Posted:
Welcome allđ€
For those who don't know me, I am Mahishee. A simple writer who pens down anything wild that comes in my mindđ
So, I am here with my Short Story. A short introduction about it would be useful...
Based in the Tagore Era, this story is a tale of the dancing world. Set against the backdrop of The Cultural Revolution in Bengal, this Journey of a Dancer who transforms herself from an orphan to one one of the leading dancers of Calcutta. Entangled in jealousy, power, freedom and the harsh world, this story also describes the most amazing relation of a Master, A Guru and His Beloved Shishyaa. So.. Are you ready? Let's begin without much ado!
Ke Pag Ghungroo
Chapter 1
The Old Bengal had its own charm... The streets, the people, the delicacies... Termed as the centre of culture, art and tradition, Calcutta was emerging as a strong artistic state. Early in the mornings, as the birds chirped and as the sun rays hit the dark ground and set it in a morning orangish glow, magical taals of music could be heard from a particular house in the Niketan Street. Not a Dance School, not a Hall... It was Shubhangi performing her daily dance, a daily ritual that she had been performing since the time she had learnt to walk. The grace, the purity... It was like an aesthetic deeply worshipping his Lord.
Chan Chan Chan.. Tai tha Thai Thai ta Thai
Aanadhit Kranana Dhan Dhitta, Dhana Dhitta, Dhan Nana Dhitta!
Yaa Kran Dha Tata Dhai, AA Kran Dha Kata Thai
Tik Dha Dhik Dhik Thai, Tik Dha Dhik Dhik Thai!
"Wah wah!! Shundaar! Atishundaar!"
Her face turned towards the sound of claps. As Sunlight fell over her face, it illuminated her features in such a grace that couldn't be compared.
"Ki Tum Bhi!", she hid her face. She gracefully sat down to remove her Ghungroos.
" Oo Meri Shona! You dance like heaven!", the lady remarked.
"What's the use of this heaven if the God himself is angry on me?".
" Aree... Everything will be fine, don't you worry!", she tried to console.
" Dada Kaise Hain?".
Her gleaming face dampened a bit as a lone tear made its way. She shook her face in negation and got up. She moved into the corner room across the huge courtyard.
"Ei Dekho Moushi, here he is", she led her inside.
" Good Morning Gurudev!", she tried to be cheerful. She jerked opened the curtain, flashing sunlight into the room. She dusted an old shelf with her Pallu. She ran her red, Aalta streaked palm through the music player, the Old Historic Gramophone.
Soft music started playing from it.
But the old man didn't stir a bit. Wrapped up in his blanket, Mr. Chatterjee had been lying speechless, emotionless on this very same bed for two years now.
"Doctor Babu had come, he says he is doing good but I don't believe it.", remarked Shubhangi.
" Don't lose hope Shona", Moushi said.
"I haven't Moushi, or else I would have left him that day itself.". An evident memory flashed in her eyes. People say time heals everything but some wounds remain fresh, probably till lifetime.
Comments, Criticisms will be appreciated.
Love,
Mahishee.
