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Hello my friends😊,
I know I had promised to write this a long time back, but my Muse had been acting pricy all this while😃.....then all of a sudden she decided to cooperate, so here it is.....my imagination of what Avadesh's backstory may have been. It will be in two parts, and I will post the next part as soon as I am done with it😛............hope you guys enjoy.
Dedicated to Ashish Sharma and his brilliant potrayal of the character of Avadesh in all its glorious complexities and contradictions.
No copywright infringement intended. All characters in this short piece are the intellectual property of Imagine TV, Shakuntalam Telefilms and the Creative Team.
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Avadesh's story
Part I
The fields behind the grand Haveli in Lallanpur were a sight to see in the month of March. Tiny yellow flowers of the mustard plants stretched as far south as the eye could see, bobbing their little heads in time to the beat of the gentle breeze. But the flowers were not what beckoned the eight year old boy- his innocent face would instead, light up at the sight of the hundreds of butterflies that fluttered over the flowers. He would try to stealthily creep up on one butterfly that had stopped its incessant fluttering and was resting on the flower. Slowly he would stretch out his hand to catch it but at the last moment it would become aware of the danger and fly off. As this would happen over and over again, the little boy would lose patience and stretching both his arms would run through the fields, face lifted to the mild sun, wreathed in a happy smile. This would create a sort of explosion of butterflies rising up in the sky and the fields would resound with his happy laughter.
Yes, it was true- young Avadesh liked to be among flowers and birds, loved to sketch the beautiful nature around him and was always on the lookout for the chance to dance in the summer rain. His mother smiled indulgently when she spied him doing any of these things- he was her baby, a much awaited one, coming as he did, almost eight years after her first-born. Sometimes she worried about him too............how would he survive in the proud, martial tradition of the Great Thakurs of Lallanpur. The tales of valour of the men folk of this family were legendary and went as far back in time as the era of Mughals, when their ancestors had fought valiantly in Akbar's army.
She worried for his innocence, for his sensibilities.........what would the sight of a blood stained sword do to her little boy? She had had to use all her persuasive skills and a fair amount of cajoling to get his father to agree to a two year reprieve from the martial training that was mandatory for the Thakur sons. It was probably all for the best that her elder son was so proficient at it and that his skills kept his father's focus away from Avadesh. The two brothers had little in common and the age difference of eight years kept a wall of separation that would never be bridged.
Years passed and in time his mother gave birth to a baby girl who needed all her attention and time...............until that black day that had started as such a joyous moment and ended in unspeakable tragedy. As if in the blink of the eye, the Haveli lost its master and heir and was left rudderless. It was reduced to a crumbling edifice, under siege, and struggling to provide refuge to an incapacitated mother, a teenaged grieving widow and a brother and sister who hardly knew what had happened.
At first, the twelve year old boy could not go past the vision of that corner of the road where they had taken him to witness his brother and father, lying in a pool of blood. Each time he closed his eyes, he was transported to that moment in time when he had stared at them in horrified fascination, for a full minute, before turning around and running to the hedges and throwing up. His world had, as though, been recalibrated to a new normal. Things that had held beautiful meanings for him, had given him pleasure, suddenly reminded him of nothing but horrific memories. The mustard flowers now brought to mind the yellow saafa his father had still worn, strangely not a pleat out of place, as his lifeless body lay sprawled across the road. The vibrant red of the setting sun now reminded him of nothing but his brother's blood as it had stained his snow white kurta and the sindoor in his Bhouji's maang, that the old ladies had tried their best to wipe clean, that fateful summer afternoon.
Yes, at all of twelve years, Avadesh had been a child no more.
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To be continued in Part II
Well..........what do you think? Sounds plausible? Would love to know your thoughts😃.........thanks for reading.
Vista
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