STORYMIRROR

Ashish Tiwari

Romance Tragedy Thriller

4  

Ashish Tiwari

Romance Tragedy Thriller

Aarati

Aarati

21 mins
267


Chapter one.

 

“It has been six months since I was compelled to leave my cherished Varanasi for this open prison, from the land of Kashi Vishwanath to Pasupatinath.

Six months ago, my grandfather, Shree Hariharan Pandey, made me hurriedly pack my bags and sit in the bus from Varanasi to Kathmandu. In that seventeen hour long bus journey, I nearly puked my guts out. It seemed like the route to Kathmandu was beautiful but I could barely see anything in the darkness of night and I had already lost all my senses to vomiting. When we finally reached Kathmandu, it looked like someone had vomited conrete between green hills. I had heard that Nepal was incredibly beautiful, but my first impression of Kathmandu made me doubt that claim.

I and Dadaji came directly to Pasupatinath temple. He had known one of the assistant Bhattas of the temple since their days together at Kanchi Kamakoti Peetham, a renowned Sanskrit school in Tamil Nadu. Bhatta is the main priest of the temple and he has 4 assistant Bhattas, all of them of Indian origin- as he told me earlier.

He didn’t tell me why we rushed to Kathmandu. Of course, the situation in Varanasi wasn’t ideal for me, but why Kathmandu? I got my answers soon. He arranged things with the assistant Bhatta, and I became a helper to the temple priests.

In just 24 hours, I went from being a school going 17-year-old boy in Banaras to a helper priest in the largest temple of Nepal. I was eagerly waiting for Dadaji to clearly tell me more about whatever was happening. Finally when the silence broke between us, he told me what I had already sensed, “You will have to stay here till things get settled down at home. You will work here as a helper to priests and stay at the Matha. He is Bhatta-ji. He will be your guru, employer, local guardian and everything. He has done a great favor for us, please don’t disappoint him…. and me.”

“Pandey-ji , he is your grandson. I am sure he won’t do anything wrong. Hahaha” said the Assistant Bhatta.

“I wish he thought about being my grandson back in Varanasi.”

“Come on Pandey-ji. It is his age to make mistakes. If he doesn’t commit mistakes then who will ? Us ? HaHa. Come I will show you his room in the Matha.”

Dadaji with a smile not reaching his eyes “Yes you are right. Let’s go then”

I followed them as they walked together. Bhatta-ji led us to a room in the Matha. Yellow paint on the walls with gray cemented floor. A long foam mat covering nearly half of the room, with four mattresses, each wide enough for one person. And a few steel trunks at a side.

“This will be your home for some time now” said the assistant Bhatta.

Dada-ji gave me dhotis and kurtas that he had brought. He told me so many things but all I remember is “ I will call you back home when the situation gets better.” He gave me some cash and left for Varanasi.

Later in the evening , my three roommates arrived – Subash, Vijay and Tilak. Three men in their late 20’s, wearing yellow dhoti and a pink short kurta. They looked friendly from there appearance.

“Where are you from?” Tilak asked.

I said “India.” They started laughing.

“ You don’t even look like a local Rajbhandari. Of course you are from India. I meant to ask where in India?” said Tilak.

“Banaras.”

“We three have studied Sanskrit from Banaras. Didn’t you find a job there? Why Pasupatinath?” Vijay asked.

“I have my own reasons.”

“You don’t look like someone who has studied Sanskrit at all. Have you?” asked Vijay.

“ I have , when I was a child. My Dada-ji is a very learned Brahman. He has taught me at home.”

Subash laughingly said “You are still a child.”

Tilak in his low deep voice “ What’s you name?”

“Chirag Pandey”

“ Okay Chirag, get ready, we are going to have dinner. You look like you haven’t eaten for days.” said Tilak.

We went to eat in a restaurant just across the road in front of the main gate of temple area; it was more like a canteen. Priests from the temple were offered lower prices there. The food was good but I can’t say the same about hygiene. It made me appreciate my mother’s cooking skills even more.

I was silent throughout the dinner and our way back to the room .

 Back in the room, Tilak – “ Are you sad?......Are you homesick? ….It’s ok if you are sad. It is your first day here.”

“Yeah, Vijay cried throughout the day on his first day” said Subash. Everyone laughed.

“ See there you go, smiling. Better sleep soon Chirag, we have to wake up at 4 am to work.”

I started following whatever they used to do. We were among the many helper priests that are called Bhandari or Rajbhandari. But the title Rajbhandari was reserved for the local community that had settled here centuries ago when brought by initial Bhattas from India. We were only allowed to clean the main temple’s outer premises and prohibited to touch the main Lingam. We were employed to clean and do Puja at the other small temples there.

So there was I, living in small room with 3 friends, cleaning temples, worshiping idols of gods and waiting for a call from Dadaj-ji.

 Few months ago I was agreeing to Karl Marx’s view on religion—religion is like opium, it teaches you to focus on otherworldly concerns and not on immediate poverty and suffering. Then suddenly found myself working in a temple, praising and worshiping gods.

Days after days passed but Dadaji didn’t approve of me returning home. Neither had he given me any tentative date, just uncertainty. Uncertainty is bad but the fear and anxiety that comes along with it are worse. So, Pasupati was my prison and Tilak, Subash, Vijay and Uncertainty were my cellmates.

Among the three, it was Tilak I became closest to. He had an uncanny ability to sense my emotions and always knew the right questions to ask. He was very perceptive and equally empathetic. We had a common hobby of watching the grand Aarati at the bank of Bagmati.


Chapter two.


At Pasupatinath, the evening Aarati unfolds as a mesmerizing spiritual ritual by the sacred Bagmati River. Bhattas dressed in maroon sweaters and yellow dhotis hold ornate brass lamps, their flames dancing in rhythmic patterns, as Vedic mantras are recited in the background. The air is thick with the aroma of burning incense and ghee, and the sound of bells reverberates through the temple complex. Devotees line the riverbanks, their faces aglow with devotion, as they offer prayers to Lord Shiva. The synchronized clapping and hymning gave me Goosebumps. The tranquil flow of the river contrasts with the vibrant energy of the ceremony, creating a powerful sense of reverence and connection.

On a chilling evening, during Aarati, Tilak asked, “Why are you so fascinated with the Aarati? It must be a daily view for you in Banaras.”

“It is the only thing that is nearly same as Banaras. It reminds me of home.” I replied.

“Oh…. So, how are things back at home? Firstly, how is your home ?” said Tilak

“ It is like any other old house in Banaras as you might have seen.”

“ Talking about my family, it has Dadaji, Maa and Papa. Dadaji as I have told is a Pandit, a renowned one actually. Papa sells milk for a living. And maa takes care of everyone.”

“And yes we have 4 cows- Ganga, Lali, Bhuri and Rani. Ganga is the oldest one and Rani is the daughter of Lali.”

Tilak -“You seem to be very fond of your cows, hehe. And how were you like back at home?”

“Me? I was like every other boy from Banaras. Carefree and in my own world. I didn’t have many friends except Munira and Pritam. We used to go to the same school - Green valley school. Last month might have been my board exams of grade 12. My life was simpler there – go school then coaching, feed the cows sometimes and roam around the city with Munira and Pritam. ”

“ Your life must not be that simple otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” said Tilak.

“ Anyways we shouldn’t be talking about negative things right now. Tell me more about your friends or as it seems – best friends ” said Tilak after noticing a distressed look on my face.

I with a wide smile “ They were amazing. Very close to me. They were the people whom I can tell all my secrets, especially Munira. They were like the people who would defend you even in your absence. After coaching it was our routine to try new eateries and repeat our favorite places…. Our favorite was Tamatar chaat from Kashi Chaat Bhandar at Godowlia chowk. But Munira preferred papdi chaat…. We used to go and see live dance and music performances at Assi Ghat and Sankat Mochan Temple…. Once we visited Sarnath. Have you been there? It was quite peaceful but we were fans of chaos of the city. ”

“ Yes I have been there twice or thrice. I loved that place.” Tilak said.

“And sometimes we used to go to Chunar Fort and take samosas and kachoris with us. Ganga looked vast, passive and tranquilizing from there. You might not have visited it , it’s not that famous.”

“ Actually I have.” Tilak with a subtle smile. “ I and my friends from the college have not left a single place in and around Varanasi undiscovered.”

“Knowing that makes me feel more connected to you.” I said.

“You were telling me about your friends, go on continue.”

“As I said, they were fun. We used to have similar hobbies. Our favorite was making plans for trips that we knew we won’t be going to any. We have roamed all over India according to those plans. Munira used to bring the plans and I used to point out faults in them to eventually cancel an imaginary trip.” I said as I giggled about it.

“ And me and Pritam were victims to Munira’s shopping obsession. She used to take us to shop girly things…like kurtis and sandals. Her bargaining skills were good for her but a headache for the shopkeepers. It used to be so embarrassing. But a treat of sweets used to make it worth.” A smile uncovered itself as I spoke.

“ That’s all that I remember. I do miss them here”

Tilak – “ Oh Really!! Is that all you remember? I think you have much more to say about Munira.”

My eyebrows furrowed, nostrils flared and lips tightened as I said- “ Why would you say that? We were just friends.”

“ Okay, just friends…. People lie, their faces don’t. Anyways the Aarati is over, we should be going.”

“ Yes let’s go.”

Tilak had read me again. I wanted to tell him everything about Munira, there’s no way I would have forgotten a single detail about her.


Chapter three.


Munira was enchanting, with every detail radiating beauty. Her skin seemed to be glowing with a soft light that soothed my eyes. Her sparkling brown eyes that unraveled a thousand mysteries. Her small round face perfectly complimented with deep dimples. Her smile, that used to lighten up her face, was like a secret that was meant just for me. Her black, messy hair always seemed to fall perfectly into place, framing her face in a way that made her look effortlessly more beautiful, as if every strand knew exactly where it belonged. On the days she wore her white kurti, I silently thanked God for the small black mole just above the corner of her lips, as if it were there to protect her from the envy of evil eyes.

Munira was not just a friend, she was more than that. A relation that was not explainable. We were meant to be together. ‘Munira’ in Arabic means light and ‘Chirag’ is source of light. So, even our names were connected.

We liked staying together. She used to take me to her ‘shoppings’ because she wanted me to choose her dresses. But I was terrible at it. How could I choose any one when she looked equally beautiful in all of them? The random gifts that she used to buy for me were no less than diamonds for me. And a boat ride with her was just a delight, the Ghats, the temples and Ganga looked more appealing with her by my side. Maybe lord Ram took a boat ride with Mata Sita because Varanasi becomes more beautiful when you have your love beside you.

I still remember the first time she hugged me at Chunar Fort. It left me numb, and I forgot to breathe as she held me close. Wrapping her arms around me, she stood on her toes and softly whispered those dreamlike words “I think I'm in love with you.” And my stupid reply was – That’s a nice thing. She stared at me in silence, her eyes saying, “I could kill you for this.” But then, after a moment that felt like forever, she smiled as I poured out my feelings, telling her what she meant to me. That smile - soft, almost hesitant - was like a weight lifting from my chest, as if she had been waiting to hear those words all along. In that instant, the tension between us melted away, replaced by something warm, something real.

Ahh… those were good times. We did everything I told Tilak about, except the truth was; all those plans were mine and Munira’s. Poor Pritam always ended up being the third wheel.

We loved strolling along the Gh

ats, talking about anything and everything. No phone call or message could compare to the beauty of holding her hand while we talked at Dashashwamedh Ghat, waiting for the sun to set and the Ganga Aarti to begin. Earlier, I used to think how can people in love romanticize Aarati so much, I got my answers when I watched one with Munira. We went to that ghat once every week. I used to impatiently wait for that day to come. If I had known what was coming for us, I would have never set foot on any Ghat in Varanasi.

The bloody jinxed evening at the Dashashwamedh Ghat that separated us was like any other evening that I loved spending with her. We were on the Ghat watching the Aarati, our hands squeezing each other’s hands, her head resting on my shoulders. As the Aarati completed, I stood up and offered my hands to Munira. Our hands were about to meet when someone kicked me from the side and I fell off the stairs on the Ghat.

Everything else that I remember about that evening are just blurred pictures in my mind. Whenever my eyes were open I saw someone hitting me and found myself in the corner of a large room that had jute sacks all around. I remember seeing my father standing on his knees, his hands together with fingers intertwined, bowing in front of someone very tall and begging, maybe for me.

The next thing that I remember is – I was in a hospital, lying on a bed with an IV set attached to the back of my hand. Every part of my body was hurting. I saw my mother sitting on the bed near my feet, crying while wiping tears off her face with a corner of her Saree. Papa was sitting on a chair with his face buried in his palms. The first thing that he said after watching me gain consciousness was – “Listen to me very carefully. Do not even think about reaching out to that girl. If you ever do, you might as well be prepared to cremate me.” He walked out of the ward. My mother’s tears stopped pouring when she saw me conscious, but resumed when father walked out.

My worst fear had come to life—I had been caught by Munira's father. He was a notorious gangster in Varanasi and the power behind his MLA brother, a kingmaker. He even looked frightening, tall, broad with face full of hair. Centuries ago, Raja Harishchandra had granted land to soldiers who accompanied Alauddin Khilji from Kabul to loot Kashi. Munira's father looked like one of their descendants.

I had a gut feeling this could happen—getting caught, beaten, and thrashed by his goons. But I was willing to take any risk for her. But looking back, maybe we shouldn't have expressed our feelings. Perhaps we should have kept some distance between us. At least then, we might still be friends today.

It took nearly a month for my bruises to heal. Pritam used to visit me – he once said that Munira was beaten and confined in her room, her phone was taken away and his family was looking for a boy for marriage. I didn’t contact her because that would have worsened the situation for both of us. My father was already not talking to me.

After a month of that incident, one day Dadaji came home in a panic. He called me and said, “Go pack your bags. Keep the clothes that you wear daily. Be quick we need to leave soon.” I didn’t ask any question. I overheard him talking to my parents, “He needs to leave this city as soon as possible. Don’t worry he is going with me. We will be going to Kathmandu. I will explain everything when I come back.” He packed his own bag and we left for the bus station. I saw my mother crying and telling me to keep calling her. Papa spoke to me for the last time that day, “Take care of you. And do as Dadaji says.” He didn’t talk to me whenever I called Mummy. I guessed he was angry with me. At least that’s what I thought until last week.

We took the bus from Varanasi to Kathmandu. They had started running buses on this route only since last year in 2014. And that is how I ended up here in Pasupati.

Things here at Pashupati would have stayed the same for me if Pritam hadn’t come to Kathmandu last week.


Chapter four.


Pritam after giving the board exams had taken a Nepal tour with two of his cousins. At the end, he visited me. He came to the Matha searching for me as Dadaji had informed him about me.-

"Chirag Babu, you’ve become a full-fledged Pandit now," Pritam said, standing at the threshold of my room.

I can’t explain how I felt looking at someone from my home after so many months. Seeing someone close after six months felt like a mix of joy, nostalgia, and warmth, rekindling cherished memories. I went and hugged him tightly.

“How are you, brother?” he asked

“I am good, adjusting here. Forget about me , tell me how you are, how’s everything back at home?”

He smiled faintly and said “Just like you left.”

“ Come with me, lets catch up with each other over a cup of tea.” And we went to the canteen.

We took a table and ordered for two milk teas.

“So, how was your exam?” I asked.

“It went pretty well. I will pass for sure.”

“Glad to hear that, and what are planning to do after that? IIT right?”

“No yaar, I don’t think I will get enough marks in the boards. I have left thinking about engineering. I will probably get admitted in BHU for some easy degree and think of doing some kind of business or a job.”

“And what made you come here?”

“Oh, I came to Nepal with my cousins. We first went to Pokhara. It was just mind blowing, the lakes, the waterfalls, the clubs …and the girls. So many pretty girls , brother…. We should go together someday….. And then we came to Kathmandu a day before yesterday. What do I tell about Kathmandu to a person who is staying here for 6 months? You might have visited every place , right?”

“Actually no. I haven’t left Pasupati area. I don’t like this city much”

“Are you serious, brother? There are so many places to visit here, the temples, the durbarsquares, the hikes. You haven’t been to any place and you declared that you don’t like it. Wow”

“Anyways, when are you returning?” I asked

“Tonight. We have a bus to Raxaul in an hour from Gaushala. My cousins are already there in a hotel.”

“Ohh..”

Our tea arrived.

“ The way you spoke to the waiter, it feels like you have learnt Nepali very well.”

“I have a few friends here who have taught me .”

Pritam took a sip, “How do you drink this daily? It is worse than what I make.”

“You have to get habituated, my friend” I said laughingly.

“It is not something that I would like to get habituated to. Anyways, what are your plans, Panditji?”

“There is no plan. I am waiting for Dadaji to call me back. I don’t know what is wrong over there. Here, I have place to stay and a salary of eight thousand Nepali rupees. But I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I really miss you and Munira here.”

“I miss her too sometimes” Pritam said with a sigh.

“Are you in contact with her? Have you met her recently?” I asked with a kin interest to know everything about her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean have you talked to her recently?”

“What are you saying, Chirag?” “How is that even possible now?”- with his eyes wide, raised eyebrows and almost frozen expression.

“How can she be still confined in a room by her family? Did she not take the board exams? Did you not meet her during the exams? Are they not letting her go out ? Still?”

“Chirag ….”

“Yes, tell me what is going on there.”

“Do you have any idea what happened the day you left Banaras?” he asked with a blank expression looking towards me. “Your Dadaji have not told you anything? Not even your mother? Do you not know that your father is in jail for the last 6 months? Do you not know what happened to Munira the day you left?”

He bombarded me with so many questions asking what I didn’t know. The truth was I had no idea of anything he was saying. My heart started pumping blood faster and I could hear it. My hands were trembling. My mouth was dried out of saliva. I could feel the hotness going up from my face to ears to my head. With the little voice that came out of my mouth I asked “ Why is papa in jail? What happened to Munira?”

“I feel bad that I am the one bringing this news to you… Your father is in jail under POCSO act. It is unbailable. Although the case is not related to your father but you know how Munira’s Family controls the police, administration and judiciary. He might get released in a few more hearings at the court?”

“What happened to Munira, Pritam?” “Go on, tell me.”

“I am really sorry Chirag…but…she is no more.”

A wave of silence flew between us. I was not ready to accept that it was true.

“She died right before you left home…. She had cut both her wrists… They said that she was already dead when they found her in her room. But that’s not the fact; she was alive when her mother went into her room. Her father and uncle deliberately left her bleeding instead of taking her to a hospital…. Her mother cried, begged and eventually fainted in front of them. They watched her bleed and roll in pain until she died… I can’t believe someone can be so cruel, that too for his own daughter.”

“Are you alright Chirag. CHIRAG?”

I nodded a yes.

“Your grandfather got to know about her death, maybe that’s why he fled you out of Banaras; he knew they will come for you next.”

“When they couldn’t find you, they went after your father and put false charges on him that he had sexually abused Munira and that forced her to suicide.”

I was numb at that moment. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening around me. I was staring at Pritam, I didn’t want to believe whatever he said. My eyes were getting wet. I wanted to speak but voice wouldn’t just come out of my mouth.

“I know it’s hard to believe for you Chirag. Maybe that’s what destiny wanted.”

He stood and came to me, put a hand on my shoulder and said “I am really sorry brother, I must leave now, and they must be waiting for me. Take care of yourself man”

We walked out of the canteen. With a breaking voice that I somehow managed to produce “Tell Dadaji that I am doing fine here and I don’t need to come back to Varanasi. Will you do that for me ?”

He said, “ Sure Chirag. Bye, take care”

I shook my head with a fake smile.

I started walking back towards the temple. I wanted to cry but was just not able to cry. For so long I went to Munira whenever something was wrong; now that she was gone, I was clueless where to go to cry out loud. I kept walking and asking myself “Why? Who is writing my destiny that erased her out of my life like she never existed? Who wrote her destiny? Who snatched away her right to live? Was loving someone from the other religion such big sin that his father chose her death?” Many other meaningless questions that had no answers.

I reached to the small bridge over Bagmati. On one side people were gathered watching Aarati. Couples like me and Munira again romanticizing Aarati. On the other side was Arya ghat where people were cremating their loved ones. They were all sad because they had lost someone dear to them. But I thought, they were the lucky ones who could see their loved ones at the time they died. I thought the dead ones were lucky that they escaped this matrix of pain and sufferings, living ones were the unlucky that had to carry the baggage of their memories and sadness along with all the suffering that already existed.

I walked towards the forest behind the temple. Over there, in the darkness of night, I found myself all alone. At that moment I finally realized that Munira had left me ‘alone’ in this world. I burst into tears. I cried out loud. Cried till I couldn’t hear my own voice.

I sat under a tree and kept weeping. Suddenly I found someone sitting beside me. I was startled seeing him. Under the faint light, I saw him, he was a Sadhu.

He said “It’s okay to cry, son. Go on cry. You should not be keeping it all inside you….. You know there is someone up their writing our destiny; he a sadist person. He has made our life all about tragedies. The meaning of life is in tragedy; experiencing it or doing everything to prevent and run away from it. I believe you have experienced one. One advice from this old man, don’t let that tragedy dictate the rest of your life. And try your best to avoid a new one.”



Six months later, today, here I am assisting the Bhattas to prepare for the Sandhya Aarati, trying to be a part of something that my Munira loved. Something that brings peace, calm, and most importantly hope to people here. As the lamps are lit and the chants fill the air, I close my eyes and feel her presence, not in the form of memories that ache, but as a gentle warmth that heals. I realize that through this ritual, I am not just holding onto the past but embracing the light that Munira once carried within her, a light that continues to guide me forward. See you in next life , my light, if there is any.”


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