fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya
fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya fहndi - Mahatma Gandhi Antarrashtriya Hindi Vishwavidyalaya
with his palms, but nothing happened.The woman was filled with intensegrief and fear.The man went outside, took somewater in his palm making it concave. Thewoman threw some droplets on the radiotaking water from her fingers. They Didthis again and again, but nothinghappened. Radio was silenced forever. Thewoman burst into tears. The man tried toconsole her in unknown voice, sometimesembracing her, sometimes looking at theradio and sometimes aimlessly goingoutside and coming back.The man had dug a pit by evening.The woman was holding the radio in herhands and the man sitting knelt downnearby the pit, holding his head in hispalms. The woman handed him the radiocoming closer to him and he buried it inthe bottom of the pit. Both started fillingthe pit with mud and earth.The woman was sobbing, while slidingmud in the pit. After filling the manoverburdened it with soiled mud andtreaded with feet. The woman broughtsome white and orange coloured powderfrom the jungle and the man a piece ofslender trunk of sagaun tree. All night herubbed the slender trunk thoroughly tomake it glazy and then dug it on the place.The women started making some figuresof wild animals and insects on it by herfingers from the paste made of colouredpowder and water.fgndi •Those were the saddest hours of theirlife.....sometimes, the woman rememberedthe radio.....A voice, her progeny. No matter ifit had not taken birth from her womb.No matter if never the semen of her manfloated inside her to shape that voice,to frame the call made as of only for her.When she clasped it in her chest her breastswere not containing even a drop of milk.....voice is made of her blood,undoubtedly.....voice has the blood of a woman inits veins, the naive vanity of her existence.....voice, the love. Voice, of too manyendless heartbeats.The woman from unknown, barren,secluded, dense and ghostly dark forestsof our times....A woman crying with broken hearton the grave of the voice.The government again called herpeople and ordered them to go in to thejungle, this time again to those peoplewhom they had given the radio. They mustfind out how much the people of jungleunderstood the world outside and whatchanges came through the radio in theirlives. Agents of government had been givenforms and papers to gather, fill and submitthe correct information regarding thisproject.That day, the outside man came verysecretly nearby the area of the man andthe woman. He sat along with in betweenApril-June 2013 :: 125
forest and open land. The man and womansaw him and came hastily towards him.The man was holding wooden spear andthe woman a burning piece of wood....the man saw the long canines andbig thorny nails from dreadful paws of thatferocious wild animal. It seemed to thewoman that this carnivore is just goingto attack her.The jungle man threw the spear withfull power towards him, broached his chestin a sudden blow. The outside man criedand fell down. The woman attacked himwith the burning wood. He got upstruggling and trembling and tried to runout of the deep jungle. The woman wascrying while attacking him again and again.The outside man ran away deep intoforest. He reached a rivulet coming fromhigh mountains flowing in sharp streams.A perennial stream made its way deep interra filled with vegetations. The man felldown nearby fainted and lost sense. Hisback and head was burnt and a flow ofblood from his chest was trickling in therivulet's flow.The year was 1952.In deep, dense, unknown, dark andprimitive jungles of Bastar, it was the firstmurder of a man from the outer world.Tarun Bhatnagar : Born at Raipur, is a poet and short story writer. He is in civil servicesin Madhya Pradesh. Tarun's first collection of short stories entitled 'Gulmehndi ki Jhadian'is published by Bharatiya Jnanpith, New Delhi. He lives and works in Bhopal.126 :: April-June 2013fgndi •
- 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 and 118: a rush for a plank she suddenly see
- Page 119 and 120: The Voice Which was Progeny...Tarun
- Page 121 and 122: growl, blare and shouts had compell
- Page 123: Broken bamboos and thatches strewed
- 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
with his palms, but nothing happened.The woman was filled with intensegrief and fear.The man went outside, took somewater in his palm making it concave. Thewoman threw some droplets on the radiotaking water from her fingers. They Didthis again and again, but nothinghappened. Radio was silenced forever. Thewoman burst into tears. The man tried toconsole her in unknown voice, sometimesembracing her, sometimes looking at theradio and sometimes aimlessly goingoutside and coming back.The man had dug a pit by evening.The woman was holding the radio in herhands and the man sitting knelt downnearby the pit, holding his head in hispalms. The woman handed him the radiocoming closer to him and he buried it inthe bottom of the pit. Both started fillingthe pit with mud and earth.The woman was sobbing, while slidingmud in the pit. After filling the manoverburdened it with soiled mud andtreaded with feet. The woman broughtsome white and orange coloured powderfrom the jungle and the man a piece ofslender trunk of sagaun tree. All night herubbed the slender trunk thoroughly tomake it glazy and then dug it on the place.The women started making some figuresof wild animals and insects on it by herfingers from the paste made of colouredpowder and water.fgndi •Those were the saddest hours of theirlife.....sometimes, the woman rememberedthe radio.....A voice, her progeny. No matter ifit had not taken birth from her womb.No matter if never the semen of her manfloated inside her to shape that voice,to frame the call made as of only for her.When she clasped it in her chest her breastswere not containing even a drop of milk.....voice is made of her blood,undoubtedly.....voice has the blood of a woman inits veins, the naive vanity of her existence.....voice, the love. Voice, of too manyendless heartbeats.The woman from unknown, barren,secluded, dense and ghostly dark forestsof our times....A woman crying with broken hearton the grave of the voice.The government again called herpeople and ordered them to go in to thejungle, this time again to those peoplewhom they had given the radio. They mustfind out how much the people of jungleunderstood the world outside and whatchanges came through the radio in theirlives. Agents of government had been givenforms and papers to gather, fill and submitthe correct information regarding thisproject.That day, the outside man came verysecretly nearby the area of the man andthe woman. He sat along with in betweenApril-June 2013 :: 125