Hang The Teacher
Hang The Teacher26 mins 1.3K 26 mins 1.3K
God has made each individual differently, even twin differs...
I read somewhere, might be a Medical Journal but really ‘am not that fanatic of the above adage. In addition, I am not a doctor. Pursued Engineering in Electronics and Tele Communication from UCE Burla (currently known as VSSUT), one of the premier Engineering College of Odisha. Every time I introduce myself being a Banker, I am proffered a strange stare as if the other person asking, “If I couldn’t complete engineering? There was no dearth of specialized jobs for engineers then!”
The 20 years of banking has made not machines but human, my passion. My profession gives ample opportunity to come across numerous individuals every day who given a chance narrate a story unheard. Still, I don’t believe the line I started with, the reason being I believe many times with a little reminiscent of an incident from past, one gets reconnected to friends of those days who shared a common view on most of the issues.
Being a matriculate of 1988 batch, I lost my childhood to a period when sighting a shade of a rooftop Yagi antenna while traversing on road made us inquisitive in following a black flat ribbon cable from the antenna running on the wall to one window of a multi-storied building, a sheer symbol of aristocracy. 1982 Asian Game mascot Appu Hatti occupied more wall space than the present-day omnipresent slogan “I am a Dog Littering.”
Kapil dev lifting 1983 World cup was witnessed more in numbers by Cricket frenzy Indian radio listeners than taken together with the world over TV viewers. A dusky, lanky guy with his dancing took the whole nation frenzy and was an iconic heartthrob of young India. One fine morning overtook the then Bollywood’s Angry Young Man, Amitab Bachhan, who years back toppled Rajesh Khanna, the king of romance, was none other than today’s Mithun Da.
Not a single Friday passed, witnessing a new wall poster at prominent places of Bhubaneswar, the capital city of Odisha and on back of a rolling rickshaw with a funnel at its roof shouting aloud about full-house running of Mithun’s new movie in a premier theatre. Every street and society had a boy named Tony (The screen name of Mithun Chakravorty in The movie Disco Dancer) was found dragged on to a pedestal at a local function to exhibit his dancing skills. These Tonys found dancing in marriage procession with an invitation and without. Any item of a showroom with some relevance or reference to the Disco was selling like a hot cake. The height was patients queuing at hospitals with some Disco illness.
We used to wake up to the high decibel of gigantic vacuum tube radios of our neighbors who were flashy about their well-to-do, putting to maximum possible volume. From every other neighboring bottom door-slit, slips audio of a different radio station.
A proud owner of Rohini Delux makes Black and White TV used to be generous enough in having their windows open for many of us lesser privileged to watch a Hindi Movie stranded, clinging to the window railing on every Sunday. With the passing of each such Sunday, we spectators from the window had an unsigned resolution that our position from the window to be first-cum-first-arrival and there was absolutely no fight for overtaking other’s position even one resume after finding his way out, slipping through the human wall cordoning one after the other, for a call of nature in between a running movie.
The Sunday 9.30 am witnessed vacant roads as the whole of India was peeping into television to watch a fresh episode of Ramanad Sagar’s “Ramayana”. Monday newspapers invariably carry photographs of people at some distant rural place offering worship at the first appearance of Rama, Laxman & Sita on the TV screen. Sometimes photographs of an electric substation put to ablaze by the public as there was a power cut that could not be restored before the episode ends.
21-inch television with VCR was the highest crowd puller for an open-air free movie shows near Puja pandals scheduled from dusk to dawn, till there was enough darkness. Being kids we had the liberty to sit on the ground placing our chappals under our hips, followed by viewers on a chair. Nearby electrical substation people were offered front chairs for their scrupulously ensuring in putting off the nearby overhead street lamps. Standing spectators at the back of chairs often ran up to the adjacent wall which also carried an equal number of movie lovers on its edge.
In those days English Medium schools were near to non-existence in the rural areas and were nascent at big centers. So the footstep of every other school-going budding Indian future led to a Government School.
Many of our teachers those days used to carry a small leather handbag. Unzipping its pocket pops up a cane whip which was meant for punishing the students for some of the other committed errors. We were also enough genius to use the 6 inches, 8 inches of 12-inch initials before the name a teacher who boast often in class about the size of the cane whip, peeping out of the leather bag, visible from the farthest bench of the class.
The cane whips were not only a deterrent measure to the mischievous class-mates but were often administered to the whole of the class of 40-50 students. The girls were mostly deprived of its services but for boys, it was any day offer time. Many times a male student was whipped so severe on his spongy hips that he thinks twice before settling down on the bench after punishment.
In those days our teachers both ladies and gents were innovative enough in finding different ways of punishing students. The pressing middle finger and index finger keeping chalk in between and hitting at ridges of a firm fist were of punishment for a lesser degree of mistakes. Sometimes we were ordered kneel-down near blackboard in front of the class, sometimes out of the classroom on a sandy surface. Occasionally under the pinching sun of summer noon, with our hands stretched horizontal.
Few were so generous enough in making a student, to be punished, to run out of the class up to the visible bushes, across the huge playgrounds, to find a suitable whip of choice for his/her punishment. If the whip breaks before appropriate whipping, the student was thundered to get two more whips for completion of the appropriate punishment for the committed crime.
There was one illustrious dhoti-clad teacher, who suddenly jumps feet up, holding a part of dhoti in the left hand, swings his hand with lightning speed. A tall student standing in front of the class, awaiting his due punishment, purrs a cry, retreats to his seat, rubbing forehead after the whole class is awestruck at the sound of the teacher’s firm fist, the middle finger is drawn bit out, bounces back hitting forehead and thumping feet on his landing.
With promotion to a higher class, one was assured of a higher degree of punishment for committing a similar mistake. Not only one was liable for punishment for undone homework or allotted task but was punished if complaints received from elders about doing mischief at home either at some family function or a get-together, not taking food properly, not going to bed early nor leaving early, coming to class with colors on body parts the very next day of Holi, coming to class with burn injuries after Diwali celebration, not obeying parents and numerous more off-school offenses.
Our parents whenever come across our teachers used to say, “If my kid commits a mistake, you whip him, slap him, thrash him and punish him but save his ears and eyes ...” and suddenly we were dragged from the position, where we stand head down avoiding our eyes meeting teacher’s, since our offering greetings by touching their feet at the very first instance of our meeting eyes. Our parent continues “But make my kid a good human being for which our generations will be indebted.” To this, our teacher used to pat our back with a hollow palm making a loud noise for passers-by to throw a stare at, as we retreat to our position with an aching back for few more minutes till the two elders separate from each other.
Our position can be well imagined from another example, bicycle. In those days a Philips Radio and a Bicycle, as dowry, was enough to have visitors from far-off places of a rural area, dropping in at the home of a newly-wed groom. No doubt the grooms of the town were a bit more demanding.
As students, we had to wait upto matriculation to have our own cycles excepting a few of our friends. One class-mate Pinaki had the liberty of generously offering a seat on the rear cycle carrier or front rod for a long ride to the country-side. Forget about riding a cycle to School or tuition during lower classes.
We had few custom breakers those days and still remember about a sole girl class-mate named Mamuli, riding a cycle to tuitions from which I imbibed inspiration and strength in daring to roll cycle for the first time when I was in ninth standard.
Count of student cycles at High School was thinnest in comparison to our cycle riding teachers. Teachers riding a scooter or moped to school was even lesser and hardly there was a teacher riding a car to school except for one Raju Sir.
Front benchers were in all readiness to pack up their bags and to spring from their seats at the ring of day’s last school bell. It was a privilege for us, backbenchers to pack bag off well before without getting caught by the teacher. With the teacher’s swaying head to leave, we rush out of class like the falling water from palm, while raising a palm-full towards the sun as an offer to forefathers.
A sudden rush of the students from all of the classrooms towards the main gate sounded like a thundering avalanche of Alps mountain but I doubt if there were any casualty. Our sprint continues till the leader goes far off, leaving any chance for the follower, nearing by any means. The daily running continued until I joined BJB College for my Plus Two (+2) courses under the Science stream.
In a span of 3 months' holidays, since we appeared the last paper of matriculation till the first day to college, was the life changing phase. With the last paper of matriculation, we had the liberty of sneaking into the VCR show at neighbors. A next-door type teenage couple took Young India by the storm were Amir Khan and Juhi Chawla, cast in a Bollywood movie named Qyamat Se Qyamat Tak.
The Indian summer was severely infected with romance and love from Kashmir to Kanyakumari and West Bengal to Gujarat. I was not fortunate enough to watch the entire movie in a single go till it was my 2nd year of engineering study that I had the first opportunity to enjoy the movie along with my college mates in our college Audio Visual Club, considered then the best of Western Odisha.
Now I had the liberty of my own cycle and a full pant made out of father’s old pant as the fabric made by Binny Company was still full of luster as if it were just weaved. I had few more full pants made out of virgin clothes but the Ivory White Binny Fabric, cut out of my father’s pants, was my favorite.
As my cycle rolled along with my friends Aditya, Madhav and Rashmi from our quarter at OMC Colony to BJB College for the first time, it felt like I had my wings back which were taken away by my school teachers since last 10 years. The roads of Bhubaneswar since that day till today have changed a little except the addition of very few numbers of fly-overs. We were the kings on the road as there were lesser numbers of scooters, motorcycles, and cars but had to take enough precautions against the gushing mini-town buses under the banner “Mukta Travels” and the long-distance buses which were the lifeline of daily transports.
Often at traffic signals we were the majority and were a hindrance to motorized vehicles, finding difficulty in overtaking us. I must add that, in addition to one girl classmate about whom I mentioned, inspiring me to take my first cycle ride, I must express my indebtedness to my father, persistently insisting for my cycling up to college well before I was scheduled for the first day to college. I had cycled from home to college quite a number of times with my father riding his Lambretta scooter, by my side, which made me confident enough and made me accustomed to the routine cycling in no time.
As our cycle rolled passed the main entrance of our college, the swarming boys and girl students clad in all possible designer clothes and hairstyles, with their cycles, few with their mopeds and numerous more walking randomly was about to add a new chapter unlike well preened uniformed students of schools of which I was an integral part some three months back.
Well before one could thoroughly enjoy the newly garnered freedom, sudden dropping jargon bombs like IIT, JEE and Medical Exams dampens the atmosphere. Often at the middle of our giggling, to a cracked joke, a serious type guy would drop in asking if any of us have solved a particular problem of some chapter as the same was asked in the last IIT exam, made us bit serious And nervous about our future, though for a fraction of second.
But I had few friends who had mastered the art of living college days life king. Sometimes we did hooting in the class, sometimes directing mirror reflection from science laboratory to some class at the nearby building and at times sneaking out to the cycle stand to release pressure from the lady's cycles without getting noticed by the guard. Even once we pinned a live frog on the dissection tray instead of a chloroformed frog and made our lady teacher and lady students jump in unison with the frog jumping out of the tray and leaping to one corner of the cupboards with our lady teacher shouting, “Please check if the chloroform used is expired?”
We had one Mathematics Professor, Mr. Trilochan Biswal, co-author of a vastly followed voluminous mathematics textbook of +2 Science. At the very first sight, the soft-spoken gentleman in his fifties appeared down to earth with humility. His slow-paced dialogue delivery was unlike the fluency with which his written chapter runs. The gentleman was scheduled for a class.
Hira, sitting immediately to me started rubbing his shoes on the floor. I followed him and so did almost whole of the class as a procession of our seniors, campaigning for the college elections, crossed our classroom playing “Chandni... Tu meri Chandni...”, one of the most played songs of that time from the movie “Chandani” at a high decibel, shouting us to join street dancing. The gentleman closed the book he was holding, placed it on the table along with the chalk, with which he was about to write something on the blackboard.
The professor placed himself easily on the edge of the table and picked his spectacles over his forehead and addressed the class, “It seems you are not in the mood to have a lesson from a textbook. It’s fine. But will you allow me to share one of my favorite stories, subject to you listen with pin-drop silence.”
“Yes Sir” a big roar heard from 200 plus students from Section-A of 1988 +2 Science batch of BJB College.
Many years ago, there was a kingdom led by a powerful warrior king. The affairs of the state were managed so skilfully that there was all-round prosperity. He had built his military armed with canons, spears, arrows and other weapons along with cavalry of powerful elephants and fastest horses so as to protect the sovereignty of his kingdom.
It was celebration time for the king and the people of the kingdom as the royal elephant gave birth to a healthy baby bull elephant. King made an announcement in the whole of his kingdom and nearby smaller states for the best mahout to train the newborn royal baby bull elephant. The message spread like jungle fire and many professionals poured in for the coveted job.
The king himself took an interview of the prospective applicants with the help of his ministers. After a herculean task spread over a couple of months, finally a jewel among the best was chosen.
The king was so obsessive about the royal baby bull elephant that he constructed a confounded arena with high walls so as to protect the baby elephant from any outside distraction and the arena was provided with a small jungle, mountain, a river, pond and all possible prototype environments for training. Mahout and the baby were left in that arena for rigorous training, training and training and nothing else. Years passed and one day the king called for the mahout to know about the progress.
Mahout appeared before the king and gave vivid details about the training imparted to the royal baby bull elephant. He asked for one more month for handing over the trained elephant to the king.
Again it was a festivity time for the kingdom as the royal baby bull elephant was scheduled for a display to the public after undergoing rigorous training for years from the best teacher on earth. The doors of the arena were opened first time to the baby elephant, grown to a jumbo tusker, to step out, cladded in royal decorations. The young royal tusker was welcomed by a huge gathering on both sides of the road, leading to the royal palace. The tusker walked swaying its head and trunk to the waving hands of the public on both sides of the royal road. People showered flower on the roads in appreciation of the velour with which the tusker proceeded as if a hundred elephants were marching.
The young ones dreamt about fighting with royal tusker by their side, a bloody battle. With the noise of public and intermittent huge roar of the royal tusker, the proud mahout led his student into a royal palace. The palace had the best decoration of the century to welcome the royal baby bull elephant.
The parents of the baby elephants were on the royal service of carrying the king and young prince were eagerly awaiting for their kid to appear after years of separation for undergoing training. The six eyes met and tears rolled over their trunks. Tears of the parent, getting a bit older since their baby left for training. It was tears of the baby elephant of becoming a jumbo tusker, separated from his parents for training from the best teacher of their kingdom. It was tears of reunion. The three animals made the whole gathering, fighting to stop tears oozing at the corner of the eye, ready to spill over edges.
The youthful tusker raised high its front legs and spread its trunk atop releasing a huge cry that echoed from every direction of the palace, frightened all except the king, seated on the back of the father elephant. The king raised his right palm towards the baby elephant and thundered with equal raze, “Welcome to the best elephant cavalry of the world!”
The tusk after a grand salutation settled with thumping sound of forelegs that echoed from the royal walls. A brief silence prevailed, followed by a huge uproar and clapping from the gathering lot. The king decided to have the young tusker for jungle hunting, a couple of days later. In no time the whole gathering dispersed in appreciation of the young tusker and its teacher.
On the scheduled day the warrior king left palace towards jungle along with his royal team. The father elephant was leading the procession with the warrior king on its back followed by a mother elephant with the kingdom’s army chief on its back and followed the young tusker carrying the young prince on its back. King’s men accompanying the procession had to run to match the pace of the proud parents and the youthful tusker. The procession passed villages surrounding the main town and reached a vast paddy spreading in all directions endlessly up to the horizon.
With every step further, traversing a serpentine path was offering a higher degree of difficulty and challenges but not for the three animals. The three animals marched as if they were fighting a hidden battle of overcoming each other. The young tusker was enjoying pacing ahead his parents at intervals till snarls mahout.
Grassy land became a matter of past and there were bushes all around. At points, the bushes were so thick and high that the crowns, over the heads of royal personnel, sitting on the back of the three animals, were only visible to be followed by the walking lots. With every step further, the jungle becomes thicker and surrounding more greener. Gigantic tree trunks were running straight piercing into the sky. Their green treetop was obstructing the rays of the noon sun from touching the ground. The darkness around was telling as if evening rushed in well before schedule to that part of the kingdom.
The royal procession came near a running sprint with an endless valley thereafter. It was a suitable place to have a hideout in the darkness, to wait for animals approaching sprint to quench their thirst, for a successful hunt.
King decided to have a little break for lunch before preparing for the necessary hideouts. The three royal personnel boarded down the elephants and the three animals were tied to a giant tree with a thick rope at rear left leg. King’s men climbed the tree and broke few lush green branches for the three elephants to feed on. Others carried bucket-full for the three elephants from the giggling jungle sprint.
Father and mother elephant run their trunks on their son who was sure to lead the cavalry in no time which his father has led for long. Since the day the mother elephant carried the queen on her back after she got married to the warrior king, it became her favorite. Riding mother elephant, the Queen visited temples and other places of their kingdom carrying the prince in the womb. So she had always showered motherly affection on the young prince.
Mother became breathless in praising her son visualizing him fighting a war, carrying the young warrior prince on his back. Three trunks intermingled after many years and were enjoying being together with moistened eyes.
On the instruction of mahout, the elephant couple and young tusker started plucking the green leaves from branches lying on the ground and often dragging down the overhead branches at a lower height. At the interval, the parents fed the jumbo tusker with their trunk. As time passed the young elephant started to sway his trunk up and down, left and right and shook its head with uneasiness.
On the insistence of his parents, he emptied the bucket placed in front of him but it did serve no purpose. The parents pat him with their trunks but a sudden huge cry of the young elephant made birds sitting atop branches, flutter away.
Before elephant couple or someone from the gathering could do something the young elephant kicked its left rear leg hard with rage. With every kick, the rope tightened around and few more kicks resulted in blood oozing out of a fresh cut made by the tightening rope. The kicking stopped till the rope was torn apart and the animal was free.
With another huge cry raising its trunk up into the sky made the warrior King, Prince, Army Chief, others and the royal elephant couple was taken aback and the young animal with profusely bleeding leg ran towards the running sprint. In a blink of an eye, the royal young tusker became savage. Pumped in trunk full water and sprayed into the air. Dropped trunk deeper into the water sucked and sprayed into air trunk full mud.
Mahout ran up to the stream but the animal crossed the sprint and ran far away with thumping foot, giving long cry with swaying trunk stretched up into the sky and in another blink of an eye was into oblivion deeper into the jungle. The fluttering and chirping of birds up in the sky were the only sign to guess the position of gushing animal.
The sound of the running sprint became louder. A hooting monkey or crying peacock at distance few times broke a long silence of the royal procession.
“Hang the teacher!” thundered the warrior king pointing a hand at mahout. Younger ones in the royal procession who were not lucky enough to fight battle alongside the warrior king could visualize why fellow soldiers who fought with referring him as a “Lion King!”
No more heard the hooting of monkey, chirping of a bird at bay nor were heard fluttering birds overhead. The silence that followed after the king roared was more frightening than the jungle itself.
But the jungle sprint didn’t stop running and giggling as if she was the only one enjoying the freedom of the royal young elephant.
The mahout was handcuffed and dragged along the retreating royal procession towards the palace. The man was shackled and put to jail to be hanged on the scheduled day, the warrior king decided.
The day for capital punishment arrived. The mahout was to be hanged in front public, the jam-packed arena where he trained the royal baby bull elephant for years.
With the echo of "Hang the teacher" in the arena, as per rituals of the kingdom, the king from the podium with visible disgust on face thundered, “Do you have any last wish, except begging pardon?”
“I must be given a chance to prove that I had the best student of this world and left no stone unturned in imparting best training” made the king losing his temper and he again thundered in disgust, “What do you want to prove? Do you think you will be set free in making that animal prove your austerity?”
“Airabat... Airabt... Airabat... Are you listening? Come, my son...Come near me...Don’t fear...Your teacher and his teachings are questioned...” cried aloud mahout falling on his knees.
“Your Highness! I affectionately call my student as Airabt!” sighed at the king and pointed his hand at the entrance of the jam-packed arena with “Hang the teacher” chanting in air.
The king and his royal members sitting on the podium and the jam-packed crowd came to witness a treacherous teacher being hanged till death, looked at the mahout’s pointed direction with disgust.
"Hang the Teacher" was echoing in the air.
A huge tusker, completely ran downed, covered with mud and dust having a wound, might be due to a tightened rope at his left rear leg, was limping towards the stage where the mahout was about to be hanged in another couple of minutes.
“Is it real? Am I daydreaming?” purred the hangman who was staring at the gigantic animal with un-blinked eyes, mouth open wide in awe.
Same was the condition of the king and his royal members occupying podium and the jam-packed gathering who assembled to witness the disgusting mahout be hanged to death without mercy for spoiling the royal baby bull elephant.
The animal strolled the distance between him and the mahout limping with pain. With drenched eyes and dropped trunk stood by the mahout like a kid pretending innocence after committing a mistake.
"Hang the Teacher!" was still in the air of that arena.
“Your Highness! Can I have a 100 kg iron ball and a furnace?”
As requested, an Iron ball and the furnace were provided to the mahout at a sway of the head by the warrior king.
On the instruction of the mahout, the furnace was fired and the iron ball was put into it. As per his instructions, more fuel added till the ball became red hot. Mahout insisted on pumping more air and pouring more fuel till the red hot iron ball became white hot.
"He has gone insane! Don’t delay! Hang him!” someone shouted from the public after watching the more disgusting act of the treacherous teacher. The arena was rampaged with "Hang the Teacher!" from every corner.
"Airabat! Do you know, a little mistake of yours made my life-long austerity a vane! What is remorse for you? Can you shed life?” thundered mahout at the elephant.
The gigantic animal raised its forelegs up raising trunk up into the sky, making a huge thumping sound on settling back released a huge and long deafening cry that made the king and its royal men on the podium rising to their feet and the jam-packed public around the stage, where the mahout to be hanged, stepping two steps back.
Mahout whispered something into the ears of his student even hangman, at an arm’s distance, failed to insinuate. The gigantic tusker swayed its head a few more times and his eyes glittered with an unknown delight.
There was a widespread feeling in the arena that the treacherous teacher not at all deserve a chance to prove his innocence and be hanged without any further delay. Act in the middle resulted in more repugnance and “Hang the teacher” enchanting reached pinnacle didn’t prevent the student from stretching its trunk to touch his teacher’s feet. With few more nodding of head grabbed both the palms of the handcuffed teacher with trunk and like a joyous child, taking the first step of his life, ran towards the furnace swaying its head releasing a thundering cry at intermittent that overpowered “Hang the teacher”.
“Airabt... swallow that white-hot iron ball...” ordered the Teacher to the student pointing his finger to the white-hot ball, dancing in that blazing flame.
The words of Mahout spread ennui in the arena echoing "Hang the teacher!" but not to the tusker. Hearing his teacher, the glittering eyes of that animal became wider with the glow of a thousand suns.
Put its trunk into the blazing flame, picked the white-hot iron ball, tossed it up high up into the sky. A strong smell of burning raw flesh filled the air of the arena.
With thumping, fore-legs and the deafening roar of its life swallowed the white-hot iron ball on its fall.
The eyes glittered sharper than the blazing flame. The air of the arena was filled with a stronger smell of more raw flesh burning and emanating dense fumes at center blurred the vision, made many to pluck their nose.
As the fumes subsided the animal was found lying dead in the middle of the arena and mahout was found lamenting, resting his head on the still gigantic tusker.
"Hang the teacher!" in the arena was replaced by a belief that the student would rise again at the teacher’s calling, “Airabat... Airabat...”
Before the warrior king could utter a word, the mahout cried, “My Lord! It was my mistake in agreeing to your proposition for the barricaded training arena. After all, the jungle was his natural habitat. After seeing the world beyond the barricaded arena for the first time, my young student lost his control. When he saw paddy field, bushes, jungle, and giggling river for the first time he succumbed to its natural instincts. After all, it was an animal of the jungle. Being the greatest of the warrior and a knowledgeable king, you didn’t give a thought at it, at all. There was no dearth in my imparting teaching or in his learning. Airabat swallowed the white-hot iron ball with a smile of innocence. My student embraced death knowingly. He made me proud and my lessons immortal. Even if you leave me free I will find a way to follow the path of my student. I can’t leave without Airbat. Please keep your words and hang me to death.”
The warrior king and his royal men on the podium, everybody present in that arena and the hangman were no more plucking their nose. The mahout, still handcuffed, put the black cap over his head and moved under the noose by his own to be hanged till death leaving every individual finding difficulty to stop their tears rolling down their cheek.
“Hang the teacher!” echoing in the air was replaced by sobbing in the arena.
200 plus students left fighting from their neighbor noticing a big drop of tear, collected at the corner of both eyes, oozing to roll down the cheeks as Professor Biswal left the class, picking his book and leaving the chalk on the table, at a flash, as if few sobbing faces disturbed our committed pin drop silence, at the ringing of bells.
That gentleman was the only one who could complete his allotted syllabus well before the exam and even his extra classes witnessed good attendance by my batch mates.
[For my High School Golden Jubilee publication, the committee raised a strong objection to the title "Hang the Teacher" and made me shorten the story and changing the title to "Immortal Death."
I did with a bleeding heart then as it was my first story selected for publication. Now with the full publication, I would be the happiest in giving justice in re-narrating a story, heard some 30 years back.]