fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya
fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya
mind were beginning to unknot : somethingsoft within her flooded her eyes and poureddown. For her father, for her brothers andsisters, and perhaps for her own self too,quiet notes of prayer were beginning togrow within her. 'Jadaanandaan, pangun,prakritividhira, mukti viklaan' 'GoddessAmbey! All those born deaf, lame, dumband blind, all those who earn release fromthe load of their sins and for whom allroads are closed, redeem all such afflictedones'.Away there, on the banks of the Ganga,funerals, food offerings, the immersion ofashes etcetera went on; the priests kepttaking the signatures of their patrons; wives,holding the hands of their husbands, divedagain and again into the river. And thehordes of hungry, naked and disabled whohad left sated with the halwa-puri feastspread out for them by the worthy sonsof Gokulnath, are today again afflicted bypangs of hunger, and are again on the lookoutupon the banks of the Ganga for someother worthy sons of some otherGokulnath.Chandrakanta, born 1938 in Srinagar, is a Vyas Samman laureate who is known for portrayalof Kashmir in its varted shades and her major books are: ’Ailan Gali Zinda hai’. Kathasatisar, mere bhojpatra,’ ‘abbu ne kaha tha’ and ‘antim sakshya.’ She lives in Gurgaon, Haryana.Raji Narsimhan, Migrating from journalism to creative writing in the seventies, Raji Narasimhan,writing in English, has produced to date five novels, two short story collections, two booksin literary criticism, and three translations from Hindi to English. Her novel, ‘Forever Free’published by Hind Pocket Books in 1979, was short listed for the Sahitya Akadami Award,and was on the English literature syllabus of the IIT, Delhi. ‘Sensibility Under Stress : Aspectsof Indo-English Writing’ was short listed for the Sahitya Akadami Award, and was recommendedreading for students in a number of universities. A second book of criticism, dealing withtranslation processes, is recently published. She lives in New Delhi.fgndi •April-June 2013 :: 119
The Voice Which was Progeny...Tarun BhatnagarThe AuthorIt was the time out of this world, from some other era, and neverever occurred again. It ended there.It was a village in that time.Was it really a village?Huts roofed of palm leaves thatches, far scattered and seldomto see in intensely dense jungle. Those were not huts, but somethingmuch, much older. They were not made of mud. Three sides closedand one front open in place of door. A horizontally erected wottlemade of bamboos and woods, mainly of bamboos that did notlook like a wall. A thatch of dry palm leaves resting on bambooframe tied with barks of trees. There is no word yet for this structureerected in an empty place surrounded by darkness of thick jungle.No doubt they are not huts or homes as we call. In the dialectof the jungle — a shape, that doesn't have a name yet but justa sound indicating it. I will rather call it shelter.Hardly a shelter it could be said? Even two people couldn'tsleep in it properly and is so tiny and low that their legs fromknees will be out of it.The same shelters in dense haunting silence of sagaun and saaltree woods, some much far from each other and some much morefar, somewhere deep in green black silence of the forest filled with120 :: April-June 2013fgndi •
- Page 67 and 68: isolated, lonely and stained with p
- Page 69 and 70: 3. A COFFIN AND A BOTTLEIn this roo
- Page 71 and 72: The omnipresence of your super imag
- Page 73 and 74: As I look at the black and white pr
- Page 75 and 76: But when I touched the door of the
- Page 77 and 78: 7. LIFEThat day when I entereda mag
- Page 79 and 80: 2. TEA WITH DONNEGood Morning, dear
- Page 81 and 82: 4. HI, KRISHNA!Hi, Krishna!What’r
- Page 83 and 84: Malbe Ka MalikMohan RakeshJai Ratan
- Page 85 and 86: 'Everything else has changed but no
- Page 87 and 88: feet, on a brick path near the open
- Page 89 and 90: ightened up on seeing Rakkha Pahalw
- Page 91 and 92: 'So what happened?''Nothing happene
- Page 93 and 94: Mad DelightMohan Rakesh was as much
- Page 95 and 96: In continuous rhythmic movements, h
- Page 97 and 98: is the silence within . . . silence
- Page 99 and 100: ehind. The man remains alone once a
- Page 101 and 102: stretching road ahead."And how much
- Page 103 and 104: the car."Tell me what do you want?"
- Page 105 and 106: "Was it necessary today itself ?" f
- Page 107 and 108: laughed father “not a morsel to e
- Page 109 and 110: Rites for The DepartedChandrakantaR
- Page 111 and 112: gazing at the swiveling waves of th
- Page 113 and 114: salutations to the Ganga : 'These p
- Page 115 and 116: He won his mukti in that instant of
- Page 117: a rush for a plank she suddenly see
- Page 121 and 122: growl, blare and shouts had compell
- Page 123 and 124: Broken bamboos and thatches strewed
- Page 125 and 126: forest and open land. The man and w
- Page 127 and 128: "But I have already taken the money
- Page 129 and 130: Ramrath and Bhagirathi's fate gave
- Page 131 and 132: than their son.That boy knew this m
- Page 133 and 134: of power of the original to be tran
- Page 135 and 136: the time. "That raises a question i
- Page 137 and 138: The novelist was translating her ow
- Page 139 and 140: 13th paragraph, Arundhati used the
- Page 141 and 142: Referencesi. 'Arundhati Roy, transl
- Page 143 and 144: translation of literature in Englis
- Page 145 and 146: Sons published it under its Traditi
- Page 147 and 148: here that he forgot to smile.'"Afte
- Page 149 and 150: are the opulence of royalty, strugg
- Page 151 and 152: wide web (www) which has created ap
- Page 153 and 154: in it move beyond Cultural Studies
- Page 155 and 156: Prize. Wasn't it in the early years
- Page 157 and 158: deep insight into the life and work
- Page 159: 25. Ms. Kanan Jhingan, 48, Swastik
The Voice Which was Progeny...Tarun BhatnagarThe AuthorIt was the time out of this world, from some other era, and neverever occurred again. It ended there.It was a village in that time.Was it really a village?Huts roofed of palm leaves thatches, far scattered and seldomto see in intensely dense jungle. Those were not huts, but somethingmuch, much older. They were not made of mud. Three sides closedand one front open in place of door. A horizontally erected wottlemade of bamboos and woods, mainly of bamboos that did notlook like a wall. A thatch of dry palm leaves resting on bambooframe tied with barks of trees. There is no word yet for this structureerected in an empty place surrounded by darkness of thick jungle.No doubt they are not huts or homes as we call. In the dialectof the jungle — a shape, that doesn't have a name yet but justa sound indicating it. I will rather call it shelter.Hardly a shelter it could be said? Even two people couldn'tsleep in it properly and is so tiny and low that their legs fromknees will be out of it.The same shelters in dense haunting silence of sagaun and saaltree woods, some much far from each other and some much morefar, somewhere deep in green black silence of the forest filled with120 :: April-June 2013fgndi •
Change language