Showing posts with label Ketaki Datta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ketaki Datta. Show all posts

Silent Night, My Window and the Pianist

Ketaki Datta

Ketaki Datta


All lights down the street snuffed out, the moonshine took the thoroughfare in a light embrace. It seemed as though the stretch of the macadam wanted to go naughty in another's lap, shunning its usual companion, the three-pronged light-stands. In the vicinity, a pianist went striking the tear-jerking notes on his [may be ‘her’ as well] instrument, caressing each key with his tears! The lizard which held its gaze firm on a tiny insect, stirred a bit. The dog which lay on the threshold seemed to be nudged out of his slumber. Only a madman rent the air with his loud cry, "Hey you, you darkness, why are you silent as a dumb underdog? I want light, hey you blockhead!" The light breeze eased off the day's ennui, yet his drivel went on uninterrupted. I looked at the clock that ticked above my head. I walked off to the terrace adjacent to my room for a breather and believe me, I was being drowned by the magic charm of Mozart's "Rondo Alla Turca"...I was falling head over heels in love with the pianist whose fingers kept weaving patterns of magic in the air…I closed my eyes...the piano went on inundating the darkness with its pulsating vibes, I was being lost in the maze of the notes, I was being rocked in the crests and troughs of the rain-drenched earth, as though I was being rocked in the Noah's Ark, along with the animals and other creatures. The mesmerizing music seemed to shove the whole universe to the edge of a deluge, I moved forward with the Ark, that floated like a dot in the ocean! I should be salvaged by the grace of God, the musical notes would be my saviour!
Do..re...mi...fa...so...la...ti...do…

 The lunatic wanted light to be there and there was light! Had he changed place with God? Was that at all possible? I kept wondering while the pianist was switching the tune to “Somewhere my love, there will be songs to sing…” I was contorting my body according to the crest and fall of Lara’s theme. The window through which the musical notes were being wafted, seemed to be the casement to the Heavens, where all piety found manifestation in prayers, where all songs were being elevated to the summum bonum of all human existence on earth. The window transported me to another reality where I could envisage a sliver of the astral body that would possibly collide with earth, driving the whole civilization to the brink of extinction, I could visualize a night hundred years down the line, when the generation would hate talking to each other, perhaps they would be communicating in a sign language. I could imagine similar such snippets of the future, in which the society would settle for AI at every turn of life, at every moment man would seek the company of a robot or a portable AI-body which would cater to his emotional needs. I was throwing my glance far-off and kept looking at a flicker of light far beyond the acre of green grass, that lay stretching at the back of my apartment. It might be a meteor fallen just then, emitting light and waiting for its ultimate journey to nullity.

 When I was engrossed in visualizing all such mentally-constructed images, the pianist had suddenly switched to lalalalla—la-la-la-la, Come September tune, oh my my,my favourite tune! I jigged my knees to the tune, till it made way to my ears and then I was thinking of the darkness that enveloped us and its mystery. Darkness itself seemed to be a mystery. Darkness could drive us mad with its stygian blackness, with its deliberate annulling of light, with its decisive propensity to prolong its span of existence. Darkness was there outside the window, though my room was flooded with streaks of light, crisscrossing each other in a curious abandon. I was being intrigued to know who the pianist was and immediately the song by Phoebe Bridgers [played by him/her] barged in and filled my room…

“Somewhere in Germany, but can’t place it
 Man, I hate this part of Texas
 Close my eyes, fantasize
 Three clicks and I am home, 
When I get back I’ll lay around 
And I’ll get up and lay back down
Romanticize a quiet life
There’s no place like my room!”…

I found myself tapping my feet on the floor and dancing in mad joy!

The Gold Key: Mohit Chattopadhyay

Translated from Bengali to English by: Ketaki Datta

Ketaki Datta
Dramatis Personae:
Nandita
Goutam
Somendu
Nanda


[Curtain raises with a boom of gunshot. The room , almost dark, shows none. A rapping noise on the door outside wafts in. Fast, poignant.]

Nandita[while rapping the door from outside]: Gautambabu! Gautambabu! Please open the door. Nanda, are you there?

[An old servant , with a chimney-fitted lantern of yesteryears, unbolts the door. Nandita wipes her face with a handkerchief. Throwing an anxious glance through the window, she looks for something. Another abrupt gunshot startles Nandita a bit and she casts a surprised gaze at Nanda.]
                             
Nandita: Why that thunder of a  gun, Nanda?
                   [Restraining from answering, Nanda gingerly places the lamp on the table and kindles the wick]
 Gautambabu is there in the garden with his gun. Is he?

Nanda: Who else than he? Chotobabu is out of his wits, didimoni!! Evil spirits roam about in this jungle, Chotobabu might have been caught in the wind!
  
Nanda: What would he do? He keeps draining his pellets while aiming at the sky, after all he had his fill on heaps of trash! You know, didimoni, this man would lie dead in the precincts of this haunted house, chances of going back to his own house being remote. Does he ever listen to anyone? Let me go and tell him of your arrival.
                                        [Nanda is about to leave]   

 Nandita: Look Nanda, you don’t have to call him right now. I am going to sit here alone for sometime.[Nanda keeps leaving] Nanda, see through the window, whether a trouser-and-shirt clad gentleman is standing there near the tree on the courtyard or not.
Nanda:[throwing a glance through the window]: Yes, with a camera slung from his shoulder! He is looking at this end and bellowing smoke-rings.
Nandita: Okay, you may leave now, Nanda.
Nanda: Didimoni, who is that man? 
Nandita: I don’t know him. Since a few days, I spotted him hanging around the jungles in the vicinity. So many types of men pay visit to this place! All right, you may leave now, Nanda!
   [As Nanda leaves, Nandita draws up to the window gingerly. Gautam enters through the door, inside the room. A gun is held in his hands. Beard stands out on his face, trousers and the shirt are soiled. He is yet to mark Nandita. He keeps the gun on the table. Fishing out a wine-bottle from his pocket, he rolls it on the table noisily. On hearing the rattle, Nandita turns back to look. Irritation is writ large on her face]
Gautam [to himself] : “I would, if I could—
                                      If I could not, how could I?”
Nandita[in a sharp tone]:  Gautambabu!
 Gautam: [looks back hastily, tries to hide the table behind his back, as much as he can]:  Nandita, you??
Nandita: Oh I see, you can recognize me even after being dead-drunk!
Gautam: Inebriation is dead as possum by now, and, the spectre of the same is dead as…
Nandita: Please call Nanda for once, I shall go back to the hostel with him. 
Gautam: You have just come, would you return now itself? Let me ask Nanda to brew you a cup of tea. 
Nandita: I had tea before coming out .
Gautam: On hearing your voice anyone would think that, you have taken umbrage. But, believe me, I would never have touched all these if I knew you would be here. You know, Nandita Devi, I was keen on drawing down a bright and magnificent star to the ground by firing a gun. You know why? I would love to present you the same as you would come tomorrow morning. You loved to adorn the parting of your hair with a long gold pendant, just as the mothers of the yesteryear used to do. You looked splendid, exceptionally beautiful as you are  - :Basanti Puja was celebrated in our village hut, much similar to the one  the month of  April.  
Nandita: Do you like village, I mean,  the rural habitats?
Gautam: I am really fond of that, just as I am fond of you!

Nandita: Then I can easily guess how much you love it! You better go and pay a visit to your village without indulging in silly cranks in here. All your mental ills would vanish at the remonstrance of your mother!
Gautam: My mother is very good.
Nandita: Go home at least for once to see your mother, your mind will just freshen up!
Gautam: But how shall I go now? It is just next to impossible. This house cocoons it like a cobwebby magic spell, cast by a witch. On grabbing me alone , each brick and wood of this house whispers in my ears, “ Gautam, Gautam—is the gold key there for sure?” The spectre of that old jungle-chief comes tottering , being inebriated by the juice of ‘Mahua’, to say, “Hey Banerjeebabu, please do not throw the gold key into the water of the river! There it is, it is there!” …But, what is there? And, where exactly? How shall I know? The key is drubbing me at each moment! Will you take that key? I get spared then! I do not want to hand it to anyone save you! Will you take it, please?
Nandita: Wow! You are trying to pass the perilous buck on to me, aren’t you? Can’t you simply forget the key forever? You have turned the floor, the wall  of this ramshackle building into cornfields, by digging into them! Where would the box containing diamonds and other precious gems  lie hidden? And, even if it is, what use would those be put to ?
 Gautam: I am not covetous of treasures, Nandita devi! But some mystery, a strange casket—I would love to see what remains inside it!   A key,- it is really horrid to wait for a key alone! I wish to uncover something, I want to be dumbstruck with wonder, clutching the fabulous treasure in my two fists , I long for crying aloud in excitement like an emperor , at least for an instant!   Failing which, the key would keep oppressing me all my life, I am sure! 
Nandita: You haven’t got anything till now, a long time though over, and again, you kept no stone unturned in your quest. The key  can even be a figment of the Chief-of-the Jungle’s imagination, who can tell? 
Gautam: On the verge of dying, the wizened Chief handed me the key, lifting up his shaky fingers, being seated in this room, and, uttered, “ It’s there, you know, it’s there—a box with engravings on it.” I inquired, “ What’s there inside?” He smiled without answering. Again he said, “ Yes, its there.” All called him insane, but, I looked into his eyes, I listened to his voice, I heard the stir in his chest—he hasn’t spoken a lie, he knows not what a fib is.
             { Nandita throws a look outside through the window]
Gautam: What are you looking at? Are you feeling hot? Oh see what Nanda has done, he has kept the door closed. Wind is no thief that it would engender fear on its advent.
                                       [Goes to open the door]
Nandita: Let the door be closed.
Gautam: Why? Aren’t you feeling hot?
Nandita: No.
Gautam: But, a glance at you makes us seem that, you are feeling hot, feeling uneasy.

Nandita: Nothing is of concern, please sit quiet. Not a single soul is around, how do you stay in such a haunted house? Please let go of it..
Gautam: Just impossible!!I have left my quarter to settle here. I shall not budge an inch from this dilapidated house of the Chief of the Jungle.  I shall see the end of it!! I need that box. And if I fail somehow to get it ever, I shall throw the key into  water of the river here. The soul of the Chief of the Jungle would cry out aloud, in the woods. I shall derive the joy of vengeance out of it.
Nandita: You are not being able to get me, you , perhaps , are taking the revenge on your very own self.
Gautam: But all my blood can sense it , that, the box lies hidden somewhere in the darkness in here.
Nandita: In fact, you love to conceal yourself behind a falsely constructed darkness. Okay then, let me take your leave as of now. 
Gautam: Will you leave now? I keep pestering you with irrelevant piffle, do I not? 
Nandita: You are in the habit of talking incessantly, why should I be irritated? I have to get back to the hostel indeed. A path through the jungle, above all, it is night—if Manika would be here instead of me, she would die of continual thinking. 
Gautam: Shall I reach you home?
Nandita: No, Nanda would be coming along. As I frequent your place , many eyebrows are raised, sundry corollaries are drawn, and if I return home with you, it would invite many more surmises indeed. Manika is different, she is very nice—she gets me rightly. I shall introduce her to you.
  Gautam: What’s the use? I am fine being alone.
Nandita: Do you know, which nickname have  the school-mistresses given you for your detestable habit? Squirrel! You get lost amidst the trees on seeing a man. Don’t you enjoy to stay , making friends with others? But I never can do so, I come here for a chat  quite off and on, caring the least for your annoyance, though.
Gautam: I do not prefer many a thing, but cannot tell why I like you quite considerably.
[Nanda enters]
Nandita: Here comes Nanda, okay, I take your leave then.
 Nanda: Come along, Didimoni.
   [Nanda moves forward , opens the door and makes an exit towards the courtyard.]
Gautam: [simpering, like a boy]: You should walk cautiously, a monster makes his presence felt in this jungle.
Nandita[in a thoughtful face]: Monster? Are you talking about a strange person, with a camera dangling from his shoulder?
Gautam: No, that monster is sans camera. He even lacks in a distinct countenance, eyes, legs , heart—nothing at all! Yet, he gobbles tardily. 
Nandita[smilingly] : Trotting out a riddle or what? 
 Gautam: May be, a jungle-related conundrum. The monster is none but ‘darkness’. Everyday I watch the monster creeping into the woods in the evening. In course of time, it keeps swallowing all—the tinge of the flowers, the traces of light scattered on the creepers and the ground. Save the green hue, which it cannot gobble up, and which can be recognized even in the dark. This monster’s teeth will not be able to touch your green sari. I shall keep watching you leave and shall burst into a loud laughter, enjoying the hapless plight of this demon, deep down in my heart.  
Nandita: Beware of bursting into guffaw! You would take yourself to be a lunatic. And, stash that bottle away, please do not take a drop of it. 
Gautam[lifting the bottle up]: Not a drop is left in it, it’s empty as my heart. It’s really amazing  to witness the topsy-turvy caused by some hued water in the corporeal system. The whole cosmos undergoes a change, a coloured painting keeps hanging in the vacuum…it seems ,as though, innumerable spectacle of a floating fresco are let loose in the air. Don’t you like it?
Nandita: Nothing doing. I am fine. My world is still alive without the coloured paintings and frescoes hanging in the air! Bye, Nanda is surely getting angry with me.
Gautam: You are expected tomorrow for sure!
Nandita: I shall try if I can manage..
                                            [Nanda enters in a haste. He closes the door]
Nandita: What’s wrong?
Nanda: That man is coming again. I saw him coming from far in this direction, in slow steps. 
Gautam: Who? Of whom are you talking about?
Nandita : Strange!  How astonishingly daring! 
Gautam: Who are you talking about? Who is that man? Someone known to you?
Nandita: Never in my life I had known him. Even while today I was taking a stroll by the riverside, I found the bloke walking at my heels. Hence, I have come over to your place as it happens to be near. When I came, the man was taking a puff at his cigarette , standing on the courtyard  outside. That day, as we went to the fair, I observed him quite often, walking a bit far from us. As we took a bus to the town to watch a movie, the man had boarded the same bus too. 
 Gautam: Nanda, have you ever seen the man in the vicinity?
  Nanda: This is the first time I see him. Shall I go and ask his name?
   Gautam: You do not have to do anything. Please go inside and let me handle the matter.
Nandita: You should not go. Who knows what sort of man he is?
                                         [Nanda goes off to the room, inside]
Gautam[takes the gun]: I have a gun with me, what to fear?
Nandita: Yet, you should not open the door. Such strange men cannot be trusted at all.
Gautam: Why should I be so afraid? Let us better see what the matter is. Let me call him inside?
Nandita: In fact, I am struck with fear if I see him. Day before yesterday, a strange thing had taken place. Sometimes, I walk in sleep , unawares. That evening, Shanta was awake till late into the night, checking the answer-sheets, I got up from bed , opened the door and walked out. Shanta could not even guess that I was sleep-walking, she thought me walking out to avoid the heat in the room. Then, she ran after me to catch me up and bring me in , watching me to walk straight to the road. The man  stood on the crossing of the road in the direction, which I was taking. Shanta said that , he was smoking cigarettes, looking straight to our room. Fear gets the better of me, if I ponder over the whole affair.
Gautam: The man surely has some motive, it would be better to know that. The reason of the man’s aimless hanging about must be unearthed. I should accost him in to investigate, keeping your interest in mind. I am unbolting the door, you better go in. [Goes to open the door]
Nandita: Please do not go, it’s my humble request.
                          [Suddenly, the sound of rattling the door-ring was heard. A voice from without was heard, “Please open the door”]
Nandita: Don’t open. He must have come with some intention. [from without: “ Is Mr. Banerjee there? Gautam Banerjee, I mean?”]
Gautam: I am going to open it. You have nothing to be afraid of. 
  [Taking the gun in hand, he opens the door. A youth with extremely sharp features and curved eyes enters. A camera dangles from his shoulder and a cigarette from his lips. He resembles a tourist in appearance. He smiles wittily, throwing a glance at the gun held in Gautam’s hand.] 
The Man: Please keep down the gun. It makes such a nerve-shattering, strange noise[turning to both with folded palms] Namaskar, Namaskar![They, too, lift up their hands to reciprocate the gesture]
The Man: You are Gautam Banerjee, the Forest Officer, aren’t you? I am Somendu, Somendu Chakraborty. I know not why , you all are somewhat dazed, you are not even asking me to be seated. I am taking my seat, okay? [sitting] I have taken my seat, you see.
Gautam: But I cannot recognize you!
Somendu: Now you surely will. I know you, the people of this locale are calling you ‘Insane Officer’ lately. And, I know Nanditadevi indeed. Off and on, we have run into each other.
Nandita: Oh yes, we met , no doubt, but such meetings seemed too irritating to me. You keep following me such objectionably, all the time! Even today—
Somendu: Following someone is not always a sin or just obnoxious, Nanditadevi! It might even have an honest intent! 
Nandita: Come on, none follows anybody for a good reason, stealthily!
Somendu: Then , would it be a pious deed instead, if I appeared in front of you, you mean? It was necessary for me to watch you from far, from behind a fa├зade. As a painting is better to be seen from a distance, a man’s case is no different too. 
Gautam: We should be cognizant of your good intention, possibly.
Somendu: Oh sure! In a word, I have some interest in Nanditadevi. And, I want to make a clean breast of it to you, quite early, behind her back.
Nandita: Whatever you have to say anything regarding me, must speak in front of me, tell—this is  called “ courtesy”.
Gautam: Please speak out in front of her.
Somendu: Impossible! Gautambabu, you know, the funniest aspect of this tale is that, I kept observing Nandita devi keeping your interest in view. No doubt, I , too, had an intention. I nurtured a longing for snapping a photograph of Nanditadevi on a special occasion and in a chosen ambience. But, as and when I was about to click, it seemed to me that she would be looking more attractive immediately after. But, I wanted to take just a single snapshot, the final one. 
Nandita: A lady should not be photographed against her will- hope you  know that for sure.
 Somendu: But I didn’t take your snap! And even if I did, You would never know that. Many things go on behind our eyes, we can do nothing, neither you, nor I, none , for that matter.
Gautam: What do you do?
Somendu: Nothing at all. I roam about quite often. Varieties of game keep me going. In such deals, sometimes money pours in, sometimes just fun. Sometimes again, a temptation for cooking up events. This is also living by a philosophy , you may say, I am a philosopher.
Gautam: But which sort of philosophical sport stirred your interest to drop in my place? I just don’t get you.
 Nandita: But, I have got inklings about the mode of your play.
Somendu: But I am far bigger than the sample, much, much larger. I am a certainly conscientious, clever, well-educated despite my choice, and as luck willed, quite handsome.  I love to draw pictures, love to while away my time by singing songs, and, incidentally an altercation with a friend keeps me far from literary endeavours. Besides, these too are sort of attachments, encumbrances, you know!
Nandita: You could have pursued some subject seriously. Don’t you take pity on yourself?
Somedu: Yes, I feel terribly piteous of myself! I love myself to distraction! Possibly, I could have cried on my own demise! And, just to stay oblivious of this ‘crying’ , I search for a game or other . As lately, you all!  
Gautam: We?
Somendu: Yes, you !
Nandita: I see, you make yourself a riddle to derive joy out of it!
Somendu: Do you term everything as ‘riddle’? And the box which Gautambabu is looking for? Is that a conundrum?
Gautam: Do you know about the box?
Somendu: It is not so difficult to know about it. Only this story is the talk of the town! On hearing this, I stayed back—a game popped up in my grey cells. And, the temptation for taking a look at the gems and treasures. 
Gautam: Right you are! The attraction of the stunning look of jewels, the temptation of touching them, the thrill of inventing them! You know, though lights may be on, all over, in this house, a sliver of darkness lurks somewhere, beyond our gaze, and the casket lies in there, concealed by the darkness. It is there though it can’t be seen, as millions of fruits lie hidden on a tree, which can be found hanging , each from a single leaf-stalk; just as ‘love’ stays hidden in an acute,  dark nook in a woman’s heart! Likewise, a mysterious darkness is there, somewhere in this house, where the box sits all alone, terribly alone. I want that, I keenly do want. 
Somendu: Like you, I also do want it. And, Nanditadevi is our only hope, in this matter. 
Nandita: What do you mean?
Somendu: Yes, that box of jewels ca hardly be unearthed without your help. 
 Gautam: I can’t get your words.
  Somendu: If Nanditdevi kindly retires to the adjacent room for the time being, it would be easy for me to make Gautambabu understand the mystery, clearly. 
Nandita: I have not an iota of interest in such  games of yours. I was returning to the hostel, and I shall keep doing so.
Somendu: Oh!How funny!If you leave, Gautambabu alone would not be of any need to me. Please stay back for a couple of minutes. 
 Gautam: Please do not go away at this moment, Nanditadevi! Kindly wait for a few minutes; let me comprehend the matter. If really I can open the lid of the casket containing jewels! Please wait for a few minutes in the adjoining room, it’s my earnest request!
 Nandita: I have to go back to the hostel right now, positively! I must leave in some moments, I tell you.
          [Nandita goes to the adjacent room. For seconds, both of them sit quiet. Somendu , fixing his gaze straight into the eyes of Gautam, smiles silently.]
Somendu: Where is the gold key?
Gautam: It’s there.
Somendu: Good! In my eyes , there’s a kind of amazing light with which I can pierce through all darkness, even the dark, where the box lies.
Gautam? Are you telling the truth?
Somendu: I never tell a lie. But, half will be mine and the other half yours. Do you agree to this distribution?   
Gautam: Any condition will do for me. Just find that out. I am afraid, are you up to playing a funny game at my expense, aren’t you? 
Somendu: I never play a game for no reason whatsoever. Who wants to perspire by running without a cause? I get tired of innocent fun even. 
Gautam: You must have chalked out a plan of action to trace that casket! Have you thought of something or do you have any clue?
Somendu: Of course, there’s a plan. [lights up a cigarette] First of all, I demand Nanditadevi.                                                           [Looks at him to smirk in silence]
Gautam: What do you say? Your words sound so obscene!
Somendu: This itself is my ill-luck. Though it sounds obnoxious, my statement is just honest. I want Nandita Devi’s assistance in our plan, that’s it. I have no intention as to get involved with her on  a personal plane, thus claiming her and shouldering her responsibility in some way or other. I keep roaming round. This is not my cup of tea. 
 Gautam: But Nandita Devi is cross with you. And perhaps, I do not have any such claim on her to force her in any matter. She might not agree to help us in this matter. 
Somendu: then I don’t have any alternative than leaving for good. Okay then, let me take your leave[he gets to his feet]. That box could have been retrieved from the grave of darkness. The darkness wins at last. One day, your key would also get lost in this dark void. 
Gautam: Are you leaving? Really?
Somendu: Both my coming and leaving are real. 
Gautam: If I could learn about your plan, I mean, if could be credible and innocuous, I might try to make Nandita Devi understand. 
Somendu[comes forward to look straight into the eyes of Gautam]: Well! Look into my eyes. 
Gautam: What do you mean by ‘looking into your eyes”? What happens if I look into your eyes?[smiles] You are becoming disorganized just like me, I see. What if I look into the eyes ?
Somendu: Cast a steadfast gaze, sans batting eyelids, at me. If you get to see something mysterious through the eyes, keep commenting on it, slowly. Come on, look, look at me.[Gautam kept looking, as though hypnotized.]
  Somendu: Please be attentive. Watch the apple of the eye only. The eyeball would seem to be enlarging gradually, it would seem to be a glass ball—a blend of blue and pitch black, And on the ball, scenes are etched, one after another. Have you marked?
Gautam[in a trance]: Wonderful are your eyes—dense eyebrows, deep gaze, unblinking, mysterious! It seems as if you can see the white coral down to the bottom of the sea, as though the seeds lying underground; the golden , silver fishes , swimming in the lower stratum of  chest-deep water—all come within your ken. I can see many a thing, numerous spectacles, --scenes after scenes keep floating by—a strange tree, each leaf of which is varying in colour from the other; a river, each wave of which differs in hue with the other; Nandita…Nandita—her body is being laved by moonshine, her eyes are being snapped shut by the gush of wind ... the stirring of a green leaf wafted through the air like the sound of veena. How strange are the sights…sounds…sights…sounds…
Somendu: You are far more enchanted than I thought ! However, do you have faith in me? Haven’t I come with eyes filled with chimera? 
Gautam: Undoubtedly! You can do whatever you like!
Somendu: Whatever man wants to visualize, grows distinct in my eyes. This is a miraculous mirror. Now fish out the gold key. 
Gautam: But, I haven’t shown it to anyone till now. Even, I am afraid of taking a look at it. The key keeps stirring violently my within, like a squally gale in a cryptic darkness. I hardly see the gold key and I haven’t shown it to others too. 
Somendu: You need to show me. Bring it, please.
Gautam: But—
Somendu: Please do not while away the time! Fetch it—hand it to me.
[Opening the drawer quite cautiously, Gautam fishes the key out. He keeps looking at it, like a person in a trance, spinning it round and round. And then, he lurches forward to hand it to Somendu. Somendu casts a dispassionate glance at it and then holds it forward to him.]
Somendu: Keep it. Yes, with you. Now, please call Nanditadevi. 
Gautam: Right now?
 Somendu: Exactly now. You do not doubt me, for sure. A strange and subtle power is there in my sight, which is popularly known  as ‘mesmerism’. Adroit pursuit can escalate this power to a supernatural  level. I can drive a man through a dream-like stupor, can hold the nerves under my control, and can easily regulate the concealed, inner being  of an individual. I am a mesmerist. It requires a compassionate medium.  
Gautam: Have you chosen Nanditadevi as the ‘medium’?
Somendu: Precisely. Nanditadevi is sympathetic to you. Besides, she is a ‘somnambulist’—she is taken in grip  by the spirits of the night! Such characters serve as excellent go-betweens. I have reached such decision on observing Nanditadevi since long. 
Gautam: What if she doesn’t agree to act as a ‘medium’? 
 Somendu: She should agree, at least for your sake. And, you have to accomplish only this job. You will be finding the treasure-casket in my eyes. In a secret mirror inside my eyes, the reflection of the box we need , would fall and entranced Nandita would find out the same, dispelling thick fog and intense darkness. The Egyptian magicians used a small blue mirror for this matter. My eyes will serve as that looking-glass. Please ask Nanditadevi to come. 
Gautam: Somendubabu, if you go out for a while, it would be better. Because, if you are around, she cannot be made to understand by any means…Nanditadevi is so angry with you! If I succeed in making her agree to this, I shall call you. 
Somendu: Well, I am there near the door. I shall come just when you call me. 
  [Somendu leaves.]
 Gautam: Nanditadevi! Nanditadevi!
        [Nandita comes. She looks a bit solemn.]
Gautam: Sorry to have held you captive, quite objectionably, in the adjacent room! 
Nandita: Hope now I can go back home. 
Gautam: Would you like to leave? Nanditadevi, may I request you once?
 Nandita: I know. The conversation of ths room is sure to seep into the adjoining room! I am unable to respond to your entreaty, I apologize. It’s almost late into the night, I have to leave. 
Gautam: You, only you  can save me, Nanditadevi!
Gautam: The way you are aiming to live is just impossible for me ! Your rationality has gone haywire, you trust others in every possible way. It is so easy to deceive you! What had you marked in that gentleman’s eyes, I can’t say, but you came under the influence of a deceiver, in a jiffy, that I can see with my eyes! 
Gautam: The man is not an impostor. He is a man of strange powers. 
Nandita: No good can come out of any power that perplexes man. I take a mesmerist to be just a ‘mesmerist’, not a whit more than that. 
Gautam: But the man is even more than a mesmerist. Something else is there in him. The gentleman is strikingly mysterious, much hidden strength is there in him. 
Nandita: Hidden strength may even be portentous. We have still no idea about his  motive, the words of his mouth might not be true even.
Gautam: At least , the man is not a liar. He wants to have you just as a ‘medium’.
Nandita: I heard it.
Gautam: You only can lead us to the box, by acting as a ‘medium’.
 Nandita: Do you believe all these?
Gautam: I have no way but to have faith in some thing or other. Nanditadevi, I want to open the box by any means. Nanditadevi, you took me as your friend, tried to understand me, hoped to save me. If that’s true, won’t you try to help me out at this moment? Believe me, I might come to know the conundrum of the key right now. Please let me know. Truth or fib, please help me get hold of the box. Please help me emerge out of this uncouth darkness. I request you to give in.
Nandita: Once everything proves to be  hoax, can you imagine how hurt will you be?
Gautam: Yet this is my last attempt. All my efforts to find it out proved vain so far.I can’t even see any way to track it down. I can’t bear the weight of a nonsensical key anymore. Something has to be opened, what’s that? The pain of this misgiving  is simply unbearable. What am I being with each passing day? Tremendously broken! A door , if opened, could solve some mystery, but, I cannot open the door, cannot break it too. If some supernatural gush of wind stirs the door today, won’t you be kind enough to open it with the touch of your finger, if you can—won’t you?
 Nandita: Okay , call him, if you are pleased. I shall act as a medium. 
Gautam: You are really kind! Please wait, let me call him first. [crying out] Somendubabu! Somendubabu!
  [Somendu comes in]
Somendu: Thanks a lot, Nanditadevi! You will chant that incantation of Alibaba…The stone-door will open.. You will touch that  box floating through the fearful blackness, like a silver- lamplight –our hearts will glitter by the gems and the fabulous shine of those treasures. 
Gautam: Gems and the colossal moonshine of those treasures! In a hidden casket, moonlight lies captivated, with stifled breath, and I shall open it—what magnificent liberty!
Somendu: Let us begin our mission. The table has to be brought in the middle. [Somendu and Gautam lugged the table into the middle] And, the light? [turned the flame feeble] Nanditadevi, you and I will sit face to face Gautambabu, sit on the other end with a pen and paper. You will keep taking down whatever Nanditadevi will utter. Come, let’s sit down.
                     [They sit as decided. The mesmerizing posture of Somendu, his voice and way , would remind us of an experienced yet curious hypnotist.]
Somendu: Nanditadevi, look into my eyes, look deep into the magic mirror of my eyes. Think as if you are walking in your sleep, your body is getting light…so light that you could float in the air if you so desire. Now you can see more, you can see many newer spectacles. A strange mysterious wave is stirring in you, you are seeing the path in a novel sort of light, your inner within is aflutter with light and darkness. [Nandita would look to be in a trance, gradually] Now, you can see into the soul of the flower, the green flow that sweeps through the trees can be felt in your breast, you can feel the stir of the everlasting azure of the sky. Can’t you?  Nanditadevi, you can have a look at many a thing, can’t you?
[Nandita nods] 
Gautam: How strange! I —               [Immediately he falls silent at the motioning of Somendu] 
Somendu: Nanditadevi, what are you searching for?
Nanditadevi: [in a tired, monotonous, mechanical tone]: A box, an engraved treasure-casket of gems!
Somendu: Where lies the box?
Nandita: Looking for it, I am out to find it.
Somendu: Where are you looking for it? Look into my eyes, you will get it, you shall get it. 
Nandita: I cannot see anything inside your eyes, fog, just wet mist.
 Somendu: Now look, you will get to see, please look; the mist is getting dispelled, isn’t it?
Nandita: The fog is disappearing. Mists are getting blown off. I can see the casket, what a beautiful box! [Standing up in excitement, Gautam takes his seat again, at the behest of Somendu] 
 Somendu: Where is the box?
 Nandita: This room in your eyes; this room, it is spinning round in this room.
 Somendu: Keep watch, where the box moves to.
Nandita: A ball of cloud is enveloping the box, shoving it; shadowing it, trying to drift it away. 
Somendu: Observe, where the box moves by. Is it drifting out of the room?
Nandita: The cloud is drifting apart; the box is gliding by beyond this room, it is floating out  in the mild  breeze.
Somendu: Keep looking at it. Keep an eye, where it goes out—follow it closely.
   [Nandita is looking dog-tired and troubled]
Gautam: She is in pains. Somendu, it pains her.
Somendu: Nanditadevi, lean back your head on the chair. Close your eyes. Now, you will be able to see everything by keeping your eyes closed.  [Holding back her fatigued head on the chair , Nandita shuts her eyes] Now, where is the box? In the garden?
Nandita: In the garden.
Somendu: Where exactly in the garden? Any tree? Near any tree?
 Nandita: Yes, a tree, a tree…
Somendu: Tell me, which tree? Which tree?
Nandita: A tree, a..[[it seems , she cannot pronounce because of pain] 
 Somendu: Which tree? Red oleander? Beneath the red oleander tree? 
Nandita: Red oleander tree, beneath the red oleander tree—[uttering the words in terrible pain, she suspends her head like one, lying unconscious]
Gautam:[yelling]Got it, I got it! But, Nanditadevi, perhaps, has fallen ill.
Somendu: Nothing to fear. She will come round gradually. Now, give me the key.  
Gautam[visibly perturbed]: No, the key will lie with me, I shall open it. You better see that Nanditadevi gets back to normal in the meanwhile, I shall not open the box till her eyes stay closed; I shall open it in front of her eyes and see how the captive , strangulated moonshine comes aflame, gradually! Please wait, I am going to the garden with a shovel. 
 Somendu: Wait… you better stay back near her, I shall fetch the box.
Gautam[in a suppressed excitement]: No way! The box is mine as well as the key—I shall not allow anyone. I shall dig it out- I, I, I! I shall prise it open for the first time, I shall take a look at it, I shall see, I shall touch, I shall be the first one to cry in delight! I shall not allow anyone to touch it - no, never, never! 
                     [Gautam stands almost near the wall, retracing his steps back]
Somendu[in a calm, grave voice]: You stay back with her. I shall go. You need to stay beside her now, at this point of time. Please trust me. Let the key be with you, you , yourself will open it. I shall only fetch the box, that’s it. This is my duty—please help me mind my responsibility fully. I shall not escape. How can I flee away, the garden being surrounded by a high wall? Better you hold the gun in your hand—you will feel courageous. In any case, I shall not be able to emulate the gun. 
Gautam: So you want to go. All right, go, find the shovel near the staircase.
Somendu[inching near Nandita]: Nanditadevi, please look [she looks up], please come back with gingerly steps, return with slow and cautious steps. 
   [Somendu throws a glance at Nandita. Nandita looks at him with weary eyes. With mild, silent smile , Somendu heads towards the garden.]
Gautam: Nanditadevi, you came up with the news of that casket. You, perhaps, are not aware of a great deed you have done! Look at me, please do look at me. Please get well. You have to take a look at it. I shall not feel good , if you do not see it. Nanditadevi, are you feeling a bit better now? Can you hear, Somendubabu is digging earth with the shovel, can you hear the noise? Moonlight will spurt out from beneath the ground. Don’t you long for seeing it?
                                     [Nandita nods wearily]
Gautam: Please hold my hand. Walk with slow steps. You will feel better, feel hale. [lifting her with her hand, he makes her move slowly.]Gautam[Shouting
Gautam: Nanditadevi, Nandita—this is the first time I touch you. I am feeling so happy to be with you.! I shall call you, Nandita, only Nandita. Your name will sound light, just like your glance—Nandita, Nandita—just Nandita. Please speak out. I shall drop you at your place. Let the people of the world say whatever they like—I shall not obey them. I shall turn deaf ears to them. Nandita, are you feeling the walk painful? Please sit in here. [Nandita sits down, Gautam casts an engrossed glance at her face]. How strange! I am not addressing ‘revered You’ [apni,  in Bengali , is a reverential term] anymore! Just as the petals of a flower open smoothly, effortlessly, in the same way, silently, joyously, suddenly, I am addressing you ‘tumi’[an endearing address]. Nandita, Nandita, can you hear me? [Nandita’s face appeared graceful. She looked up much more distinctly.] Nandita, Somendubabu will come right now with that box, I can’t hear the noise of the shovel anymore. Speak out, can you recognize me? Tell me , what’s my name? Tell me??
Nandita[in a feeble, indistinct voice]: G-a-u-t-a-m  B-a-n-e-r-j-e-e! Gautam Banerjee!
Gautam: Repeat it! Pronounce it distinctly!
Nandita: Gautam Banerjee; Gautam—I can’t say, Gautam, Gautam—Gautam—
[Lowering the head on the table she keeps on uttering the word ‘Gautam’ , again and again. It seems, as if, she is smearing the name on her entire mind—in pain, in mirth, on the sly.]
Gautam: How splendid my name sounds on your mouth! I did not know, did not know!
  [With an earth-sodden, artistically engraved small box in his hand, Somendu appears near the door , in a sombre face]  
Gautam[yelling at the top of his voice]: Look Nandita,  look—yonder is that box, that box! 
  [He runs to take the box with both his hands and presses his own face on it! Gradually, the face turns pale, lacklustre! Nandita keeps looking at him, feebly. Gautam moves forward in very slow, slackened steps.]
Gautam: The box is so light! If nothing remains inside! I am afraid of opening it, Nandita, I am really afraid! 
  Somendu: The key is with you. Please open. 
Gautam: Shall I open it?
 Somendu: You have no choice but to open. I too have a share,  haven’t I ?
  [Gautam opens it. Lifting the lid, he looks in with wide-eyed wonder. His face is awash with illimitable wonder and weariness of anguish.]
Gautam: Oh! What is it? Not a trace of gems and treasures is there in this casket—just a key resembling the key in my hand rests in here- just another KEY! Oh God, again a key!!
Somendu: That cannot be broken in moiety! I am leaving. I don’t know what gain I had in this game! Whatever is there, may rest with you. Goodbye, let me go, I was expecting such a finale, however! 
                                       [Somendu leaves]
Gautam: Nandita, I am feeling so tired! What terrible ennui it is! Nandita, shall this key lead me to any other treasure-casket? Look at me, shall I again launch a quest? Shall I eep searching like this room in its entirety, the walls, digging deep int my heart? [gazing at Nandita’s face] How radiant your face looks, what am I seeing in your face? What am I seeing in your sight? Nandita, it seems as though the finely ornamented gems-casket lies in your heart, I hadn’t found it so long…. Nandita you have loads of pearls inside yourself, tons of diamond… all you have arranged beautifully in that box! I shall immerse my countenance in the glow of diamond; do what you please with me—throw me off into the sea, cast me away to the firmament, drop me into the hell, do whatever you like to! But, Nandita[,in a broken, distressed scream]if I again come across a key, opening the box inside your heart…just a key!!
  [Gautam’s sad, weary head hangs down. Nandita keeps on throwing a morose glance.]

Ketaki Datta

Ketaki Datta
Dr. Ketaki Datta is an Associate Professor of English with W.B.E.S. She is a novelist, short story writer, poet, translator, editor and reviewer. She has two novels to her credit, “A Bird Alone” [2008] and “One Year for Mourning” [2014]. Her translated novels are three in number, “Shesh Namaskar: The Last Salute” [Sahitya Akademi, 2013],” Jarasandha’s Paadi : The Voyage” [Booksway, 2009],“Selected Short Stories of Rabindranath Tagore in Translation” [Avenel, 2015], “Kumarsambhab and Sakuntala” in “Pracin Sahitya” [Visva Bharati and CENTIL, J.U.,2017], “Nineteenth Century Women’s Writing and Writing for Women in Translation” [Bhawanipur Education Society College and CENTIL, J.U.,2015], , umpteen translated stories were published in “Indian Literature”[Sahitya Akademi],” Pratibha India, anthologies like “Three Stories by Tapan Bandyopadhyay”[2012] etc. “Oral Stories of the Totos” by her has been recently published by Sahitya Akademi[2021], “ Somewhere Beyond, Someplace Else: A Book of Travel Essays”[2021] originally by Shyamali Bhadra Pramanik’s “ Anya Kotha Anya Konkhaney”, Ananda Publishers, was by her too. “Literature in Translation” [Avenel Press, 2014] has been edited by her. Indian Literature [Sahitya Akademi] has published a translated story by her [Non-Citizen] in their Sept-Nov issue of 2021. Stalks of Lotus [Antonym] contains a translated story by her. “The Value of Woman” originally by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay [Narir Mullya] has been launched this year in the Kolkata Book Fair. Three of her translated stories are in press, two with Orient Black swan and one with Niyogi Books[ just published]. In April 2024, Black Eagle Books has published the translation of ‘Dhruvaputra’, a Sahitya-Award winning novel, originally written by Amar Mitra in Bengali.

Life envisaged from different Angles

A few translated poems

originally by Ranajit Das
Translation by Ketaki Datta

Author Bio: Ranajit Das [born 1949] is an eminent Bengali poet, a recipient of numerous awards like Birendra Smriti Puraskar, Paschim Banga Bangla Academy Award and Rabindra Puraskar. He has ten volumes of poems, one novel and two books of literary essays. Amader Lajuk Kobita, Ishwarer Chokh, Asamapto Alingan, Sondhyar Pagol are a few noted books of poems by him. A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems is a book of his translated poems, published by Rupa and Co. in 2011. In 2012, he represented India in the Literary Festival in Croatia.


Expiry-Date
Ketaki Datta

Each love-affair comes with
a tag of expiry-date!
Before kissing her, go down on your knees,
Twist her body a bit, to read
the alphabets in Braille, with the arcane date,
Inscribed on the pore of each hair on her body,
Dot by dot, on the curve of her arched waist,
Running your eyeless fingers on them.

And again, as you stand up for another kiss,
Mark with keen eyes how the neon-sign
of that latent date
flickers like traffic lights,
In the eyes of your beloved!

Kiss now, like an enraged lunatic,
Fearing an inevitable break-up—
Anytime, just anytime!

Each kiss is a valedictory one!

Each love-affair sports an
Expiry-date on it;
Before planting a kiss, read it,
Feeling it with your blindman’s fingers!

[Expiry Date, a poem in the collection Asamapto Alingan, 2016]
***


Alien
The robots sit together,
The metro-compartment is dreadfully still!
Rows of lowered heads glued to their cell-phones,
With headphones stuck into their ears,
With the red-blue glow of the phone-screens
Toying on their faces,
Taking after Satan’s searchlight, as though
It’s the deadly beacon of the ‘Blue Whale’ game!

Robot or Alien? None raises his face to the world,
Robot or Alien?
No one lifts his face to the universe.
Who are they standing in front? Friends, women,
exhausted old blokes,
Tamarisk-clump or the waves of the ocean?
Submerged in the ‘virtual’, none pops his mien up
to the world!
Being nonchalant to the sun, the clouds, the grains or love,
staying utterly unconcerned,
Digital mesmerism keeps shaping up the Cyborg,
Human terrain gets effaced, turns obsolete.

In the subterranean train of the evening,
I sit scared, morose,
Array of faces lost in their mobile phones
are all quiet aliens in disguise.
I am alone in their midst, the near-extinct,
last man on earth,
Holding a book of starry verses in my hands,
In whose bosom life’s frothy sea stands concealed!

[Alien contained in Bishadsindhur Kichu Lekha, 2018]
***


Corona Virus

Just a message to deliver:
‘Beware of playing mischief with Nature
anymore, so mindlessly!
In the wrath of the forest lurks
the virus: Corona,
Mind you!’

Just a message to disseminate:
‘Refrain from having Chinese dinner
with fresh blood of the bats –
Never carve out shoes for the Americans
from the hide of a pangolin,
In the rage of the forest stays the pathogen,
Corona!’
Just a message to spread:
‘Have-nots of the world, recognise once more,
The hypocrite, the ferocious, the bourgeois
and the middle-class too,
who love to live by putting on masks and gloves,
watching the television, being regaled with songs,
driving the destitute, the hapless and the migrant labourers
to death on the thoroughfare itself!

Long back, Karl Marx had predicted it,
Bow down to his grave once again!’

Just a message to deliver:
‘Selfie-addict humans now lend your ears
to the Oracle of Delphi,
Man is in need of Nature,
But Nature doesn’t need Man.
You have ruined this planet
with sin and pollution,
If you still do not rectify yourself, abstaining from
limitless consumption and lechery,
Then I shall goad you on to absolute extinction
with the angry whiff of the virus,
harboured in the blood of the wild animals!
Do store it in your memory,
Mr. and Mrs. Homo Sapiens!’

[Corona Virus , contained in the collection Ashrur Debota, 2016]
***


India Tour of Sherlock Holmes

Numerous dung-cakes line up the wall, look!
Each dung-cake bears the deep imprint of a palm,
Can you see, dear Watson?
This is the only investigating link here,
in this land. Tell me, Watson,
These marvellous wall-’script of palm-marks,
nourished by sunlight and excreta,
Each fold of which encapsulates
woebegone Dravidian fingers
of emaciated women,
Could you detect in them any crime, soft-murder,
Sun-incineration with any yardstick,
descended from God,
One by one?

[ Sherlock Holmes er Bharat Bhraman contained in Samay, Sabuj Dayini, 1984]
***


Mad Woman
Quite often, the children on their way back home from school, close in on a mad woman on the road and pester her, saying, “Hey you, mad woman, would you like to have a banana? Hey you, insane lady, would you like to go to Dharmatolla?” The lunatic wench then rushes towards them to retaliate. Immediately, the kids feign to escape like a pack of wild dogs, though they still encircle the victim, altering their strategy. In such a frenzy of irritating the mad woman, the kids pelt her with stones and burst into peals of laughter. This spectacle, no doubt, is an irrefutable proof that human beings are invariably the children of Satan. While returning from office, I rebuke the children, “Hey kids, why are you after her? Do not irritate her, I warn you!” Startled, the children fix me with a stare, in which anger is writ large, as if I have snatched off the prey from their mouth. This moment seems to throw the hardest gauntlet to my personality! They are neither the band of party-cadres surrounding me in front of my house, demanding exorbitant puja-subscription, nor they are the highway hooligans of solitary thoroughfare, during midnight! But they are the dreariest of all, they are schoolboys hemming in an insane woman, I know. If my individuality betrays me a bit at this point, these fierce and violent kids will flock around me as their fresh victim, changing their gameplan. They will tug at my briefcase, hurl pebbles at me and shout in unison, “Hey you, insane, would you like to have a plantain? Hey you, madman, would you like to travel to Dharmatolla?” The stones hurled by them will hurt me, I may get infuriated to fly at them threateningly, they will pose an escape and laugh aloud, noisily, and being circumscribed by them all around, I shall keep losing my mind, slowly, gradually…
Would then the madwoman lift a stone in her hand to avenge in my support??

[Paagli from Dhanksheter Brishtir Kobita,2013]
_____________________________________________

Translator Bio: Ketaki Datta is an Associate Professor of English with W.B.E.S. She is a novelist, short story writer, poet, translator, editor and reviewer. She has two novels to her credit, “A Bird Alone” [2008] and “One Year for Mourning” [2014]. Her translated novels are three in number, “Shesh Namaskar: The Last Salute” [Sahitya Akademi, 2013],” Jarasandha’s Paadi : The Voyage” [Booksway, 2009],“Selected Short Stories of Rabindranath Tagore in Translation” [Avenel, 2015], “Kumarsambhab and Sakuntala” in “Pracin Sahitya” [Visva Bharati and CENTIL, J.U.,2017], “Nineteenth Century Women’s Writing and Writing for Women in Translation” [Bhawanipur Education Society College and CENTIL, J.U.,2015], , umpteen translated stories were published in “Indian Literature”[Sahitya Akademi],” Pratibha India, anthologies like “Three Stories by Tapan Bandyopadhyay”[2012] etc. “Oral Stories of the Totos” by her has been recently published by Sahitya Akademi[2021], “ Somewhere Beyond, Someplace Else: A Book of Travel Essays”[2021] originally by Shyamali Bhadra Pramanik’s “ Anya Kotha Anya Konkhaney”, Ananda Publishers, was by her too. “Literature in Translation” [Avenel Press, 2014] has been edited by her. Indian Literature [Sahitya Akademi] has published a translated story by her [Non-Citizen] in their Sept-Nov issue of 2021. Stalks of Lotus [Antonym] contains a translated story by her. “The Value of Woman” originally by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay [Narir Mullya] has been launched this year in the Kolkata Book Fair. Three of her translated stories are in press, two with Orient Black swan and one with Niyogi Books[ just published]. In April 2024, Black Eagle Books has published the translation of ‘Dhruvaputra’, a Sahitya-Award winning novel, originally written by Amar Mitra in Bengali.

KETAKI DATTA, INDIA (Peace Poem)

Ketaki Datta
Peace be it 
                 
Peace is a five-letter word
of solace,
of beatitude,
of serenity,
of harmony,
of everything that induces a positive mind-set!

War-torn nations look for it
in the reflection of the moon,
on an autumn night.
On a famished face of a kid,
who lost his mother
to the beastly lust of a terrorist
before his eyes,
Peace comes as a slap,
as a word,
sleeping in the dull, sepia
pages of a lexicon!



Whither has Peace gone?                                

Langston Hughes raised his voice 
                  in protest against 
                  the Whites’ oppressing the Blacks!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning cried 
                 for the Italians being
                 maltreated by the Austrians!
We all cry hoarse against the Russians
                  wading in the blood
                  of the Ukrainians!
What joy do they get
          by drubbing the weak?
What delight can be had
          by boxing the ears of the meek?
 The wives, who work silently
       from dawn to dusk, 
Get beaten by the hulk incessantly,
       wrongly being taken to task!
Be at peace with yourselves, folks,
     Fetch Peace from the Heaven, if need be,
Peace is neither a magic nor a hoax,
      Try to find it in deeper within, sincerely! 


Profile:
Dr. Ketaki Datta is an Associate Professor in English of a Govt. College, Kolkata, India. She is a novelist, translator, book reviewer [with Compulsive Reader, USA, and Muse India, Hyderabad,India] and a poet. She has two novels, “A Bird Alone” and “One Year for Mourning”, the last being published by Partridge Publishing Co. USA. Her short stories have been widely anthologized. Her book of poems, “Across the Blue Horizon” was published by Feedaread Publishing, U.K. aided by Arts Council, England. Her book of poems with Prof. Wilfried Raussert has been published from Germany titled, “Urban Reflections: A Dialogue in Poetry and Photography”. Her latest book of poems is “The Music of Eternity” and she has translated three novels. She had visited Lisbon [Cidade Universitaria], Univ. of Oxford and Univ. of California [Santa Barbara] to present her research papers on invitation.

KETAKI DATTA, INDIA

Ketaki Datta
Dr. Ketaki Datta is a poet, novelist, translator, short story writer, and reviewer. She is a W.B.E.S. She teaches to earn her livelihood; she writes to earn the peace of existence. She has two novels, three books of poems, four books of translation and umpteen reviews and articles in journals and books, here and abroad. She has a few academic volumes to her credit too. 

MY SOUL AND I 
 
My soul in an ingratiating tone
greeted me twice in the morning,
Cadging favour? But what for?
Perhaps it forgot to be happy,
Eyeing me on the brink of disaster,
Each moment of my life.
Yet at the close of the day as I took
A bus down south,
To steal a few moments 
By the gurgling brook,
Somewhat languidly,
My soul popped up to sit be me,
Narrating its loneliness in different tropes,
Dictions, enunciations!
Solitude is a bliss sometimes,
Especially while talking to one’s soul.
I longed for the sky to turn ashen,
The clouds to throng the horizon,
I wished badly to be drenched to the bottom,
My soul and I!

Book Review: The Music of Eternity – Ketaki Datta

The Music of Eternity
– Ketaki Datta
Penprints
Pages: 67
Rs ₹ 250/-
First Edition 2022

Reviewed by Naina Dey

 

‘If winter comes can spring be far behind’

The immortal line from P.B. Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind” comes alive in novelist and poet Ketaki Datta’s recently published second book of poems The Music of Eternity containing fifty-one disparate poems of hope, ennui and despair, which taken together, become one profound commentary on life and its vicissitudes. Poems as “Dreams in the ears of Impossible”, Love or no Love” fuse the sensuousness and spirituality of Gibran and Neruda in their use of unusual similes and sensory images. Love for the poet ‘in the era of postmodernism/ Is like a desiccated grape,/ that needs an overhauling!’ (“A Post Modern Love Poem”) – a truth that shocks us by its starkness. And as if to corroborate this argument, what follows a little later is a masterful translation of Jibanananda Das’s  ‘Haoar Raat’ (‘A Wind-Swept Night’) – a tumult of sensuous delight.

Ketaki Datta

Love and its enigmatic passions get enmeshed in the factual battle of the sexes which finds apt expression in “Caught in between Mirror Images”, “Celebrating the Purest Emotion” and in the matter-of-fact poem with an equally matter-of-fact title “Cleaning the Countenance, Cleaning a Carpet”:

Carpet cleaning is an easy job

No doubt

Where promises held out

Can be kept, if willing,

But cleansing the dirt on a face,

Body and soul,

Inner within and the exterior,

Is not a fair job but foul,

Not an easy deed but hard,

That needs no vacuum cleaner,

But a strong will, never to be found in a sinner!

 

Naina Dey

Life’s struggles together with deprivation and discrimination affect women most, and their travails are sensitively portrayed in “Changing Roles”, Emotions Revisited”, “Sunday Roles and Women”, “From Here to Eternity”. Interestingly, “Fresh Juices and Parted Lips”, reminds us simultaneously of the ‘blushful Hippocrene’ and ‘purple-stained mouth’ of Keats and

Christina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market” in its gustatory and visual appeal as the vendor pushes his cart loaded with

Fresh fruits crush in juice

Fresh pulps melt in puce,

Tasty glasses to quench thirst

And made perfectly to win all heart.

 

But since the vendor will not offer the female onlooker a single glass, she will have to satisfy herself by drinking with her eyes.

However,  it is the poem “I am a Dalit Girl” which happens to be the most scathing indictment of the evils of casteism and untouchability that are corroding Indian society even today. Thus, the poor Dalit girl who has grown amidst torture and victimization, comes face to face with a horrible truth:

I am a Dalit girl,

Not meant to be touched,

But to be raped and tasted,

To have my chastity outraged!

 

Despite the utter darkness and disillusionment of poems like these, there are also the optimistic “Brand New World”, “Cage-Free Emotions” and “Bye, Bye Illness”, the last one celebrating human bonding during crisis, strongly reminiscent of O’Henry’s story The Last Leaf. “Famed/ Less Famed” is a tribute to all writers both famous and obscure, who are of equal importance to the poet for whom the merit of a book is just a matter of relativity:

Back home, my mom

Took up one by a less-known

Author, read and praised it to the skies!

 

The lockdown of 2020 and the post-covid era has initiated a deluge of a new brand of literary output based exclusively on covid times, and there are a significant number of such poems in The Music of Eternity. Therefore, “A Quiet Diwali”, “Bidding Adieu sans Touch”, “Corona Isolation yet a Hope!”, “Desire, Isolation, Proximity…” etc., mark the abrupt change in lifestyle after the advent of the dreaded virus.

Sarcastic snippets of a daily life of soulless materialism appear in poems like “Bawdy Banters”:

Money can buy fridge, TV, washing machine

It can buy rocking-chair, apartment

A skin-hugging garment,

And even a woman who can look after

A man and get filthy obscenities in return!

 

or in “Call it Rose or Fragranta”, Do’s and Don’ts” (a commentary on environmental pollution), “Going Down the Elevator” and so on. But Ketaki is capable of transcending mundane concerns when she is preoccupied with thoughts of Time and transience in “A Tale of Walking in and Leaving”, “Coma or Stupor” and “A Swing Sways on…..”, the last of these poems concluding thus:

The swing rocks to and fro,

The swing oscillates, on and on –

The past, the future

Fall in its trajectory,

Though it skims past

 The present, inadvertently!

Past to Future

Future to Past!

With Present intervening

Like an interlude of a medieval play!

 

At the end of life’s unpredictable merry-go-round journey so honestly and intensely portrayed by Datta without malice or attempt at confrontation or forcible conversion of preconceived notions, we realize the ultimate irony of existence (“Maxima Theatre and Rush Hours”):

All the world’s no doubt a stage

All roles are played to perfection

Life is no less a play – runs an adage,

And tales of idiots need no correction.

A Treasure-trove: a review of Oral Stories of the Totos.

Review by 
Sutanuka Ghosh Roy


Title: Oral Stories of the Totos
Author:  Ketaki Datta
Page: 134
ISBN: 978-93-5548-046-0 (Paperback)
Edition: (2021)
Price: ₹ 150 INR
Published by Sahitya Akademi
Reviewed by: Dr. Sutanuka Ghosh Roy.

  

Sutanuka Ghosh Roy
      The history of literature dates back to the earliest human society. Right from the beginning people created stories primarily to entertain themselves, also to educate others, and for other purposes. Much before the introduction of the writing system, such stories were transmitted orally from generation to generation. Oral Stories of the Totos compiled and edited by Ketaki Dutta has been recently published by Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi India. The present volume dwells on the evolution of the Oral Tradition of the Stories of the Totos and places them on the literary map of the world. A special reference has been made to their way of living, their sociological position, and the evolution of the tales that run in their clan. Further, Datta has placed these stories in comparison with similar tales of other tribes in the home and the world. This has catapulted the simple tales of this indigenous tribe to a universal plane. She has skillfully traced the trajectory of similarity or dissimilarity by way of comparing the narratives. Moreover, the book gives the readers an overview of the Toto folklore positing it on the map of the storytellers around the globe.

     Even after seventy-five years of Indian Independence, the Totos remain in the margin. Their stories remain largely unheard. They regale themselves by weaving their own stories and die unsung. This effort of Datta to make the world know of the tales of the Toto tribe is no doubt a commendable one. She has also added a few photographs clicked during her visit to Totopara. The oral stories of the tribes are a vast repository of knowledge and they are to be treasured. The privileged literate populace is equipped with all the amenities to cash in on, but these tribal the so-called weaker sections of the society are yet to find a foothold in the mainstream society. Largely ignorant of their rights they lack the basic amenities of life. However, they are proud of their culture which is reflected in their oral stories---myths, legends, and folktales. Datta writes “oral stories reflect their ways of living”. The book mentions the contribution of Dhaniram Toto, a prolific writer, and poet, a winner of the Adivasi Manab Kalyan Samiti Award who has helped Datta immensely to cull the tales she had been keen on including in this volume.

      Dhaniram is instrumental in getting the Toto language “carve a niche in the list of recognized languages of the tribes of India. These oral stories which are documented in this volume thus have a rich legacy of the culture of an endangered tribe too”. The book comprises Toto Folk Tales, in the translated version as well in the Toto language. There are fifteen tribal folktales in this volume. In the Toto folklore, there is an abundance of wild animals, like monkeys, tigers, boars, etc. The animals are either stupid or clever what is important is their behavior as narrated by the narrator largely reflects the attitudes of the tribal populace by and large. The tale of The Monkey and the Wild Fowl for example is a pointer to their behavioural pattern though narrated through the wild-animal representatives. Datta rightfully draws our attention to the fact that “the power-structure in tribes can also be understood from these tales as well as their varying emotion-intelligence graphs. However, cutting across all inequalities, there is homogeneity in these stories, pointing to the origin of man!”

    The Totos believe in the spirit, their tales are fraught with imaginary elements laced with a fairy-tale-like appeal just like any other folktale from any other part of the world. These tales speak of the suppressed desires of the tribal folk who try to ape the civil society through their wish-fulfillment in their stories like Pumpkin-shaped Mauriya, Mauriya in the Land of Ghosts, Mauriya in the Snare of the Queen of Dices. The Totos love to live in a world of fantasy, they love and respect their culture and these stories are a cementing factor—they bind them as a unit. An interesting element of these oral stories is that they can be retold by a new narrator. The oral transmission gets pepped up each time hence these tales offer a fresh perspective and can never be boring. However oral transmission has its shortcomings too. Hence it is important to document them properly. Datta has completed a mammoth task by compiling and editing these near-lost tales. The volume thus adds to the oeuvre of oral stories of the world.