rao.

Despite his efforts to explain his compulsions, the grass-roots leader Mr Madhav Rao was in no mood to care for the logic. On the other hand, buttressing the stand of their leader, his supporters present there resorted to sloganeering. ‘Agree to our demands—our demand, our demand. The letterbox will remain there—there, there, forever. Exploitations in any form—down-down, down-down.’

Before leaving Madhav Rao made it clear that if it was absolutely essential to remove a letterbox then the one in front of Mr Vikram Rao should be chosen. ‘After all, Dalits have some rights! How can Postal Department so easily forget it?’

Mr Vikram Rao was no less powerful a leader than Mr Y. Madhav Rao. Agreed, he was the leader of upper caste but he had cultivated effective contacts with leaders of all castes. Even the Member of Parliament representing Madhupur constituency respected him. Just for the sake of a prank, nobody would ever dare to remove the letterbox planted in front of his house. So, one day Mr Vikram Rao paid a visit to the office of the Superintendent of Post Offices and made his stand clear, ‘Better be warned Mr Balakrishnan, the letterbox in front of my house is the question of my prestige. If anybody ever conspires to remove that, I’m not going to be a silent spectator. I’ll take the matter to the highest political level of the country. I’ll raise the issue in Parliament and see to it that all the officers here get transferred out. You better take note of our feelings.’

Madhupur could be a small town, but then again it was just a boiling cauldron of politics. It was within everybody’s competence to make a big issue of a small happening and to organise a public meeting on it. As if a matter of public entertainment, all enjoyed seeing an ordinary issue spiralling itself into a hot topic before them. It used to happen day in, day out and nobody had the patience to wait for the notification of a general election just to raise an issue. One day one might find a picketing programme in front of the office of the inspector of schools in protest against the exploitation of school children whereas the issue of police excess could lead to a press meet the very next day. Some day the protest could be against the increase in the price of petrol and on some other day a proper public strike might take place to decry the US for its attack on Iraq.

Mr Balakrishnan was the head of the division and it was his intention that action should be taken to explore all the possibilities of the improvement of the postal services. He was aware of the responsibility of the department to provide service to all: the Universal Service Obligation or the USO in short. Wherever there were more post offices than absolutely required, some of them were to be closed to enable their opening at the place of its requirement. But then who had got the guts to talk of closing down a post office? There was an occasion Mr Balakrishnan happened to think aloud, and it was enough to stir up a real hornet’s nest. In no time the news reached the newspaper fellows and from there to the upper political circle. Finally the department had to say it clearly that it had no such proposal to close down post offices of any description. As a result opening a post office in a new residential area proved impossible. It appeared there were two types of localities in the same town: one, where there were surfeit of post offices; and the other, where there was an indefinite waiting for a post office to be sanctioned.

When Mr Balakrishnan failed to relocate a post office, he diverted his attention towards letterbox. He was aware that the availability of letterboxes in his division was far more than it was actually necessary. He tried to draw a chart that would enumerate the number and distribution of letterboxes in his division. With this objective in view he distributed the work among all the sub-divisional inspectors and ordered them strictly that the entire job be finished in two months at the maximum.

In this way a letterbox in Madhupur became an object of current focus for both a government functionary on the one hand and the local politicians on the other. Naturally, the situation in Madhupur was destined to become tense. With a view to settling the issue the Senior Superintendent racked his brain. On visiting the spot, he called the prominent persons from both sides and opened a prolonged series of consultation over the matter. But an acceptable solution just eluded him. How could he expect to succeed in his attempt when neither side was willing to relax its stand?

Finally the Senior Superintendent put forth a proposal from his side. Explaining the gist of his proposal he said, ‘The quantity of mails dropped in both the letterboxes put together is so negligible that allowing both of them to exist at a distance of just one hundred meters from each other is not possible. Only one box is enough and the other one has to go. This is decided. So from whose door the letterbox is to be removed remains to be finalized now. And my decision is that, between you two leaders, he who has booked more registered letters than the other during last six months will be entitled to have a letterbox in front of his house. Right?’

Initially neither side was willing to accept the condition, but the Senior Superintendent made his intention clear. ‘If you people aren’t in a position to produce registered receipts in support of your demand, well, this would mean that you don’t use the services offered by the Department of Posts. And this fact would go to prove further that really you all have left using postal services and are in habit of using the service of private couriers. Then, tell me, in what use will it come, if I get two or two thousand letterboxes planted here?’

In the group of Mr Madhav Rao there was a shrewd boy who knew quite a few things about the day-to-day operations in a post office. He just stepped in to convince his leader, ‘Dear leader, it’s not a big deal to arrange registered receipts, for there’re no mention of the particulars of sender on a registered letter. So all of us will bring our receipts and together it will constitute a big number. And I’m sure as hell, it’ll come to that. So, easily we can prove that we’re the biggest users of the postal services, and not Mr Madhav Rao and his cronies. Won’t it work this way?’

People mulling so much over an issue as ticklish as that allowed the above words of conviction to sink in. It was a piece of advice that Y. Madhav Rao liked so very much. And he accepted it then and there though he warned his people to keep the strategy secret, at least from the supporters of Mr Vikram Rao. As for Vikram Rao, he was not a person to be cowed down by such a flimsy condition. He was in no way less daring than his adversary in matter of accepting challenges. He did not delay his response, ‘Take it that there’s no objection from my side. I’m game for the challenge.’

The challenge was no easy one. Both sides searched and searched but none from either side was able to recall if he or she had any occasion to use the registration service of the post office. They had even forgotten how to write a letter, especially since the day there came a flood of mobile phones in the town. It would have been otherwise a really formidable task before them had they been called upon to compete in writing a letter, the longer the winner. As far as government statistics was concerned, Madhupur was one among the fully literate towns, but actually there were more cell phones in the town than the literate souls. Anybody who was taken to be a literate fellow for the purpose of statistics had, in fact, the knowledge how to count from 1 to 9. Well, that was more than sufficient to help them use a gadget like cell phone.

The Senior Superintendent Mr Balakrishnan allowed them a week to produce the receipts. When it was about to be over Mr Vikram Rao managed to produce only one receipt whereas Mr Madhav Rao could not even arrange one. So how could he come back to show his face?

The Senior Superintendent kept such a funny condition before the warring parties after a lot of thinking. He knew the post office near those two letterboxes had not booked even a single registered letter during last six months. So, why should he go in for a contest any easier than that? There was, however, another consideration behind his choice of this mind-boggling condition: he just wanted that the truth behind the situation be laid bare. Maybe he wished to say, ‘Post office, postman and letterbox—they’re just kept alive to enhance the status of people, to help those who would like to feel nostalgic for a change. They’re never the objects of their current use.’

Now Mr Balakrishnan was astonished as to how Mr Vikram Rao could manage to produce even a lone receipt, given the fact that there was not a single transaction of registration booking in the nearby post office during last six months. And then he hastened to open the receipt to examine it. It was both a moment of shock and vindication of his hunch—whatever was produced was not a registration receipt; rather it was a receipt granted by a private courier.

The Senior Superintendent should have been happy, even if for moment, realising that his point had been proved beyond doubt, yet he could not enjoy the comical irony of the moment. Really, he was now miles away from the decision as to which was the letterbox he should order to uproot. Finally he decided: he should wait for a month before he took an appropriate decision on the issue. He had a feeling that time would throw up a solution that would be acceptable to all.

Ultimately the unfolding of events proved that not for nothing Mr Balakrishnan was expecting something reasonable to happen.

Time went by, albeit slowly. The march of development necessitated the widening of roads and this in turn the uprooting of the two controversial letterboxes of Madhupur, the symbol of status of the two grass-roots politicians. And the letterboxes were uprooted, simply and silently.

The whole world knew that the two letterboxes uprooted were the property of the central government. It was the duty of the contractor to restore them to the place they belonged. So he took them to the nearest post office and left them on its premises. Despite the reputation of Madhupur, politically the most vocal town of the state, everything happened silently as a tree would shed its last leaf in the winter.

It appeared as though the coffins of two martyrs had just arrived at their place of birth.
Berhampur / 01-08-2007
A N Nanda

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Thursday, September 13, 2012

दो ताबूत : A Pair of Coffins

Here is a post in Hindi. It is  really long since I have posted any Hindi post in my blog. The last one was more than a year ago, while I copied the text of a short review of my book "एक साल बाद "   that appeared in Navneet. Today the 14th of September is Hindi Day and I thought I should do something symbolic as my blogging activity. There was nothing instantly available that can be pasted just like that. Whatever I have in my hard drive in electronic format, they are not compatible for posting on a browser platform. The text of my Hindi books are in True Type Font  which cannot be directly uploaded. And if I were to type a story here right from the scratch, it would take the greater part of my night. So I tried to locate a convertor with capability to convert text from .ttf format to Unicode. My search was successful as I stumbled upon the link at which worked reasonably well. In the process of conversion only a few junk characters got generated which I had to clear manually. Now the result is here to see. I am happy about it.

दो ताबूत

                'हमलोग जाति में पिछड़े वर्ग के हैं--तो क्या यह हमारा अपराध है ? क्या सिर्फ़ इसलिए लेटर बॉक्स हमारे मुहल्ले से हटाया जाएगा? ज़रा सावधानी से काम लें, वरना आंदोलन छिड़ जाएगा ।वाई. माधव राव इस प्रकार वरिष्ठ डाक अधीक्षक को चेतावनी दे रहे थे ।
               'माधव रावजी, बात ऐसी नहीं है । दरअसल सौ मीटर से कम फ़ासले में ये दोनों लेटर बॉक्स हैं । और चिट्ठी के नाम पर मुश्किल से हफ़्ते में एक-दो इनमें डाली जाती । किसी एक को तो हटाना ही होगा न?’ वरिष्ठ डाक अधीक्षक बालक्रिश्ननजी उन्हें समझाने की कोशिश कर रहे थे ।

                अधीक्षक के बहुत समझाने पर भी नाराज़ तृणमूल नेता माधव रावजी मानने को तैयार न थे । वहाँ उपस्थित समर्थकों ने नारों की बौछार करने लगे । 'माननी होगी, माननी हागी, बात हमारी माननी होगी । नहीं हटेगा, नहीं हटेगा, लेटर बॉक्स नहीं हटेगा । नहीं सहेंगे, नहीं सहेंगे, अत्याचार नहीं सहेंगे ।

                माधव रावजी ज़ोर दे रहे थे कि यदि लेटर बॉक्स हटाना ही है तो विक्रम राव के घर के  सामने वाला लेटर बॉक्स हटेगा । आख़िर पिछड़े वर्ग को भी कुछ अधिकार होता है ! डाक विभाग उसका अतिक्रमण कैसे कर सकता है ?

                विक्रम राव भी कुछ कम ताक़तवर नेता न थे । वे थे तो उच्च वर्ग के, पर उनकी जान-पहचान सभी वर्ग के नेताओं से थी । यहाँ तक कि मधुपुर चुनाव क्षेत्र से चुने गए सांसद भी उन्हें ख़ूब मानते थे । मजाल है कि कोई उनके घर के सामने से लेटर बॉक्स हटा दे । विक्रम रावजी एक दिन स्वयं वरिष्ठ डाक अधीक्षक के कार्यालय में आए और बेरोकटोक बोले, 'लेटर बॉक्स मेरे लिए प्रतिष्ठा का प्रश्न है । अगर इसे कोई हटाने की साज़िश करे तो मैं चुप नहीं रहूँगा और बात ऊपर तक ले जाऊँगा । संसद में इस मुद्दे को उठाऊँगा और सारे अधिकारियों का तबादला करवा दूँगा ।

                वाक़ई, राजनीति की उबलती हुई कड़ाही थी छोटा-सा शहर मधुपुर । छोटी-सी बात को बड़ा मुद्दा बनाना वहाँ आम बात थी और उस पर जनसभा बुलाना तो हर किसी के बस की बात हो गई थी । मुद्दों में गरमाहट लाने के लिए कोई चुनाव तक इंतज़ार करना नहीं जानता था । एक दिन बच्चों के ऊपर अत्याचार को लेकर स्कूल निरीक्षक कार्यालय के सामने पिकेटिंग हो गयी तो दूसरे दिन पुलिस की मनमानी पर बयानबाज़ी । कभी पेट्रोल की क़ीमतों में बढोत्तरी को लेकर तो कभी अमेरिका के इराक पर आक्रमण को लेकर जन आंदोलन ।

                बालक्रिश्ननजी अधीक्षक होने के नाते चाहते थे कि अपने मंडल में सुधार की सारी संभावनाओं पर कार्यान्वयन हो । जहाँ आवश्यकता से अधिक डाकख़ाने हैं उनको बंद करवाकर अत्यावश्यक स्थल पर उन्हें खुलवाया जाए । परंतु किसी डाकघर को बंद करने की बात कौन करता? मुँह खुलते ही इसकी भनक जो सबको लग जाती थी और अख़बारों से बात ऊपर तक पहुँच जाती । आख़िर में विभाग की तरफ़ से सबको दिलासा देकर कहना पड़ता था कि डाकघर बंद करने का कोई इरादा नहीं है । इस प्रकार नए रिहायशी इलाक़े में डाकघर नहीं खुल पाते थे । लगता था एक ही शहर मधुपुर में दो-दो इलाक़े हैं--एक वह इलाक़ा जहाँ डाकघर ही डाकघर थे और दूसरा वह, जहाँ डाकघर के लाले पड़े थे ।

                 जब बालक्रिश्ननजी डाकघरों को स्थानांतरित करने में असमर्थ रहे तो उन्होंने लेटर बक्सों पर नज़र डाली । उन्हें पता चला कि अपने मंडल में लेटर बक्सों की तादाद ज़रूरत से कई गुना ज़्यादा है । वे अपने काम पर जुट गए कि कहाँ कितने बॉक्स चाहिए उसका एक चार्ट बनवाया जाए। उन्होंने अपने अधीनस्थ निरीक्षकों को काम बाँट दिया और कड़ा निर्देश दिया कि दो महीने के अंदर यह काम पूरा हो जाना चाहिए ।

                 इस प्रकार मधुपुर में लेटर बॉक्स को लेकर स्थिति बड़ी विकट हो गई थी । उसे निपटाने हेतु अधीक्षक ने अपने दिमाग़्ा पर ज़ोर दिया । मौक़े पर दोनों पक्षों के प्रमुख सदस्यों को बुलवाकर वे विचार-विमर्श करने लगे, परंतु इससे कुछ फल निकलने वाला नहीं था । दोनों पक्ष अपनी-अपनी सोच से एक इंच भी हटने को तैयार न थे । अंत में अधीक्षकजी ने अपनी तरफ़ से उन लोगों के लिए एक प्रस्ताव रखा । इसका सारांश समझाते हुए बोले, 'देखिए, चिट्ठी जिस तादाद में डाली जाती हैं, उसके हिसाब से दो लेटर बॉक्स सौ मीटर से कम फ़ासले में नहीं रखे जा सकते हैं । एक ही काफ़ी है और एक ही लेटर बॉक्स रखा जाएगा । अब किसके घर के सामने रहेगा यह हमें तय करना है । मेरा निर्णय यह है कि आप दोनों में से जिसने पिछले छ महीने में ज़्यादा रजिस्ट्री की है, उसके घर के सामने लेटर बॉक्स रहेगा ।

                 पहले तो दोनों इसे स्वीकार करने के पक्ष में न थे, पर अधीक्षकजी ने अपना पक्ष साफ़ कर दिया । 'अगर आप लोग प्रमाण के तौर पर रजिस्ट्री रसीद प्रस्तुत नहीं कर पाएँगे, तो इसका मतलब आप लोग डाक विभाग द्वारा मुहैया की जाने वाली सेवाएँ इस्तेमाल नहीं करते हैं, और इससे यह पता चल जाएगा कि सचमुच आप डाक सेवा को छोड़कर प्राइवेट सेवा इस्तेमाल करते हैं । फिर यहाँ लेटर बॉक्स की क्या ज़रूरत?’ 

                   माधव राव गुट में एक होशियार लड़का था, जो डाकघर के बारे में बहुत कुछ जानता था। वह अपने नेता को समझाने लगा, 'नेताजी, रजिस्ट्री रसीद इकट्ठा करना कोई बड़ी बात नहीं है, इसमें भेजने वाले का नाम पता नहीं रहता है । हम सब अपनी-अपनी रसीद लाकर दिखाएँ और यह सिद्ध कर दें कि हम डाकघर के कितने बड़े उपभोक्ता हैं ?’                             

                 यह सलाह वाई. माधव राव को बहुत पसंद आई । उन्होंने तुरंत चुनौती स्वीकार कर ली। बस, विक्रम राव भी क्यों पीछे हटते ? वे भी तुरंत बोल पड़े, 'हमें यह चुनौती मंज़ूर है।’                                    
        चुनौती कोई मामूली न थी । दोनों पक्षों ने रजिस्ट्री रसीद ख़ूब ढूँढ़ी, पर किसी को याद नहीं था कि पिछले छ महीनों के अंदर किसी ने डाक विभाग की रजिस्ट्री सेवा का इस्तेमाल किया था या नहीं । वे लोग साधारण चिट्ठी लिखना भी कब का छोड़ चुके थे, ख़ासकर तब से, जब से शहर में सेल फ़ोन की बाढ़ आ गई  । चिट्ठी लिखना तो सचमुच उन लोगों के लिए बड़ी बात थी । सरकारी आँकड़ों में मधुपुर को पूर्ण साक्षर शहरों में गिना जा रहा था, पर सच कहा जाए तो शहर में सेल फ़ोन की तादाद साक्षरों से कहीं अधिक थी । जिसे साक्षर माना जाता था, उसे सिर्फ़ 1 से 9 तक ही गिनती आती थी । ख़ैर, सेल फ़ोन के इस्तेमाल के लिए इतना ज्ञान काफ़ी था।

                 रसीद प्रस्तुत करने के लिए बालक्रिश्ननजी ने एक सप्ताह का समय दिया । मियाद पूरी होने पर विक्रम रावजी सिर्फ़ एक ही रसीद प्रस्तुत करने में सक्षम हुए । माधव रावजी तो एक भी रसीद नहीं ला सके । वे आकर कैसे मुँह दिखाते ?

                 डाक अधीक्षकजी ने जान-बूझकर ऐसी चुनौती रखी थी । उन्हें मालूम था कि पासवाले डाकघर में पिछले छ: महीने में एक भी रजिस्ट्री नहीं हुई थी । तो फिर, वे क्यों न ऐसी चुनौती रखते? लोगों के सामने सच का खुलासा करना ही उनका उद्देश्य था । शायद वे कहना चाहते थे, 'डाकघर, डाकिया, लेटर बॉक्स---ये सभी चीज़ें सिर्फ़ लोगों की प्रतिष्ठा के लिए बच गई हैं, काम के लिए नहीं ।’       

                डाक अधीक्षक बालक्रिश्ननजी हैरान थे कि आख़िर विक्रम रावजी ने कैसे एक रजिस्ट्री की रसीद प्रस्तुत कर दी, जबकि पासवाले डाकघर से पिछले छ: महीने में एक भी रजिस्ट्री की बुकिंग नहीं हुई थी । जब वे उस रसीद को खोलकर मुआयना करने लगे, तो और भी चकित हो गए । वह एक रजिस्ट्री रसीद न थी, बल्कि एक प्राइवेट कुरियर द्वारा जारी की गई रसीद थी ।

                अधीक्षकजी का शक यक़ीन में बदल गया, पर अब भी वे तय नहीं कर पा रहे थे कि दोनों में से किस लेटर बॉक्स को उखाड़ने का आदेश दें । अंत में, उन्होंने दो महीने के लिए इस पर कोई कार्रवाई न करने का निर्णय लिया । उन्हें उम्मीद थी कि समय अपने आप कोई न कोई तरक़ीब ढूँढ़ लेगा ।

                आख़िरकार वही हुआ जो डाक अधीक्षक बालक्रिश्ननजी सोच रहे थे । समय अपने तरीक़े से आगे बढ़ने लगा । आहिस्ता, आहिस्ता । विकास के लिए सड़क चौड़ी करने की आवश्यकता हुई और सड़क चौड़ीकरण के क्रम में दोनों लेटर बॉक्स ऐसे ही उखाड़ दिए गए ।

                लेटर बॉक्स ठहरी केंद्र सरकार की संपत्ति । ठेकेदार को उन्हें सही सलामत जगह तक पहुँचाना था । वह उन्हें लेकर सीधे नज़दीकवाले डाकघर के आँगन में रख आया ।

                ऐसा लगता था, मानो लड़ाई के मैदान से दो शहीदों के ताबूत उनके जन्म-स्थान तक पहुँचा दिए गए हों ।
ब्रह्मपुर, दिनांक 01-08-2007
A. N. Nanda

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