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Date: Thu,  9 Aug 2001 10:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "unforget4.txt" begin>

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Swagato


CAUTION : THE COMPLETE WORK (PART-1 to PART-4) IS COPYRIGHTED BY
THE AUTHOR. REPRODUCTION OF ANY PORTION OF THIS WORK FOR PUBLIC
DISTRIBUTION IN PRINTED FORM OR THROUGH INTERNET OR
COMMERCIALISATION IN ANY FORM IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.


*******************Unforgettable Times:
Part-4*******************************

It was again a lovely spring morning. A mild touch of cold was
back with a feeble northerly breeze. There is always a
hide-and-seek play between feeble northerly cool breeze in the
morning and not so feeble lukewarm southerly breeze in the
afternoon of Spring. To tell more correctly, that is how Spring
used to be, during my childhood and early youth.

I had taken my bath early in the morning and put on a fresh set
of kurta-pajama. We were expecting the girls' group to arrive
anytime. In fact, Dida had  invited them for breakfast too.
Chandan was expected  later in the day, as he was quite busy with
his family and friends.

We were on the terrace, enjoying the soft northerly breeze, which
was getting milder and warmer with time.  We saw the girls
coming. Keka-di was wearing a lovely saree on an off-white base.
We were seeing each other on the fourth day and it was the fourth
saree that I was seeing. Today, she was looking amazingly
beautiful and was having a look of freshness after the bath. I
managed to whisper into her ears - "You are looking more
beautiful than ever before." She blushed- "Chup karo !"

The presence of five of us made the breakfast table really noisy.
Just three days back, we had a boy-girl barrier between us and
today, all of us were so close friends. Surely, each of us was
consciously trying to forget the sad fact that it was our last
day together and making more fun between us was the only way to
ensure that.

Dadu took us to his room. He was a famous personality, who came
in close contact with Rabindranath Tagore.  All of us could
understand his eagerness to share his nostalgia with the younger
generation. All five of us were sitting in his room. There
weren't enough chairs, so we were managing our places between his
cot and the floor. He was talking about  paintings and explaining
the different styles and methodologies that he had seen. Abhirup
and Sonali, that means his grandchildren had lots of interests
and knowledge about art and painting. Papiya and Keka-di too were
 good listeners and I guess both of them had a level of knowledge
and abilities  way ahead of mine. About me, less said the better.
Nripen babu, our art teacher in the school used to tell me every
time after the "Drawing" exams - "Swagato, its so difficult for
me to make you pass this subject." Thank God, the marks of
Drawing exams didn't form a part of the aggregate. Otherwise, I
am sure, Abhirup would have taken an unbeatable lead over me
everytime. 
I was getting bored, because I couldn't understand anything out
of the topic. I knew it would look bad and  would be
disrespectful to the old man if I had left the room, but at one
stage, I made some pretext of going out of the room.

I was walking around the garden of "Nirala". The name of this
house was "Nirala", meaning solitude. Every house in
Shantiniketan has a name, a tradition initiated by Tagore. The
garden in Spring was looking beautiful - the colours, the
fragrance and the wandering of bees around. I went to the upper
floor of the studio house, where we were staying. I kept the
windows open, allowing fresh air to fill the room. I wanted to
spend some time with myself. There was a transistor radio set in
the room. In those days, we were too fond of radios and
gramophone records. The "idiot box" was yet to damage our
cultural and social life.

The radio was on. Closing my eyes, I was listening to Sagar Sen 
softly singing a touchy Tagore song:

"Prem esechhilo, nihshabda charane....."

In my life too, love came so silently ! The contradiction between
my dreams and realities was making me sad.

****

"Ki korchhile, ekaa ?" I didn't notice when Keka-di had walked
in. Perhaps her steps were too silent.

"If I say, I was thinking of you."

"No, no Swagato. Didn't I tell you to forget me ? " I sensed
Keka-di was unable to keep her voice steady.

"How do I Keka ? How do I ?" For the first time, I dropped the
suffix "-di".

Both of us were silent for a few moments.

"Why did you come here ?" I asked.

"I was unmindful. Couldn't concentrate on Dadu's topics. With
Abhirup , Sonali and Papiya  deeply engrossed into it, I thought
I needed a break." She paused and continued, "No, no, I didn't
tell you the truth. I just wanted to be with you. Only that !"

"Keka !" I cried out, throwing my arms to her for a deep deep
embrace.

"Would you just sit down beside me for a while ?" I asked. She
sat down next to me on the bed. We were looking at each other's
eyes.

"Ki chaao ?" was her shortest possible question. It sent triggers
to me. My body was roasting with a heat that was coming from
within. I knew what my body wanted, but do I ask for it ?


"If I say, I want everything, would you .. would you ?" Perhaps,
that's the question I wanted to ask. But no, I couldn't put
forward that question. I had to understand the realities. Despite
my own urge and fantasies for lovemaking, I wanted her to remain
perfectly "pure". Readers may start endless debate with me about
associating the word "purity"  with virginity. Its definition may
change from time to time, place to place, but that is what we
were tuned to believe in our Indian society and culture.

"Ektuku chhnoa..." my reply too was as short as her question.
Just the first two words of the song which I  was still singing
within.

I brought my lips to hers. Close, closer and then came the final
moment of touch. I can't describe what was going on within my
body, within my mind - a kind of feeling that is difficult  to
narrate. She opened her mouth, so did I, breathing deeply through
each other. Our wet tongues started exploring each other's mouth,
as much deep within as possible.

"Ohhhh, naaa Swagato,... eiiiii.... ki korchho... lokkhi 
aamaar...." she said with a voice that was softer and huskier
than her usual one. It was more like a mumble, but there was such
a deep feeling of liking within her, within me.

"Keka-di, bhishon......bhishon bhaalo lagchhe, ....aami
chharbona....Keka-di, aami chharbona..." I said, moving deeper
and deeper into my hitherto unknown territories of love, where I
wanted to remain for ever. When breathing was getting more 
difficult with the tightness of our embrace, we moved our lips
apart and started caressing each other with our fingers. When my
fingers rested upon the softness of her breasts, it  caused an
electrifying sensation in me, as if I reached the point of
explosion.

"Keka-di, did you sense my accidental touch here during colour
play ?" I asked. Now, my nervousness wasn't  there any more.

"I did. You know one thing Swagato ? God has gifted us with more
senses than what you would ever imagine. And a girl rarely makes
a mistake to understand what is intentional and what is not, what
is decent and what is not. The touch signals her everything to
the brain."
I pressed her breasts. Everything was so soft inside that I
didn't feel like hurting her with anything more than that degree
of gentleness.

"Can't I rest my face here Keka-di ?"

Before I could complete my plea, she dragged me close within her
valley between the breasts. The buttons of her blouse was
interfering with my nose. She herself realized it and unbuttoned
the top two buttons, exposing her bras.

I now kissed her valley. One, two,...more, more and more......My
passion was driving me to move my mouth uphill, but she reminded
me to apply  the brakes.

"Aar naa.. lokkhi....lokkhi amaar...kathaa shono....er por
.....er por aamio aar samlaate paarbonaa je..."

"Keep the remaining for later. I won't be there in your life
then, but someone, surely someone very very nice," she continued.
I realized that my hardness was resting on her thighs and still
throbbing. But I listened to her warnings and got up, but not
before yet another deep passionate kiss.


"Oh no ! Look at yourself ! You   have lipstick marks on your
lips...ishhhhh" Keka-di smiled, as she buttoned her blouse and
re-adjusted her saree into position. Before I could look at
myself on the mirror,  she came to me with her handkerchief and
wiped those marks off.

I quickly grabbed the handkerchief from her hands and said, "This
will remain with me for ever as a souvenir of today."

"Rumaal chor !" she scolded me. ( Rumaal chor is a kind of game
which kids play in Bengal, using the handkerchief).

"I couldn't steal you. Just managed to steal this handky." I
said. Perhaps my words brought in an atmosphere of sombre and I
had to soften it out.


"Won't you sing, Keka-di ? You had promised." I reminded.

"I will. Only for you." she said.

"Then do"

The words of the song which she sang were touchier than any other
song that she could sing at that moment.  It tells the lover to
remember her for ever. The lyrics and melody is unforgettable,
perhaps one of the best creations of Tagore. From my own ideas
about Tagore songs, all that I can say is that singing this song
is not all that easy. The song belongs to the "tappa" category.
It requires a special skill and devotion. Only top class  singers
dare to sing it:

"Tobu mone rekho,
Jadi doore jaai chole...."

How could she sing so perfectly ?  As I was realizing each and
every words of it, I had to turn my eyes away from hers. Just to
hide my emotions.

I was stunned after listening to her song. One doesn't find this
level of singing talent too often.

"Eto sundar !" That was the only praise I could utter.

"Ke kaar kotha bolchhe ?" she asked with modesty.

"Keka-r kotha bolchhi". Both of us laughed together, having used
our rich language in an ornamental way.

"Now you sing a song." she requested.

"Keka-di, since last two days, I have been singing only one song
within me. The song of touch, the song of  love in Spring -

"....Jetuku jaay re doore
Bhaabnaa knaapaay sure
Taai niye jaay belaa
Noopur-ero taal guni
Rochi mamo phaalguni
Ektuku chhnoaa laage
Ektuku kathaa shuni..."

"Would you let me learn the tunes from you ?" she asked.

"Okay, sing with me .." I said. We sang together.

It was almost twelve o'clock at noon. Abhirup, Sonali and Papiya
were still with Dadu. Chandan was yet to come. Dida was preparing
our lunch.

"I think I should leave now and try to help Dida. You be
here...." Keka-di left my room. The fragrance of her perfume and
the fragrance of hers remained. I was left alone with the intense
heat of love still boiling within me.

*********

Chandan was perfectly on time for lunch. Dida had prepared
"khichuri" (a delicious mouthwatering blend of rice, lentil and
Indian spices) and it was ready, just piping hot. Khichuri is
generally served with some fries and in our case, it was small
cut pieces of brinjal (aubergine) fried in a batter. Keka-di had
taken charge of the frying process and most of the fries were
stolen by us before it could reach the dining table. It was a
great fun, when myself and Abhirup together carried the largest
sized casserole, filled with steaming hot khichuri.

"Oh, that's great ! You know, we are going to enjoy today's lunch
with one more item. That's Dida's limericks." Chandan made an
announcement in the dining table.

"Wow ! Never knew that Dida composes limericks. " All of us
expressed our joy simultaneously.

There was so much of fun at the table. Dida was reciting some
limericks from her memory and a few were composed instantly. A
few of those referred to our group of six. I was just amazed by
her talents.

After the lunch, Dida requested us for songs. Dida also joined
our group for the afternoon, making it a group of seven. This
time, I didn't sing the love or spring songs of Tagore, rather
picked up a few from his devotional (Puja) songs. Keka-di sang
only one song, with the best of her talents :

"Nibhrito Pranero Devataa,
Jekhaane thaaken ekaa-----"

All of us were speechless and felt that no amount of praise would
do justice to her talents. Dida said, "I  wish you had stayed
back in Gurudev Rabindranath's place for ever. How could you pick
up this Rabindrik style ?"

Her versatility is unimaginable. When Dida left our gathering,
the same "Rabindrik" singer started singing  the modern Bengali
songs recorded by Lata Mangeshkar.The one which is still ringing
in my ears is : "Aaj ei mon cheye cheye aami haariye jabo ---".
Papiya was equally talented. She sang a few Hindi songs from its
golden era, recorded by Asha. All of us were enjoying our own
Lata-Asha combination as much as the records of real ones.

Dusk was setting in. We were still on the terrace and were in no
mood to depart. All of us were trying to prolong our stay as much
as we could.

"Tea is ready. Who is going to carry the tray up stairs ?" Dida
called us from the garden. A cup of tea always prolongs the chat
session. So it did.

It was time to keep the tray with used cups back to Dida's
kitchen. I started carrying it, but Keka-di came running.

"Come on, be careful ! Don't spoil Dida's lovely bone china tea
set. Let me help you." So, we came together.

While coming back to the terrace, Keka-di wanted to use the
bathroom attached to our room. When she came back, I couldn't
help embracing her once more. As my hands travelled through her
shoulders, her back and upto her buttocks, my tool again
stiffened, like a rock.

"Keka-di, once more, please, once more" I begged.

"Be careful of the lipstick this
time....Ummmmm.....ummmm...eiii...eiii....ki korchho....lokkhi
amaar.....  byaas....eibaar chharo ..." The smell of hers had
become so familiar to me by now. 

"I'm not afraid of your lipstick any more. Your handky remains
with me." I said, waving her handky.

"Rumaal chor !!! Give it to me for a minute, then it will be
yours." She took the handkerchief and wiped her face.

"Swagato, would you just sing the sanchaari of the song once more
? I have a small doubt, you know..." she  asked me. I was still
singing within me and now I sang aloud,

"...Jetuku kachhete ashe kshaniker phnaake phnaake,
Chakita maner kone swapaner chhobi aake ....."

When we went back to the terrace, Papiya asked, "Didi ! You took
so long a time ?"

I was nervous. Are we under suspicion  ? My heart was throbbing
with a nervousness.

But I admired the boldness of Keka-di. The question was asked to
her and she didn't fabricate any lie. Just said, "Learning a song
from Swagato..."


*************

Our final evening was over. Abhirup and I were alone in the room
of "Nirala." We had decided to get into the early morning
passenger train, so we had to wake up well before dawn. Can call
it a "wake up", because  I didn't sleep for the night. All the
time, I was thinking of Keka-di. I felt, she was still present in
my room.

I was fondly thinking of my moment within her breasts. If it had
happened this way ? I imagined -

I opened the next button of her blouse, ..then the next one..
then the last...then taking the  blouse  off  her hand. I
imagined, and I could, because it was my  own world with no
restrictions in it. Then....just an unhook to remove her bra...I
slowly took it off her body. Slowly, because I want to prolong
that moment...the greatest moment when I would get my first
glimpse of her lovely assets. I continue to move my  mouth up the
hill, up all the way through her softness, slowly, then reach the
stiffness of her peak,  which  so prominently indicates its
presence. I lick there,...and lick...and lick while I softly
massage the other member of her pair of treasures. I keep her
saree away, untie her petticoat.. slowly...slow enough so that I
can enjoy the moment of her ultimate nudity. Now she unfastens my
pajama, takes it off my  feet. We embrace again, closely, in our
nudity and then again put our lips together, travelling to a new
world which I explored only today. She touches my hardness,
helping it to get harder and harder. It was resting between her
legs, a wetness, a softness ...no no, it was getting difficult
for me to imagine. I didn't know  anything about its soft and
slippery feelings, only whatever my imaginations could permit,
but something I wanted in the ultimate, with a rhythm.

I was still singing within me-

"....Jetuku jaay re doore
Bhaabnaa knaapaay sure
Taai niye jaay belaa
Noopur-ero taal guni
Rochi mamo phaalguni
Ektuku chhnoaa laage
Ektuku kathaa shuni..."

Now a wetness was filling my eyes. Abhirup was sleeping. So, none
could see it.

**************

I never knew that a dawn in spring was so beautiful, our planet
is so lively with the birds' harmonious songs. I had my last look
at Nirala. The green turf was moist with fresh dew. The rickshaw
was taking me and Abhirup to Bolpur station. The same rickshaw
puller Jhontu, who had brought us from Bolpur station four days
back.

"You know dadababu, Gurudev-babu knew my father very well." he
said, as he carried us through the roads of  red gravels. I could
then realize that every dust particles of these red gravels
carried the fond memory of our greatest poet RabindranathTagore.

We were back again to Bolpur station. Keka-di and Papiya were
already there. Sonali had come to see them off.

It was time for the passenger train to steam in. The passenger
train was destined to go till Sealdah station and it was
convenient for Keka-di and Papiya to get down in their town on
the way. We could have gone all the way upto Sealdah to reach
Calcutta, but the passenger train was notorious for its delays
and excessively long scheduled arrival time. So, the plans were
that we would get down at Burdwan station and then get into
Dhanbad-Howrah Coalfilled Express to reach Calcutta faster. I had
a hectic day in store. I was supposed to have lunch with my
parents in Calcutta and then proceed to my hostel by the evening
train.

As the passenger train steamed in, I had the first feel of
missing those four unforgettable days. Sonali was in embrace with
Papiya nad Keka-di, with tears rolling through Sonali's eyes. In
the meantime, Chandan  also arrived with his cycle to see usoff.

"Swagato, promise me - when you come next time, stay with me." he
said.

But then, what about "Nirala" ? Our affectionate Dida ? Which one
am I going to forget ?

We said goodbye to :

"Moder Shantiniketan ....moder sob hote aapan amaader
Shantiniketan...."

**********

Four of us were in the train - Keka-di, Papiya, Abhirup and me.
We were singing. Just to prevent the sombre mood of the final
moments of our togetherness, we were singing songs of joy - songs
from Satyajit Ray's classic comedy film "Goopi Gyne Bagha Byne".

"O re Bagha re...Goopi re....ebaar bhege pori chupi chupi
re....."

Everytime, we were singing this song, the train was coming to a
halt with a jerk - ghyaachhhh....

After a brief pause, again the engine was sounding its whistle
"koooohhh" and we could hear the noise of steam puff release.

"Dekhe bichitro ei kando karkhanaa,
Eder rakam sakam giyechhe janaa....Bagha re...Bagha re...."

"I wish the train reaches Burdwan very very late, so that you
miss Coalfilled..",Papiya was telling. So let's sing again,

"O re Bagha re...Goopi re....ebaar bhege pori chupi chupi
re....."

Unbelievable ! Again ghyaachhh.....! The train halted.

Again it started. No, finally, we couldn't prolong our journey,
despite our wish. The train was entering the platform of Burdwan
station.

We got down. Coalfilled Express was running 15 minutes behind
schedule.  We still had some time  on the platform. We were
standing beside the window of the passenger train, where Keka-di
and Papiya were sitting. Before the passenger train blew its
whistle, I touched Papiya's hands. In those four days, I had
developed a sisterly feeling towards her. And then I touched
Keka-di's hands - for the last time.

The guard waved the green flag and the train slowly steamed off
with a puff. I was waving at them, they were waving at us. But
why was my vision getting blurred ? Was it because of the steam
puff or something else ?

I was feeling weak. I grabbed Abhirup's hands for a support. The
band-aid was still there on my toe. But the blister had
disappeared with a loving touch - a loving touch which every man
needs.



Coalfilled express was running in its own rhythm. With that I
mixed the rhythms of :

"....Jetuku jaay re doore
Bhaabnaa knaapaay sure
Taai niye jaay belaa
Noopur-ero taal guni
Rochi mamo phaalguni
Ektuku chhnoaa laage
Ektuku kathaa shuni..."

**********

After many, many years, I was travelling by the same route. This
time, I was alone , enjoying the comforts of air-conditioned
chair car in Shantiniketan Express. I was reading a magazine,
using my bifocal  lenses. The earphones of my walkman were
plugged into my ears. I was listening to Antonio Vivaldi's "Four
Seasons", specifically the melodies of Spring. No wonder,
romantic Spring is always so beautiful in every composer's
imaginations.


**********************************THE
END**********************************************************


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