A terrible goddess (8)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Debi, Debi, Debi!
You really had a crush on me in our Cotton College days? I had no idea! Moi xosaye gomei napau! And Indiana Jones? Moi? Is that how you saw me? Do I disappoint you now, Debi? Now that I have turned out to be just a boring old professor, poring over my books and not going off on wild adventures, fighting the forces of evil and rescuing damsels in distress? Ko sun Ai?
But ah-ha, meeting you in JNU at the PSR that day, that way! It was perhaps the most memorable day of my life… Did you know they do not allow people to sit on the rock anymore? Seh! I got an email from somebody in JNU the other day about how much things have changed at the University...
And do you know what happened this morning, Debi? I woke up and was reading the morning paper in bed, and I suddenly felt an emptiness because you were not there reading it with me with your head on my chest. I didn’t know I had got so used to it in the past two months, that it had become such an important part of my life. Janou, I told you it irritated me no end to have you suddenly sit up and send the pages flying from my hand just so you could stare at my face as though it was the last time you would ever see me again – and you did this almost every morning – but now I miss it, and I miss you, little one, mur konmani joni…
Aw, and about telling you about my book… Don’t hold a grudge against me, Majoni, if I cannot tell you much. Asalate, I feel I need to keep my thoughts about my book to myself, Majoni. You know it is much more than just a book to me – it is something I owe the goddess for everything that I have today in my life – including you. Mour xarbassa! And the goddess doesn’t like to be openly adored. Moi tu tuk koisuwe, her greatest lovers, her staunchest upaxak, have always loved her in secret; she appears only to them and to nobody else dei. Remember the priest Kendukalai and the king Naranarayan? When the king wanted a glimpse of Kamakhya who would appear in her naked glory to the priest Kendukalai, and the priest could not refuse, he was cursed and the priest blinded. Till this day the descendants of that unfortunate Koch king do not go to the goddess’s temple for fear of her wrath.
Tuk eitou koisu – and you know this very well – that it has always been a tradition that the goddess in some of her many forms needs to be worshipped in ways contrary to Vedic Hindu norms of worship and hence through secret societies and in secret locations – I told you about the bamasar rituals, nohoi? These owe perhaps in some measure to the influence of tantric Buddhism and in some measure to Kamakhya’s ‘tribal’ origins - and the fact that Aryan and Hindu hegemony have always denigrated ‘tribal’ practices. Since the Vedic times, the consort of our goddess, the non-Aryan Shiva – our Shibrai – has been worshipped secretly and even today, is only worshipped in the form of a linga. Our goddess Kamakhya is the yoni to his linga, the female to his male. She has also been accommodated by the Aryan religion despite her tribal origins; or maybe her power over our people was such that she could not but be accommodated. Some of the early practices of her worship live on, among secret societies. And although my study of and the ideas that I am generating about the goddess are far from esoteric xasa, kintu for me she is nonetheless still that tribal goddess, the mother of all her people. As such, I cannot seem to be able to get over the feeling that the goddess wants me to be silent, at least for now…
And you don’t have to be embarrassed about feeling unrestrained like god, Moina – you are already my goddess. You know what the Jogini Tantra says about the women of Kamrup? That every woman in every household there is a microcosm of the goddess herself. So if you live in the land that Kamakhya-Kamessari patronises, you are born a goddess anyway. Your generosity of heart and purity of intentions is certainly more than human – if by ‘human’ you refer to the kind of people who live in our land now and have no sense of community and can kill without remorse. Amar ki hoi gol, Debi? It seems we have forgotten what it was like for everybody to get together and celebrate a bloodless Bihu! And don’t we all know that we would not have had a Bihu to celebrate if we had not all been cohabiting in the lap of our Axami Ai, our sweet mother Assam, for so many centuries now. Bihu is not just a festival for us; it is our very identity as Axamiyā people. How would we have Bihu if we had not adapted from the Baisagu of the Bodos, the Baikhu of the Rabhas or the Busu of the Deuris? Where would we have learnt our Bihu steps ko sun had we not seen the Misings and Chutiyas dancing? How would we have sung our Bihu songs had we not heard the sexy oinitams of the Misings and the uplifting husoris of the Xonowal Kacharis? We took some rituals from the Bodos, some concepts from the Dimasas, some from the Rabhas, and so many things else from all the communities around us, and mixed it all with our Aryan rituals – the worship of Agni on Magh Bihu for instance – and created this amazing institution, such a lovely celebration of nature and the community, but then decided we were the untouchables – we were above them all, we were Axamiyā, they were not, we were separate somehow, distinct from all. We forgot our oneness and we fought. What fools we are, Jaanti, are we not?
Ah Debi, if only there were more people like you there etia. You and your friends are working for all who are suffering, regardless of community and ethnic identity. And you are doing all this because you care. And so few people do care anymore. The goddess’s land has become so godless, uff! And people like Bishnu Rabha are dead and as you have so rightly said, their legacies have been corrupted and co-opted. (I do appreciate his contributions, you know. Pise, I’m just not as fanatical about him as you are.)
And I am so depressed today, I don’t think I should write anything else or I will get you into a bad mood as well. You sound so upbeat in your last mail, and I miss your sunshine, Rodali. Mail me before you leave for the field dei. There is no saying when I will hear from you akau once you reach there.
Deep
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A terrible goddess (9)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Jau Deep,
I know it’s sudden, but I'm off to the field in a while. I’ll kill that asshole Sunil! He was planning to leave me out, kela… As Nilima says, he felt his halo going dim after the last visit to Kalabari, since they all remembered me and not him. So he wanted to cut me out by not telling me of his plans. Thank god I have friends in the office! Now I’m waiting for Jit to come and pick me up. I’ll send you a detailed mail from Bonagaigaon, but till then, let me tell you a secret since I have about 10 minutes to kill etia.
You want to know why I did that? Mane, sit up suddenly? I never really read the paper with you. I just laid my head on your chest and smelt my smell on your skin and recalled our love making of the night before and drifted off to sleep with my eyes open - I sleep like a horse sometimes - lulled by the sound of your heartbeat beneath my ears and your blood coursing through your veins almost entering my veins through the skin on my face... and then suddenly, this nightmare. Ah, ki dussapna! ... the thought that this was not forever, that you will be gone soon, jen I will be alone again, jen jen jen.... he prabhu, jen I will be dead soon, as soon as you left... aru aru aru... I would look at you and try to hypnotize you into thinking you never wanted to go back
:-) :-) :-)
You hated it nohoi? And I felt like a fool every time you brushed me aside, but I kept trying. No harm in trying, ase janu?
So now you feel the emptiness too? Asorit! I thought you are too self-sufficient to feel anything of that sort…
Si kota, I can hear Jit screaming up the stairs now. Accha jau. Will write soon. And please don’t sound so depressed – it depresses me too. (Maybe it will help you to talk? About your book perhaps? ;-)
Your Debi
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A terrible goddess (10)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Why Jaanti, why? Mane, kio? I could spend a lifetime with you and never fathom you, never fully predict you. And don’t tell me again that I am romanticizing you – I am just expressing before you what I really feel about you. You leave me clueless, breathless, and endlessly in love. Xasai! Xadai!
You are really priceless, dei. You have such a pure heart! But you are also profane kintu, beya kotha. I have told you so many times to resist such language, but you will never listen to me. If they saw your sweet face, who would believe you could spew such venom and in such language? Ah Debi, ki asarjya. You amaze me no end!
By the way, I am not very happy about the way things are shaping up in the office for you. If what you say is right and if people are getting threatened by you, maybe you should consider moving on, Majoni. But knowing you, you will probably get more determined to stay back now and fight it out. ‘Confrontation, not surrender’ that is your motto, nohoi, aposbihin xangrami? I do remember, Aideu! J
Mail me soon, Moromi. I also intend to start on my first chapter sometime this week. I’ll tell you more about it soon, I promise. I hope you understand Debi, that I am still not very comfortable speaking of my search for the true depth and meaning of Kamakhya – or my Khangnai Bimakha, the mother who nurtures – it feels like a bad omen. But then I tell myself it’s you I am speaking to, and since you are my inspiration, it’s okay to talk to you. Just don’t press me for details, Moina, let me get over this hang-up on my own, and I’ll tell you all. Toure xapat! I also think that when you hear my argument, you will agree with me wholeheartedly – the Kamakhya I have discovered and am now planning to uncover shares your political outlook to a great extent J I just hope that when I do unravel my goddess, she will forgive me for doing so before the godless people who live in her land now.
Dipankar
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The man who loved us
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Deep,
What’s wrong with you? You sound so depressed! Ki hoise, old man? Missing me too much? Borhiya, serves you right. I told you not to leave. You can come back still. Apply for that sabbatical. But I don’t think you will, will you? Moi bhalke sini pau touk…
I’m sure you will get over your depression once you start work. And if you don’t want to discuss your ideas with me still, then don’t, xasai, I won’t press you. But please don’t give me all that crap about the goddess not wanting you to – like you are some modern day Narakaxur or Kendukalai. And you call me ‘Bhagyadebi’? You are just as theatrical as I am; you deserve a place in the bhramyaman theatre industry, you really do! I can almost see the red and blue and green lights flashing, and the announcer going: ‘Theatre Bhagyadebi! Ajir nixar nibedan – Smitali Baruah aru Dipankar Bhattacharjee!’ J
I am keying this out on my laptop – a detailed reply to your earlier mails. I will dispatch it whenever we go to town, maybe Thursday next – there is a weekly hat there every Thursday. I just hope the cyber cafes are functional that day – most of the time they do not have connectivity here, jano? And the rest of the time, their is no electricity...
Now let me try to reply to every point in your mail. But first, the long pending argument on Xankari culture. Sa, I have nothing against Xankardeb the man. Ok, so he wasn’t just a man, he was a phenomenon. In fact, the one Axamiyā before Bishnu Rabha who was the master of all arts and crafts, the one person who gave our society and culture the direction it took for so many centuries after him. And every time I used to sing that song we were taught when we were children, my heart used to overflow with respect and admiration: Jai guru Xankar, xarba gunakar/Jak eri nahike upama/Tuhari saranaku renu xatakauti/Bareko korohu pranama. I still feel that way, xasai koisu, and I admire him with perhaps the same fervour and the same sincerity that Rabha admired him with. But I think the point where my appreciation of Xankardeb starts deviating from that of Rabha or even you, for that matter, is where I also begin to place him in the social context of his times.
For instance, what do you mean when you talk about democratic inclinations of the Xankari culture, ha? Any institution that excludes women cannot be democratic! There are places where women are even today not allowed to enter the namghar. The namghar is such an amazing institution the Xankari tradition has given us – at once a prayer hall for the congregation, community centre, courtroom, local theatre and music hall, as well as the perfect venue to get oneself up to date on the local gossip. And yet, patriarchal mores rule so many of these. Eitou kenekua katha akau ko!
And then there is this concept of one god. Why one god? Why did Xankardeb preach the worship of one god? So that everybody could be equal in his eyes? Or that everybody would forget their differences if they worshipped one god prescribed by one tradition? I ask you, why couldn’t they all worship their many gods, have their differences and yet live together as equals? Why were the tribal or indigenous gods any lesser than the Aryan or Hindu gods? Why did the Koch, Kachari and so many indigenous communities have to give up their own gods to be included in the ‘mainstream’ where there was only one god? Just to take the example of one particular community, if the Bodo Kacharis could integrate the Muslim god Nabab Badsa into their Kherai puja rituals, why couldn’t Xankardeb allow for the existence of a few Bodo gods and goddesses beside his one primary god Vishnu?
And do you really believe that the inclusion of the non-Axamiyā speaking communities within the Xankari way of life was a proof of democratic inclinations? Let me tell you, my friend, such inclusion was not on egalitarian lines. Asil janu? These ethnic communities were converted into the Xankari world view – when they had perfectly fine world views of their own – but because they could not conform entirely, they were relegated to second class citizenship. That is not democracy; that is hegemony. Si kota. It is of course true that many of these discriminatory practices in Xankari culture also crept in after Xankardeb’s own time, and we cannot blame him for all of it. You do know of this one incident when Rabha was still a school going student and he had wanted to enter the Barpeta namghar, but because he was a ‘tribal’ he wasn’t allowed to enter? He did so anyway, and proudly proclaimed that a king of the same Mech-Kachari-Bodo ancestry as his had built the namghar and he had every right to enter it! And so I repeat, we need more people like Rabha who can put our history in perspective and counter our contemporary prejudices. Katha ximanei.
Also tell me, what was wrong with the way of life of the indigenous communities that they had to be ‘civilized’? Ko sun! If they hadn’t been converted, for one, we would have had fewer denominations of the same ethnic community fighting for a piece of every political pie. The Xarania Kacharis for instance - they are now a sub-community consisting of the people who had taken xaran in Xankardeb. Then there were the Modahis, those Bodo-Kachari people who did take refuge in Xankardeb and his religion but could not give up on their drinking habit, something that was taboo in the Xankari tenets. And so on and so forth…
And secondly – and more importantly for me in my immediate context – we would not have built this entire mystique around drinking alcohol and pork- and beef- eating. When these things were pronounced taboo, they ceased to be mundane. For you and me as people who were born into upper class Axamiyā Hindu families, these things would always have been exotic, fine, manisu. But if somebody hadn’t drilled it into a Bodo person that drinking joumai or eating oma is ‘uncivilized’, they would not have shrunk from offering these things to me. And I would not have felt sanctimonious about having them. I would definitely not feel like I have done a brave thing, made a political statement and then bring in concepts like intercultural competence to fit into my experience. Hoi ne nohoi?
Talking of joumai and oma, we have been invited for dinner today to the house of the local school principal – who is a Bodo. I asked him if they have brewed joumai, and you should have seen the look he gave me – they are staunch Brahmas, and think joumai is a dissolute commodity. Among the Bodo people, only the Christians and the not-so-Brahma Brahmas eat pork and drink joumai. Our Xankardeb was not alone in destroying their way of life, Bengali Brahmaism and their own guru Kalicharan has also taught them to go against their grain, hoi?
We really really need Bishnu Rabha now. Now when there is all this confusion regarding class, caste, ethnicity, nationality, religion? You yourself said that he was among those who cared. He really should come back. He knew the greatness of Xankardeb, and he knew your goddess too. But most of all, he knew his people nohoine? He was their Pherengadao, was he not? The bird that was supposed to sing into a new dawn? He would know what to do dei, how to set everything right. He epitomized the composite nature of the Assamese culture and any egalitarian or democratic inclination in Assamese society comes from him. What he did was to preserve Assamese culture from becoming the sole preserve of the Axamiyā-speaking Hindus. Xasai, if we had paid more attention to his interpretation of Assamese identity, we would not have been facing so much ethnic unrest in Assam today. If only we could accept without judgement that our identity today has been shaped by the historical inevitability of our past experiences… But then, we do not have his intellectual depth to be able to give in to such an unqualified acceptance of the evolutionary nature of our culture, society and contemporary politics, do we? Ami je ximita.
You remember, na, what our other Assamese icon Bhupen Hazarika says Rabha told him? He told him that in order to know our culture, we have to all have laupani – or joumai by any other name – and pork: ‘Abbe kha be, nohole xanskriti najanibi’ J He was so right – our culture is so intricately connected with our pork-eating, rice-beer brewing, non-Aryan, semi- or non-Hindu tribal societies that we have to identify with them if we are to ever understand our own culture, our heritage.
He died and our chauvinism, our parochialism, peaked. Eke xamayate. He died and we were at each other’s throats, baying for the blood of our brethren. I often wonder if he had not died when he did, would we still have tolerated the Axam Andolan, that famous turning point in our history when we tried to undo all the good that people like him and Jyotiprasad Agarwala had done for us; would we still have witnessed that decisive event of our contemporary times when we tried to negate the multiculturalism that had so far shaped our identity? Toi ki bhabo, Deep?
I can’t be sure, and it’s no use anyway to wonder what could have been. But I do believe that if we did have any respect for him in our hearts, we certainly would not have had all these ethnic cleansings and all these relief camps, and I would not have had to witness all the pains of these people who belong nowhere now, and who have nowhere to go. Aiow, ki amanabia kasta!
You know what you should do? You should do some solid academic research on Bishnu Rabha, xasai koisu! You know my weak point is academics, or else I would have done it myself. I cannot think, toi jano old man, I can only feel. Anubhab, anubhuti, abeg, akankha. And I feel Bishnu Rabha so intensely, maybe just as intensely as you feel your goddess, but maybe it is easier for me since he was a human, and he lived not so long ago… Ah, I love him so much!
But I cannot be like him, Deep, even if I tried. I do not have his combination of talent and intellect, genius and earthiness. What wasn’t the man good at, bapre bap? Singer, dancer, painter, actor, poet, revolutionary, lover – he was all that and more. Every time I think of him, I remember WB Yeats’ poem on Major Gregory. What was that line-o? ‘And all he did done perfectly/ As though he had but that one trade alone…’ or something to that effect… monot nai etia… If I only had one tenth of his inspiration, I could perhaps have thought of something, done something for my people, his people, our people… Of course I couldn’t roam around the entire place like him, much less participate in an insurrection against the state. But I have often felt the peasants’ revolt was only an excuse for him to live among the people, going ‘from village to village/Spitting on leeches/Trudging on/ Singing a love song? About a prince, a flower and a bee’ – remember that poem I wrote on him?
He bhogoban! Look at the time! No wonder it says low battery – I have been writing forever! Have to shut down now, Deep, kintu I’ll write to you again tomorrow, hobo? Bye for now…
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And it’s tomorrow today. So what else do I have to say to you, hmmmmm? There’s office politics, something of which I already told you in my last mail – but about which I don’t want to talk anymore – it makes me sick, but not sick enough to quit – because I do still need Sunil and his Northeast Society (what a dumb but typical NGO name!) to be with my people and work among them. Then there is the regular work – training, data collection, etc etc… don’t want to talk about that either… What then? Robi……….. going through your last mail……….
Aha! So your Jogini Tantra says I am a goddess, ha? Or is it you who wants to see your goddess in me? Deep, I have warned you often, and am doing so again now, please please please doya kori do not impose on me the pressure of having to live up to your image of the goddess. I am not a goddess – although I do say sometimes that I feel like god ;-) – and I will not be responsible for any disappointments you may face the day you realize I am only human. Koi disu hole! I don’t mind that you call me Debi – among so many other names. (But why call me so many names all the time?) It is a nice meaningful name, but do not confuse me with Kamakhya Debi. And what is more, I refuse to share the same position as she has in your heart. If you think you can economize by investing the same emotions on me as on her, then think again, dei. I am not willing to go half measures, and if I know her even a little bit, I am sure she will not agree to it either. Be warned kintu!
But don’t worry, I am not yet complaining that you do not love me enough – you have given me more than anybody else ever has, Deep – but I thought I should warn you before you go full steam into your writing. Actually, I am a bit scared now about how you will behave then, although I have said I won’t mind if you ‘switch off’ – kionou I was not around when you were writing your first book. But oi, why am I sounding so peevish? Accha ja etia, bye. Ok? I don’t want to write anymore now. I am feeling weird. Don’t know what kind of weird, just weird. I’ll talk to you later, ja.
Smita
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A terrible goddess (11)
A terrible goddess (11)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Hmmm… A politically oriented goddess – I like that! Pise, how can she and I share the same ideology? She kills, I hate killers. Didn’t the Kachari king of yore win his battle against the Ahom monarch by propitiating her – the terrible goddess Kesaikhaiti, Ranapagli, Ranasandi? Didn’t she favor one of the many communities she nurtured against another? Didn’t she indulge in bloodshed? Revel in it? Ko! Didn’t they all – the Kacharis, the Chutiyas, the Jayantias and Ahoms – try to earn her favor through bloodshed and human sacrifice?
Deep, don’t try to win me over to your ideas about the goddess, please. You know I’ve always held that she is the cause of all bloodshed, nohoi? This entire culture of violence that we are faced with now – she started it! Kesaikhaiti, Sinnamasta, Samunda… She is all of them, is she not? Her bloodlust has seeped into our culture, people are thirsty for each other’s blood only because she wanted blood, human blood, animal blood, warm, red blood. Well, she’s got more than her fill now, hasn’t she? Our burha Luit is red now, isn’t it? With all this blood flowing in it, instead of water? Don’t tell me ever, Deep, moi koi disu, that the goddess and I share the same politics. Mine is not a politics of blood – I cry every time I come to these camps, quietly, at night so that nobody sees me crying. Kio jano? I cry because these people have seen so much blood, they no longer consider it precious. They have been killed, so now they can also kill. And so, one killer begets another and the cycle continues. Uff! When will we get some respite, Deep? I wish I could collect every fucking gun and every fucking bullet in this place and throw them into the Luit. I want them all to be happy, Deep, and I want to be happy. But I can’t be happy if every time I laugh, I can hear them wailing in the background!
Take me away from here Deep. I’ll go away. We’ll get married and settle down somewhere – anywhere but here – and love each other and live happily ever after, thik ase? I’ll… I’ll come to London, or anywhere where we won’t have to think about blood and bullets. We’ll live mundane everyday lives – hobo? – and be selfish brutes if we want to and think of books and music and flowers and clothes… and whatever else people think of, except death. I don’t want to smell death anymore, Deep, and they are all dead here, although they continue living. Take me away please! Muk loi ja, muk loi ja, please!
Smita
PS. I have already mailed you all the stuff that I have been writing to you over the past few days dei. Somehow, I haven’t been feeling too well – not physically unwell, but emotionally – if you know what I mean. But how would you know what I mean? I myself don’t know what I mean aru…
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The man who loved us (2)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Maisana,
Xun, you need to get out of that place – it is getting you down. Come back to Guwahati for a few days – take a break, and go back again. It will not do you or your people any good if you hang around there in the condition that you are in now. How I wish you would carry a cell phone so I can call you if I want to. I’m really worried for you, Aijoni. It’s not fair – I should be talking to you at such times – you need me now to hold you and tell you all’s well but I’m not there. Uff, ki kora jai! I feel so helpless…
Mail me soon, Ajoli, please!
Dipankar
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The man who loved us (3)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Debi,
Five days and no mail – you could at least call! I know usually I am the one who shies away from using the telephone, but that’s because somehow it feels more immediate to hear your voice and then the urge to touch you and feel you against me becomes too much to bear. Emails are better, nohoine? Slightly distanced but one can pour more of oneself into writing than over ‘phone…
I have been so worried about you, Konmani. I know you are too sensitive to watch people go through so much pain day in and day out. I have often told you to learn detachment – you cannot get emotionally involved with the people you work with akau. It will only make you more miserable, Maina. You are already miserable there, I can sense it. And you thought you can ever be a ‘selfish brute’ boule?
But tell me, Majoni, do you really mean what you say about getting married? I know you don’t mean that bit about settling in London, or anywhere but there – you couldn’t stay any place else for long – but am I being unfair to you by not proposing marriage? Am I being selfish by not asking you to be my wife? Why did you bring up marriage? Kio? Maybe subconsciously you want to ‘settle down’ and make your mother happy? Is that so? It is not abnormal to want to get married, you know. Xasake ko. I had told you a long time back that I am willing to go any route you wanted to keep you in my life, toi jano. If this is what you want you only have to say… Although every time I think of approaching your mother, I feel like the naked intoxicated Shiva of the Kalika Puran, standing in a tiger-skin loin-cloth before Menaka who sees her prospective son-in-law for the first time and flinches: Menaka asiya jowai dekhi/Bismoi maniya mudila akhi. I know I am not Shiva and it won’t be the first time she will be seeing me, but I am sure she will flinch if you tell her you want to marry me dei. I am not the most ideal husband for you je…
There is a lot I need to discuss with you regarding your ideas about Xankari culture and Bishnu Rabha and my book – so get back online soon and send me a mail so that I know you are well before I get into all that.
Axex morom
Deep
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The man who loved us (4)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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What? What do you have to discuss with me about Bishnu Rabha? I love that man – end of story, bas! J Are you jealous? J Tell me you are no, please! And tell me what you have done on the book so far. I don’t care whether your goddess likes it or not, but I like it when you talk to me about your work, and I am your living goddess, so you better tell me, thik ase? And now that you mention it, I rather like the idea of seeing you in a tiger-skin loin-cloth… How was it that Bishnu Rabha had described Shiva, Shibrai, his adim Axamiya, the primordial man of Assam, the first super human – pratham mahanab? Nangatha, pingatha, natua, petua, jatua, bhangura Shiva… And more importantly, how was it that he described the plight of this alia-balia mad old Shibrai in the lotus soft hands of the mother goddess? The rangdhali, pikrangi, tejirangi, xarbarahi, tejigora, tejimala Ai goxani? Remember how he was shivering in terror of the rai baghini Ai goxani? What a tigress she was according to him? You should be terrified of me sometimes J
And don’t worry so much Deep, I am not depressed anymore. With colleagues like this, who can stay depressed for too long? They pulled me out of my depression, dei. All of them – Jit, Gomati, Nilima and these two new people – Arpita and Imu. Asalate, I don’t like Arpita much – she’s too pretentious – but well, aren’t we all at some time or the other – but it’s just that she is consistently that way ;-) But there’s this other guy who joined while I was away from office – called Imdad. He was in Lucknow for a long time before he came back to Assam boule. Everybody calls him Imu. And he’s so much fun – he will keep you in splits with his jokes. He portrays the image of a joker with not a care in the world, but I really suspect that there is more to him than that happy-go-lucky exterior. You should have seen the amount of teteli he bought for me just now. Mane, he remembered me saying it last week that I LOVE teteli – it is so touching that he remembered. Me and Arpita were at the pharmacy when he walked up with the one kg of teteli he'd bought at the hat and tossed it towards me gruffly saying 'ho, kha', like he was almost embarrassed to be seen as thoughtful J
Deep, I am so glad I have such caring friends jano. They are the ones who provide me with all the support I need when you are not around, jano. And then, when you are around, I neglect them like anything. Si si! Of course, they are just such good friends they understand totally. But you seem to think I should be more guarded with them, nohoi? You always keep saying that. But you know I can't be anything but myself with people I like, Deep. Why do you want me to be something I’m not, ha? Would you want me to be anything but myself with you, ko?
And I don’t want to be married to you – you are right, I said that on an impulse only. I told you we don’t need societal sanctions to be together forever. We can live in together for all our lives, no? You will be with me forever, no? And you are not being selfish or unfair to me Deep, you can never be, moi janou.
Anyway, we're leaving Bongaigaon now, but we are coming back to town in a day or two. So I'll write to you then, thik ase?
By the way, I've left a message on your answering machine this time. You never seem to be there when I call, and then you wonder why I don’t call! I hate your answering machine voice jano - it is so mechanical. Please change it as soon as you can dei!
But do you ever listen to your recorded messages? I never get a call back from you - not even a mail saying I got your message. So fine, manisu, I never say more than 'I love you' to your metallic voice, but that is a message, nohoi? Sometimes I get the feeling that when you are there, you become another person from a different world, and the only way you keep in touch with this world is through our emails, and that too isn't real you know; it's almost like we only have a virtual relationship. You don't have a social life - you know you don't – casual chit-chat with colleagues doesn’t count - you just go for your classes and come back – aru you never seem to have your heart in interacting with your students - I never hear you talk about them with any passion or sense of involvement - all you are passionate about is your book and the goddess mane. From what little you told me this time, I sensed that you seem to get along better with Jen than with any of your other colleagues. So why don’t you go out with her sometimes, ha? You know at times, I feel like your answering machine voice is your real voice – controlled, measured and kept within bounds. The only time you seem alive is when you are with me. Budhoi, you loosen up and shed some of your uptightness only when I am with you. Ne ki kawo? And I really think you should do that more often - be with me, I mean, and appear more human. Come on Deep, I'm not just trying to get you to come down here and stay with me for selfish reasons, toi jano. I really mean it when I say you need to keep in touch with the real world and not become the ancient relic you feel yourself to be dei.
And then, if you were here, maybe it would not hurt so much that other people are more mindful of my emotions. It hurt today, bappeke, when Imu – who I barely know – made that seemingly insignificant gesture. I would have loved it if you did something like that for me sometimes. Abasye, you have to be here to do it, no? And when I think of that, Deep, an epistolary love affair suddenly seems very very insufficient... seh, I’m depressed again!
Jau etia
Smita
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The man who loved us (5)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Debi,
You hurt me beyond measure. Do you really feel I am unmindful of your emotions? Do you really feel like I do not love you enough? Ah Aijoni, if only you knew what you meant to me! You know you are the only person in my life for whom I have saved all my passion. Don’t you feel that when we are together, kosoun? It’s true I tend to get a bit absent minded when I am in the midst of work, but to be thought inconsiderate? If you wanted flowers and chocolates and other such tokens of love from me, all you had to do was ask. You know I am an old world person, and quite dry at times, and these things just don’t occur to me. Why, you could have anything of me anytime you want, toi janoi dekhoun. I am extremely sorry that I made you feel so unloved and uncared for, and next time I promise, I shall be more mindful of your needs, xasai koisu. Maybe I can learn a thing or two from your young suitor, ne ki kawo? I certainly cannot live up to the standards of your legendary lover!
Deep
PS. Since you wanted so badly to know about the progress of my book, I am attaching the abstract of the first chapter with this mail.
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The man who loved us (6)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Young suitor? Did you say young suitor? Deep, how could you? How dare you? How dare you insinuate that I... that Imu is my suitor? Do you think that I flirt around when you are not here? Can you even imagine that we would have time here for anything but other people’s misery to concern us with? Si si! Didn't you read what I wrote at all? He is a friend, a very dear friend, and believe me, since I get to meet my friends more often than I meet you, since they see me daily and know what emotional stress I go through because of this long-distance relationship with you, they are more mindful of my needs than you can ever be. Bujiso? I don't mind admitting that I am not as self-sufficient as you are, in fact, I know I am not and I tell you that often enough, and I am glad that my friends are there to support me whenever I need them. And I don't think I ever fail them when they need me. We back each other up. And you know why? Kio jano? Because we are not larger than life, and we don't like to consider ourselves as such either. We know we need people to lean on and we do that shamelessly. After all, what are friends for? But how would you know, when the only friends you have are your books. Insensate, insensitizing book, and a naked goddess?
PS. There was no attachment with your last mail. As usual, you must have forgotten to attach the file – you will never learn! And in any case, I don’t want to read the abstract – I am neither a researcher nor your editor. If you can’t have a regular conversation with me about it, then forget it – I don’t want to know anything about your fucking book, kela!
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The man who loved us (7)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Mour Deep,
I'm back from the field. I'm sorry I wrote all that in my last mail and I’m sorry about all that swearing too, xasai koisu. It was very insensitive of me. I know you are under a lot of stress because of your book. And anyway, you only responded to what I wrote. I have been terribly insensitive, dei. I have been reading the last few mails that I sent you - sort of an exercise in textual necromancy at a time when I fear I might have killed your love for me - and I have realized how disgustingly petty/petulant and ungrateful I have been. After all, the kind of love and understanding I have got from you, no man has ever been able to give me. Aru nor can any man ever. I am so sorry Deep. Can you ever forgive me, please? I don't want tokens of love from you, dei, I just want your love. And the kind of intensity that we share when we are together should actually be enough to last me till we meet again to rejuvenate our relationship. Nohoi?
I felt terribly ashamed of myself the moment I stepped inside the house and remembered the moments we had shared under this same roof. Asalate, to tell you the truth, you were right, that place was getting me down, and the workload was too much. But once I got over my initial fatigue and sat down to think over things calmly, I can't tell you how much I cried. Oi Deep, you make me cry so much-o. Whenever I think of you I feel like crying - sometimes out of love, sometimes out of hurt. It hurts to love Deep, nohoi ne? It really really hurts, mane. Why does love always hurt, Deep?
Tar pasot, I started the computer and re-read my sent mails, and I realized it has been my fault all along. I am terribly sorry. But seriously, Imu is not my suitor and please don't ever talk in those terms. It doesn't suit you, and it is quite unlike you. But hang on, ek minute, does it mean - can it possibly mean - just possibly, that you are jealous of Imu? And of Rabha my ‘legendary lover’? Or am I reading too much into your reaction? Wishful thinking, mane? Tell me no, Deep, please please please! Ko ko ko na!
You write back saying you forgive me and I'll tell you something exciting. Maybe we can catch up for a chat tonight sometime, ki kawo?
Tour Debi
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The man who loved us (8)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Ki hol Deep, no response? Are you writing then? Ne ki?
Very well, you write while I go on a road trip to Cherrapunji. We all decided we’ve seen enough human misery and need to rejuvenate our spirits, and so we are taking Prasen da’s battered Maruti 800 and driving up the hills to Cherrapunji tomorrow. We’ll be gone only two days but that should be good enough.
Meanwhile, I’m already humming our immortal anthem of unity between hill-valley communities: “He he he Cherrapunjire, he he he bhija akaxare, udar meghe jenedore, xabati dhore barixar utere amar Luitok…” The clouds, the rains, the waters that pour down from the Khasi hills into the Luit, my Luit, my old man river Brahmaputra, ah I love them all so much! We missed going to Cherrapunji the last time we drove up to Shillong – thanks to the many interviews you had packed into our two-day stay in Smitalaya. Abasye I am not saying I did not enjoy being in the NEHU campus with you, meeting those learned people. The part I loved best about the trip was was of course the old Khasi man in upper Shillong who knew so much about the goddess and helped you trace the possible connections between our mother Kamakhya and the matrilineal Khasi tradition and culture. Mour manat ase, it made me think that this was just another instance of the interconnectedness of our people and heritage everywhere in the Northeast.
But now Prasen da says to tell you that you did not miss much. Cherrapunji is no longer the rainiest place on earth, but you already know that. And Prasen da says the last time they went, they saw large areas of dried grass there. Ki asarit! This is something we could not have imagined till a few years back. But I guess that’s the price we have to pay for ‘development’ – aru somebody else’s development, that too. Everywhere in the Northeast they are mining for coal, drilling for oil, damming rivers for hydro-power, cutting down forests for timber, and in Smitalaya now, they have started digging for uranium. And what do we get in return? Climate change and flash floods and all kinds of disasters, kela. And of course, competition between communities and infighting for the limited control they are allowed over their own resources. Seh!
But I shall not mope over all these things here – we are going there to have fun and forget about these things – it has been raining for a while now, and for a while at least, we shall see Cherrapunji as it is supposed to be seen, wet and wild. Barhiya! We might even be lucky to find some orange honey – is this the season for oranges? I don’t know…
Smita
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The man who loved us (9)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Aijoni-o,
I am so sorry I did not reply immediately. I was just wrapping up my introductory chapter. Hence the silence. I warned you this might happen, didn’t I?
But rest assured I am not angry with you. Moi khong khuwa nai-o Majoni. And I am also sorry for my outburst in my last mail. I don’t know xasakoye why I lost my head. I really must be getting possessive about you, dei. And it also hurt for a while to have you say all those things which I later realized were true anyway. I am insensitive to your needs at times. But Xarumai, it is a fact that we have this huge age difference between us – although you will once again argue that 12 years is nothing really. That is bound to create some problems. We have to cope with them, nohoine?
And it also sets us apart from more conventional relationships, hoi ne nohoi? We certainly do not have a conventional relationship. So our expectations from each other should also not be conventional. We cannot expect to follow others people’s examples; what we are and what we have are our only benchmarks, hoi ne? Try not to fall into the trap, try not to expect what other people get out of their relationships. What we have is infinitely more suited to us; we are not like other people, our expectations are not like theirs. We cannot be in any other relationship but this, parim janu?
I feel very light today. Almost like I’ve finished the entire book, when in reality, I’ve finished only one chapter. But it was very fulfilling, xasai. It feels nice to be able to complete the work at hand at such a furious pace – but then, this was the simplest chapter of the lot – outlining the fables and legends surrounding the goodess and placing her in a pan-Assamese context. By pan-Assamese, of course, I refer not to a particular community, but I use it in the sense of ‘belonging to or coming from the geo-political entity called Assam’. If I want to refer to only the Axamiyā-speaking people, they appear as ‘Axamiyā’ in my work – you are the one Debi, who warned me that in the context of the current ethnic and indigenous politics of Assam, one needs to be very careful about these categories. Thanks to you, I have learnt that it is unfair to use the phonemically modified ‘Axam’ to stand for Assam. ‘Which indigenous language in Assam has the x-sound? Enough Axamiyā hegemony! There are other peoples staying here’ – uff, how I love your spirited diatribes against Axamiyā chauvinists like me, Agnixikha!
But coming back to the goddess in my book, having discussed the fables, folktales and legends about her in her various forms among various ethnic groups and indigenous and non-indigenous communities, I am introducing her as a pan-Assamese goddess, as everybody’s goddess, if you like. Thik? And then, in my next chapter, I shall be discussing the nuances in the different tellings and retellings of the same stories about her by different peoples of her land – and the relevance of these versions to the respective peoples. The idea is to show that any one definitive version of the goddess is not possible – like you, Debi, she is one, but many J
But having finished the first, I am feeling more confident about the second. I am very happy with the way this one has shaped up dei. And I opened a bottle of wine and smoked a cigar to celebrate. Jen has been asking me to dinner for so long I almost went out with her tonight, but then decided it was more relaxing to sit back and smoke a cigar. To tell you the truth, I feel almost incapable of going out in public at the moment. I have been cooped up in the house for the past ten days or more, not leaving my computer for longer than five minutes at a stretch. To suddenly have to face so many people in a public place would have been uncomfortable aru. I told you how I become extremely asocial during and after every bout of such intense writing.
Pise, it would have been nice to have you here, celebrating with me. You would have finished off all the cigars and polished off the entire bottle of wine in no time, nissoi.
Immediately as I think of that, I feel it is best that you aren’t here J
Enjoy yourself in Cherrapunji and treat yourself to some orange honey on my behalf, dei.
Axex morom,
Dipankar
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The man who loved us (10)
Smita Kakoty to Dipankar.Bhattacharjee
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Bah bah, Deep, you almost cracked a joke! And that definitely means you are not angry with me anymore. Barhiya!
You must be really elated about finishing your chapter to be inclined to crack even a mild joke like this, nohoine! I'm very very happy for you. And so glad we are not fighting anymore. It’s bad enough that we have to be apart and then when we fight, aiow! it’s like there’s no reason to live anymore…
But let me tell you about my trip now. Xun. Up there, in the mountains, I felt almost like Kamakhya on her hill top, jano. I thought the way I was feeling on Cherrapunji must be the way the goddess feels on her Nilasal hill. I am sure from her Bhubanessari temple upon Nilasal, she would feel that way, nohoine, at the very top? Like she is the origin of the universe, or at least of the land below for as far as the eye can take you...
You remember what I told you outside the Bhubanessari temple once, don’t you? I felt like that again this time on the Cherrapunji hills. Why do mountains make me feel so grand, Deep? Kio baru? I heard they make others feel small and insignificant, sobe koi. But I feel like I'm a part of them, and what they are is because of me; because I am grand and lofty, so are they. And all that lies beneath is my creation. I gave birth to the plains, the rivers, the trees, the people. I make their destinies, I break them too... The river, the stream, the waterfall, slides down, sometimes gently, erotically, sometimes turbulently, passionately, over my body and our lovemaking gives birth to all else. In the beginning, there were the lofty mountains, and the rivers... pahar, nodi aru moi…
And then, Deep, there was the wind. The wind reminded me of you.
Why did you touch me?
Now I wouldn't know the wind from you....
I wrote that for you once, remember? And I ask you now, as Bishnu Rabha would, Mour kabitar sanda lagi spandan tour jagene? ‘Do you quiver at the touch of my verse?’
Every time the wind touched me on those lovely hills, I remembered you, jano? And then there were the clouds! I could float around with them, a disembodied dream... and as I floated away with the clouds, I belonged to the mountains, but you were my paramour, my clandestine lover. Ananta kalar babe… for ever and ever and ever… I gave you so much passion, so much of my being, but yet at the core, I remained faithful to my hills, my rivers and my land.
Is it bad that I feel that way about you Deep? Do you feel jealous? Do you mind that you suddenly come second to my inanimate lovers every now and then? Do you, do you, do you? Ko na please! I definitely do mind having to come second to your goddess...
And you know what happened, Deep? At one point, I was floating with the clouds, as a cloud, and I was feeling very light and feathery. Suddenly, I found myself sliding down, suddenly very heavy, unable to carry my weight. But was it my weight or the weight of somebody else's sorrows? It was dreadful Deep, to feel that way – bhayankar – and to know that I was right, that somebody was indeed very sad and I could feel it in my being. I just sensed sorrow, heavy, pregnant sorrow, waiting to burst with the sheer weight of itself. It was eerie that I felt it in my skin and I felt very cold, and I had goose bumps all over me. And you know what really really made me scared? I was scared of myself at that moment, it was so uncanny. Because I turned around and I saw Imu standing alone in the distance, akale akale, leaning on the railing, looking out into the Nohkalikai waterfall, there was such an air of desolation around him... I could sense rather than see his sadness. I could feel it, Deep, and the word that came to my mind was 'fey' - that word I told you I have always been fascinated by. Could I be 'fey'??? Toi ki kawo?
I slowly walked up to him and asked him 'ki hol?' Just like that and he gave me such a crooked smile that I knew I was right, that he was in pain, and I had felt it when I was floating in the air... Why did that happen, Deep? Why is it that I felt the pain? Not Imu's pain, not pain of this kind or that, but PAIN. I sensed it, felt it in my pulses, knew it was there somewhere around... I scare myself sometimes dei, Deep. Xosai koisu...
He told me later that he had broken up with his girlfriend - we none of us had met her abasye, though we kept hearing about her. He said it was difficult to keep a long distance relationship alive - she stays in Lucknow and it seems she had gone and got engaged to somebody and not told him about it. And that was a month back.
Deep, how can people do something like that? A relationship is something that is based on trust, and if you can't trust the person who is closest to you, who can you baru? I did not tell Imu this, because it would sound insensitive, but while he was telling me all this, I was thanking my lucky stars that I have you in my life. We have a long distance relationship too, but we manage so well. We will always love each other like this Deep, won't we? Ko na. Please tell me we will. Please tell me you will never leave. Please please please...
Poor Imu, he is such a funny character all the time that nobody thought he could ever be depressed. For the first time yesterday I saw him depressed, and I didn't know how to react prathamate. I felt like crying, I really did. But he's such a clown, he recovered very soon from his 'momentary lapse of reason' as he later called it, and became his old self. But I knew the amount of hurt he must have been carrying inside him... Aiow!
Anyway, we got back last night very late. I got some orange honey for us - next time you come down you can lick it off my fingers ;-)
Morom
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The man who loved us (11)
Dipankar Goswamito Smita Kakoty
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Debi,
You always make these tempting offers that make me feel like flying down to you immediately, dei! But I need to start on my second chapter soon and I can’t leave. The first was easy and I finished fast because I had most of the spadework ready. This one’s going to be tricky and I just don’t know how much of my time and energy it will drain…
How I miss you and don’t miss you in the same breath jano ne! I wish you were here, but I feel if you were here, I would have to wrap up my book and just make love to you, maybe even lick orange honey off your fingers, if that’s all I do all day and all night.
Debi, you are a temptress dei, and more than ever now, after this mail, I feel you should not be left to roam around in this world on your own. You are just too precious and any man would want you in his life, badly enough to even go to the extent of taking advantage of the purity of your feelings. Be warned, Pokhili – you are too colorful for any man to resist. Xabadhan!
I know ideally I should be with you to shield you from all the unscrupulous people waiting to rob you of your innocence, and I’m more than eager now to look for something back home once this book is through. Xasai koisu. And I would do it if only to keep you safe in my arms. Till then, Moina, please be careful; the male of the species can be very treacherous, and I don’t want you falling into any trouble in my absence.
I almost feel guilty for not being there now, but of course, I have the book to consider. Another few months, Debi, and I promise we will be together for good. Toure xapat!
As for your feeling uncanny about yourself, please Debi, let me put you to rest – you are not a visionary, if that’s what is making you scared. You are just overly dramatic, hyperbolic at times, and you project your feelings into inanimate things and make other peoples’ feelings your own too. Bhagyadebi, tur theatre bandha kar, ai. Just stop your theatrics. It is you who really should be in the mobile theatre. Would suit you too, to move around from place to place, performing, giving of yourself to every place and every person you come across…
I know that’s where your charm lies, but it also makes you vulnerable – anybody who comes to realize this – and I’m sure everybody who knows you does by now – can exploit it kintu. You give too much of yourself to everything je.
At the risk of sounding stupid, I would say you do it almost selfishly ketiyaba; it gratifies you, so you distribute yourself so freely. It is ok so long as it is inanimate objects, but be careful with people, Majoni. It’s fine when you do this through your poetry, but never ever do it in day-to-day interactions kintu. It will only leave you open to more hurt. And you know how you hurt, even when it’s other people who are in pain.
And as for the clouds, you would love clouds, Smita. You are Smitali, are you not? The clouds gave you your name, they make you what you are, nohoine? You are the generous clouds – the udar megh of the song you said you were humming in one of your mails. Cherrapunji is the right place for you. Did you not feel like settling there as well? How unsettled and unsettling you are, Debi, and then you feel like settling in whatever new place you go to.
Suddenly I feel the urge to sit face to face with you and talk. But since that is not possible, why don’t we chat today? Ki kawo? Give me a buzz when you are online next. I’ll wait for you.
Moromiloi, Moromere,
Deep.
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