Arnav Basu Raizada, stood on the vast, windswept terrace of his ancestral haveli, shading his eyes from the sweltering, midsummer Sun with one hand, as he gazed somberly at the oddly quiet procession, slowly filling the road below.
The call for civil noncooperation to the British Rule, given out by Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was gaining momentum, slowly but surely, undeterred and unhindered even by the formidable hot and dusty winds, that blew throughout the plains of India.
25 year old Arnav, suddenly felt ashamed of his western attire...
July, 1922.
A small village near Calcutta.
The sky was overcast with swirling, dark, Monsoon clouds and the air was rife with the call of the rain-birds. Khushi sat on a hard, wooden bench of the small railway station, with her knees drawn up and her head resting tiredly on them. Her small metal trunk, with all her belongings stood next to the bench. Satish dada was standing next to the bench staring vacantly down the railway track, with his ears straining longingly to hear the familiar rhythmic sound of a steam locomotive.
The railway station was crowded with people, who were fortuitous enough to have survived a cholera epidemic, which had cruelly wiped off the majority of the inhabitants of their village. The survivors were now eager and almost maniacal in their desperation to leave the shadow of death behind.
Pressing her stomach to thwart the hunger pangs, twelve year old, Khushi raised her head and catching hold of her mangal sutra, stared down at it. A small smile curved her parched lips. She still had someone left in her life, the thought of whom brought some semblance of light to her seemingly dark future... Her Husband, Arnav ji.
"Yes, Roopa..we still have Arnav ji", she said in a child like voice to her small home made, raggedy doll clutched in her hands...
Hi friends,
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Jenny..:)
PS...please pardon any historical or cultural inaccuracies...:)
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Jhanak
Shiv Shakti
