Love is not a grain of rice, so let’s take it easy, just because one quarrel changes things and destinies.
Maid Corbic, a young poet hailing from Tuzla, Bosnia Herzegovina, shares his poem on love
Maid Corbic from Tuzla, Bosnia Herzegovina, is a well awarded young poet. Many of his works have been published in anthologies and magazines in Chile, Spain, Ecuador, Bosnia and Herzegovina, San Salvador, United Kingdom, Indonesia, India, Croatia, Serbia, etc. as well as printed anthology of poems “Sea in the palm of your hand”, “Stories from Isolation”, and” Kosovo Peony “and others. In 2020 he was named Poet of the Year in the Indo-Universe Group, which also engages in charity around the world. He is winner of numerous awards, among them the association “KNS – Nova Svjetlost” in Sarajevo, during which he won a bronze charter for his work. He is the winner of the BigBang competition that was organized in Tuzla in 2021.
‘The Double Script’ is a short story from India about two couples
Jernail Singh Anand
It was the last meeting between the two. The husband had been given 15 years term in jail for murder of a person. The wife had come to get his signatures on the divorce papers. It was a long story of suffering. The man was a drunkard, a drug-addict, a chain smoker and a woman beater also. And the woman had been under pressure by her parents to seek divorce and get resettled in life. This appeared to be the right way, for a woman with a growing up daughter, whose husband had landed in jail for 15 years. Who will wait for his return? And how? Can a woman bring up a small girl alone? In a society dominated by men? All the cards were against the woman if she decided to carry on with her marriage.
The decision was difficult for her. Parents were pressing her to go for divorce because they knew, otherwise, both of them will become their responsibility. Her brother had got the divorce papers ready and took her to the prison for getting the divorce papers signed.
When the husband and wife met, it was an emotionally charged scene. The man was broken. He saw divorce papers in the hands of his wife. Let me sign them he said. But the tears in his eyes said a different story. He did not want to sign them, because of their daughter. He knew, if the wife was left free to remarry, the girl will be ruined.
The woman saw the tears of remorse in the eyes of her husband. In his drunken state, he used to beat her up. But today, the woman stood at a place where the two roads diverged. One was to tear the divorce papers, and the other was to get them signed. Divorce meant divorce not only with the husband, but with her daughter also. The other option too was not easy. Fifteen years of work, responsibility, loneliness and wait.
He saw divorce papers in the hands of his wife. Let me sign them he said. But the tears in his eyes said a different story. He did not want to sign them, because of their daughter. He knew, if the wife was left free to remarry, the girl will be ruined.
The woman chose the latter. She tore the divorce papers. Pressed the hands of her husband, and assured him, she will not deviate from her duty as a wife and as a mother. And she succeeded in bringing up her daughter decently. The mother was so decent, how could the daughter be otherwise? And when the husband rejoined her after fifteen years, it was a happy family reunion now smoothened by the vicissitudes of life.
A similar script was being written in another prison, where a woman was interned because she had killed a man. She was also sentenced for 15 years. Her husband had also come with his mother and father, and brothers, to get her signatures on the divorce papers. The lady pleaded with the husband to wait for her. But, the mother of the man was foul mouthed. How can we accept a woman with the sticker of a jail term? They too had a daughter. But the man was not at all concerned about the girl. He forced the lady to sign the divorce papers. She sighed, and saw joy flinging around in the eyes of her husband. Her daughter was crying. She was 12 years old, and it was clear to her now, she will have another mother. One mother is a blessing, and two, a nightmare. The curse had fallen upon her. Her father was adamant… how can I wait for fifteen years? Even then, how will I admit you into our house? What will the people say?
Finally, the divorce papers were signed. And, the man left the prison gleefully. With the noise of celebrations in his ears and visions of another woman in red coloring his eyes. It remains to be told that the woman, who was convicted, had tried to save her husband from some bandits who had attacked their house at night in search of wealth.
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand is an Indian author credited with an oeuvre of 160 plus books. He recently won the Serbian Award: Charter of Morava and his name appears on the Poet’s Rock in Serbia. [anandjs55@yahoo.com]
So long as the psychology we encounter is exotic, every verdict may not entirely be prudent.
Rajendra Ojha, an eminent poet from Kathmandu, Nepal, the Himalayan country, shares his poem
Rajendra Ojha (Nayan) is a Nepalese poet, social researcher, social worker, and EU-certified trainer. He also served as a citizen diplomat for three months under the ‘Ministry of Population and Environment’ in 2018 in Switzerland for the diplomatic program of the Minamata Convention, which was held in Geneva. Poems and philosophical writings of Rajendra Ojha have been published in various national as well as international literary journals from Nepal, U.S.A., India, China, Russia, Spain, Myanmar, Pakistan and United Kingdom in both Nepalese and English. He has also published two anthologies, ‘Through the World’ (a collection of experimental poems) and ‘Words of Tiger’ (a collection of philosophical and psychological poems), in 2011 and 2019, respectively. He has been honored by two major prestigious awards named ‘Asia’s Outstanding Internship Solution Provider Award 2020/21’ and ‘Dadasaheb Phalke Television Award 2023’ respectively for his work as a ‘Social Researcher’ as well as a ‘Social Worker’, respectively, in 2021 and 2023.
Prudent Judgement
Right from the beginning of humanity,
This world seems to be moving towards unfair judgment;
Where— the books are still judged by their well-managed cover,
And alligators are forced to live the lives of crocodiles.
When Alligator forgets its charismatic nature,
And go to live overseas, attracted to the mirage reality,
It can never achieve soul liberation.
As you may be the crocodile dealing with an alligator,
For this, I say never to impose our path on them.
When one is vulnerable to losing its environment,
Due to the intrusion of centralized paths by others,
It is certain to slip uncontrollably someday.
No matter how well-furnished the path seems to be,
That would be like the mermaid.
So long as the psychology we encounter is exotic,
Every verdict may not entirely be prudent.
Thus, there is always a place for the ‘Psychological Renaissance’.
Before that, the personalized social judgment we practice;
Most have a life-taking encounter with the ‘Mesozoic Era’.
I am a woman, created by God at an auspicious hour. In my eyes, in my heart is God, the light of love!
Tarana Turan Rahimli, an eminent poetess and writer of Azerbaijan, shares her poetry
Tarana Turan Rahimli was born into an educated family on February 20, in 1970, in Baku, the capital city of Azerbaijan. She is Associate Prof. Dr. Tarana Turan Rahimli is an Azerbaijani poet, writer, journalist, translator, literary critic, teacher, academic, and an active member of the International Literary Agency in Turkey, Azerbaijan, Philippine, Kazakhstan, Italy, Oman, Belgium, and USA. She is a doctor of philological sciences, author of 9 books and more than 500 articles. She is the editor and reviewer of 25 monographs and poetry books. Her poems and prose works have been translated into 35 languages. The work has been published in more than 45 Western and Eastern countries. Prominent poets and literary critics of 15 countries wrote articles about his poetry, and his interviews were published in 27 countries. She has been awarded with more than 50 international awards and 300 honorary degrees and diplomas. In Turkey her two books “They will recognize me from my love” (Izmir, 2013,) “The poem that I didn’t write to you” (Ankara, 2013) have been published. She translated the poems of about 200 world poets from Turkish, Russian and English into Azerbaijani. In 2024, she translated the poems of the Italian poet Claudia Piccinno into Azerbaijani. She has been awarded with more than 50 international awards and 300 honorary degrees and diplomas.
Bengalis are renowned for their love of discussion and argument, and a new collection of short stories reflects this passion for cultured conversation
Philip Hensher
The first time I went to India, nearly 30 years ago, I was sent as a young novelist by the British Council. Unusually, my first encounter with the country was Kolkata, a city I loved instantly. At the first event, after I had finished reading, an audience member gently asked if I liked Indian novels. I thought I was prepared, and mentioned R.K. Narayan, Salman Rushdie, Anita Desai and Vikram Seth. The questioner smiled. ‘Those are all writers in English,’ he said. ‘What about writers in Indian languages?’ I was stumped.
Perhaps many people of generous reading habits have the same block without knowing it. The liveliness of English-language writers of Asian ethnicity is widely appreciated, even if the author has never lived in one of these countries and hardly speaks any language other than English. But lying just out of reach, often unsuspected, are some glorious literary cultures. The most magnificent and extensive, I suspect, is Bengali, and this anthology, edited by Arunava Sinha, is a splendid guide to unmapped lands.
Tagore
Included is a story by Buddhadeva Bose, which sums up the accepted character of the Bengali nation. A schoolteacher makes a mistake in construing a sentence in Bengali. He puzzles over a verb; he tries to discover the etymology, and, failing, decides to work on a dictionary of the language. His family grows up, and the demands of learning clash with the need to provide a dowry. Society is changing. At the end of Partition, the teacher’s wife is dead and his work lies in tattered boxes in a refugee camp. Still, the labor has been borne. The forces of the Bengali mind – family, debate, the violence of history – triangulate, make a sort of sense, and move on.
Bengalis are renowned for their love of culture, discussion and argument, but that’s not the whole story. In 1971, the Pakistan army took it for granted that the Bengali poet-nationalists would not be as effective in a conflict as they were – and paid the price. One Bengali, the joke goes, equals a poet; two Bengalis a film society; three Bengalis a political party; four Bengalis two political parties.
To some degree, the stories here reflect that charming joke. Conversation is everywhere. In one of the best, by Purnendu Pattrea, an interchange between lovers – beautiful, tired, and tender – is recorded as if never heard before:
Why are you so late
Were the roads crowded?
I was a little late too
All roads have cracks
Why so many people on the streets
A funeral procession? Who’s died?
No one we know I hope
Jogo left just the other day…
Most western readers will probably have heard of only two authors here, Rabindranath Tagore and Satyajit Ray. Tagore is a hard nut to crack. He must be one of the most loved writers in history. The simplest Bengali household knows some of his poems. (I was amused recently when an English schoolteacher wrote about one of her pupils bursting into beautifully crafted verse. The work handed in was a very famous poem by Tagore about the rain, quite unrecognized by the teacher but evidently recited daily by the pupil’s parents.) In fact the poetry can often seem bland or abstract to western commentators, but the fiction is wild and strange and remote in mode.
Ray is better known as a great film-maker. His masterpiece, Pather Panchali, is based on a novel by Bhibutibhushan Bandhyopadhyay, who has a splendidly austere story in this collection. Ray’s short fiction is greatly loved – perhaps none more than his Sherlock Holmes pastiches for the children’s magazine Sandesh, about a detective called Felu-da. Those would be rather long for inclusion here, and an enchanting story narrated by a half-understanding child takes its place. My husband’s family’s recollection of the excitement when an issue of Sandesh sent Felu-da to England to investigate a crime remains infectious 50 years on.
There are also classic authors who deserve to be better known. Balai Chand Mukhophyay, or ‘Banaphool’, is mainly a writer of quizzical magazine miniatures. The superb example of his work here presents three dramatic alternatives to a situation of love and passion, before admitting that nothing much happened in the end. Jibanananda Das is the Bengali poet whose verbal intensity appeals most to western readers. The novels of his I’ve read are wonderfully closely observed and his story about bored, arguing couples is as gripping as a thriller.
But the great master is Sankar (or Mani Sankar Mukherjee). His early novels, a trilogy, follow an ordinary Indian through one setting after another. The first, The Great Unknown, describes Sankar’s own experience in the 1950s as a clerk to Noel Barwell, the last British barrister in Kolkata. They are stunning books, and I hope Penguin thinks of publishing them as modern classics. The story here is a masterpiece. A Hindu priest argues over his right to present rituals in institutions, his eyes on both profit and orthodox practice. His daughter dreams of film stardom. A girls’ school is unsure about the priest’s requirements: he wants soil from outside a whorehouse for a ritual. The daughter makes concessions to a film maker; the priest is discovered digging the soil in the house before his own house. It is simply devastating – an ironic masterpiece.
Among the best stories are those that engage with the larger political situation, which has always been at the forefront of Bengali engaged chatter. (An afternoon in the Indian Coffee House in Kolkata or a wander around that great university Jadavpur is an object lesson in impromptu debate.) Manik Bandhyopadhyay depicts the descent of a gangster into real deprivation. Sunil Gangopadhyay writes a beautifully playful parallel to Luis Buñuel’s The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. A pundit visiting an impoverished village asks fora cup of tea. The village takes him from one place to another, the tea repeatedly unobtainable, until finally they burst into a luxurious western hotel in town and are satisfied, amid terror and outrage.
This is not just commentary: events had a way of impacting on the practice of literature. In the final week of the Bangladesh war of independence, the retreating Pakistani army took the barbarous decision to murder Bengali intellectuals and writers, hoping to cripple the new nation’s intellectual life. Among those killed was Shahidullah Kaiser, the author of a beautiful novel, Sangshaptak. There are substantial writers from the contemporary scene, including Shaheen Akhtar (Bengali writing has always been strong in adventurous women writers). But who knows what has been lost to the later pages of this anthology?
The treatment of everyday life varies from densely precise accounts of specific situations, such as Gourkishore Ghosh’s tale of corrupt union officials, to playfully rule-bound fictional mechanisms: Humayun Ahmed’s story of a chess prodigy condemned to an inability to lose a match, or one of a man who turns everything to gold. This last must exist in some form in every literature in the world. Parashuram’s glorious version is utterly Bengali. It ventures into the economic details with energy; it relies on noisy chatter; and it has a gusto no reader could resist:
Paresh-babu had found a philosopher’s stone. When and where, how it got there, or whether there are more is none of your business. Be quiet and listen.
We are exceptionally lucky to have one of the best living translators at work bringing the Bengali classics into English. Sinha has produced another anthology, The Greatest Bengali Stories Ever Told, with an Indian publisher, but there is no overlap between the two volumes. He writes with exceptional elegance and wit, and is astonishingly productive. His previous translations include a glorious Banaphool selection, and an absorbingly capable version of Buddhadeva Bose’s 1949 domestic epic of a family with five daughters, Tithidore as When the Time is Right.
I hope Penguin capitalizes on the triumph of this superb anthology and commissions Sinha to translate as many of the Bengali classics as possible, starting with a reissue of Sankar’s irresistible trilogy. It ought to open many readers’ eyes to what the true variety of literature consists of.
_______________________
Philip Hensher is professor of Creative Writing at Bath Spa University and the author of 11 novels including A Small Revolution in Germany.
No one is safe anywhere in urban as well as rural areas where the incidents of abduction for ransom, theft and robbery are very common and the gangs of bandits are operating openly
An alarming situation prevails in Sindh as no one is safe anywhere in urban as well as rural areas where the incidents of abduction for ransom, theft and robbery are very common and the gangs of bandits are operating openly.
It has also now come on the record that there are covert hands of the local waderas and they have the political support from the local MPAs and MNAs who are also involved in getting released such notorious dacoits.
Recently, it was also seen that son of one of the advisors to Sindh Chief Minister was involved in smuggling of modern weapons from Balochistan in a police van to dacoits in Kashmore- Kandhkot and on reporting such incident in the media, advisor resigned and demanded inquiry of the incident. The Inspector General of Police has failed to exercise his full authority and no such progress is seen as the political involvement in police is visible. The police vans are being used in smuggling of weapons to dacoits and the senior superintendents of police in districts also fail to take action against the gangs of dacoits which is eye-opener for all of us.
Further, the chief Justice of Sindh has taken a very decisive step by calling the criminal justice committee meeting in which the Inspector General of police, Sindh and the Director General Rangers, Sindh inviting them to share opinion on the law and order situation in Sindh and they are directed to act according to shared minutes of meeting but in spite of that there is no positive development in the law and order situation in Sindh.
The question is that who will take onus of improving law and order situation in Sindh.
The alarming situation can also be judged from a video released by the dacoits wherein a child is tied in chain who is crying for the release and a huge amount of ransom has been demanded by dacoits. Although, the police have got released the child, but his release has raised several questions: How the police got the child released? Was it result of any encounter or a deal? What happened of kidnappers? The police have kept mum on such questions, which again raises doubts on the role of police.
Screen shot from a video circulating on social media showing the bandits
The local police have completely failed to control law and order situation in Sindh and the inspector general of police Ghulam Nabi Memon seems unable to formulate any policy to counter the dacoits. The political parties will have to take steps in improving the law and order situation in Sindh as they have no any right to interfere in the police department because political involvement of local MPAs and MNAs in police saves the dacoits from being arrested. How such political involvement will end where the Senior Superintendents of police are being posted on their special recommendations.
The case of minor girl Priya Kumari is a test case for the Inspector General of Police who is missing since August, 2021 from Sukkur where she was serving water on 10th of the Moharamul Haram to local mourners. Since August, 2021 the release of Priaya Kumari has become a mystery. The Chief justice of Sindh Aqeel Abbassi will have to use powers of the criminal justice committee, and the Inspector General of Police and the Director General Rangers ought to be directed to recover Priya Kumari and all those peaceful citizens who have been abducted by the gangs.
The constitution of Pakistan guarantees dignity of the citizens and the Sindh High Court being the constitutional court should take the concrete steps in this regard. The Chief Justice of the Sindh High Court should take the matter of peace in Sindh seriously as the people consider the court as the last hope because the police have failed to maintain law and order and failed to discharge their duties honestly. The director general Rangers should also control the law and order situation. There is a dire need of intelligence based operations in the whole of Sindh which would also help the local police in arresting the real culprits.
The English translation of a novel ‘Maharaja Dahir’ authored by Kolkata-based renowned novelist Debasree Chakraborti in Bengali language. The novel has been translated by Rajesh Giri
Rohri, Sindh
Year 2021
Dr. Iqbal had been in Rohri village for couple of days. Since coming here Dr. Iqbal has been suffering from diarrhea, so Sabir bhai advised him to take rest for couple of days and then he can resume work.
Today his health is in much better condition. So they will go in search of that Shiv Mandir described by Sheetal. In these two days he has completed a sufficient portion of Surya Devi’s accounts. Since coming here, he has been waking up very early in the morning. The rugged land is all around here, and sprinkles of greenery in between. In front of the house where Dr. Iqbal is staying, an ancient temple stands with its dilapidated ruins; a huge tree near the temple engulfing the entire temple. The temple is clearly visible through the window by the side of Iqbal’s bed. In the dawn, this temple looks as ancient as Sindhu Desh of Maharaja Dahir and the tree has established a new structure germinated from the seed of Mohammad bin Qasim, which is flaunting its existence by consuming the glorious past of Sindhu Desh like a parasite.
Peacocks are abundant in this region; their screams can be heard from all directions. Dr. Iqbal looks back at the temple; a new sunrise is happening from behind the temple and the glorious sunshine is emerging out from both sides of the pinnacle of the temple.
At this time he remembered Surya Devi. She wrote in one place of her account – “When the bleak news of Debal‘s fall reached Aror, everything went out of hand. I still remember that day clearly. A group of traders from Iran were going to Hindustan passing through Aror; they came to the market of Aror and said that there was nothing left of Debal city and the port. Mohammad bin Qasim and his so-called crusaders did not leave a single citizen of Debal alive; the temple of Debal is still burning. They said that every village and town of Sindh starting from Armanbela has been turned into a terrible valley of death by Mohammad bin Qasim; now he is advancing towards Aror. The news of Debal’s fall spread like wildfire throughout the city of Aror. Hearing this news, my elder brother Jai Singh accompanied by his closest friend Somaditya drove his horse for Debal. Soma was like insane; perhaps none of us had the ability to feel the fire that ignited in him that day. Since the victory of Debal, it was spread all over the place, but we could not believe it at first, because no one wanted to believe that kind of feeling could arise in Soma, who keeps himself busy all day in military training like sword fighting, ambush technique and always be with my brother Jai Singh for assistance in the governance of the fort of Sindh. Nothing was ever a secret in our Aror palace, so when Soma sent gifts to Maheshwar Vanik’s family and gifts came to his family from Maheshwar Vanik’s family, we understood the depth of this relationship. I have never seen Gauri by myself, but I have heard from those who have seen her that such a beauty is rare in the entire Sindh. I was feeling heavily for Gauri. When our father used to sit for eating before going to the court, we two sisters used to sit beside him. Even that day father was eating, I and Parimal sat on either side of him. At that time, Prime Minister Budhimaan came; he was in a frantic state. I still remember that scene; the whole body of the Prime Minister was shaking, his eyes and face were red. Finding him in such condition my father could not contemplate what to do.
Maharaja Dahir – A novel authored by Debasree Chakraborti in Bengali language
My father was a son of a Brahmin, leaving the meal halfway would be disrespectful to Maa Lakshmi, so father could not stand up, but his whole body seemed to become dull anticipating a great danger.
Didn’t have to wait long. The Prime Minister said, “Maharaj!! They have finished Debal. Not a single one is alive!!! From Armanbela to Deval and on the way from Deval to Aror all cities and villages are burning, thousands of temples are being destroyed; girls are being taken from their homes and raped. They will not understand your philosophy and motto Maharaj, there is still time to take up arms.”
Prime Minister looked at me and my sister and said to His Majesty, “Your children are being turned into slaves and sent to the markets of Baghdad. All is not over yet, take up arms sir.”
Hearing all these, my father was no longer able to swallow food. He ordered the prime minister to prepare the troops. The war gong of Aror rang. Our troops began to prepare themselves to face an unknown enemy. Father was not mentally prepared for such a situation. He was preparing for celibacy in his last life, gradually freeing himself from all kinds of worldly attachments and progressing on the path of seeking God, when he was attacked by such an unknown enemy; he became perplexed. At that time, he looked like a saint, it was a very difficult task to dive into the worldly ties again after advancing so far in his path of detachment.
From that day he became completely silent. While Aror’s army is getting ready, after three days, Dada returns from Debal and starts preparations for the battle. We learned from Dada’s friend Soma that when Soma entered Debal with Dada, Debal became a valley of death. When they freed the city from the Arab invasion a few days ago, it was a vibrant and festive city, but when they entered the city after the fall, it was in ruins, with corpses strewn all over the streets. Entering the ruins of the huge Shiva temple in the middle, they witnessed the severed heads of thousands of Debal warriors.
The people of Debal fought bravely against the Arab crusaders; there is evidence scattered all around the city. Carnivorous animals and birds were devouring on the corpses everywhere in the city then. Dada and Somaditya then rushed to Maheshwar Vanik’s palace. At the entrance to the palace they found the severed heads of the two sons of Vanik and their guards. Inside this house, they find the dead bodies of Gauri and her mother in a secret cellar. Soma and Dada both cremated Gauri’s family on the seashore that day. Like Gauri and her mother, many women of Deval sacrificed themselves to Agni. From all the places along which Muhammad bin Qasim was advancing, news was coming that women were sacrificing themselves into fire to preserve their dignity. We were getting very scared and terrified. We were waiting for a completely unknown danger. The women of the palace, including our mother, decided to fight the enemy shoulder to shoulder with the men; if for any reason our father got defeated, we women would sacrifice ourselves together into fire, but still not to fall into the hands of these heathens. In between, Sheetal used to come to give flowers. I heard from Sheetal that the men of their village were also preparing to go to war with their father and the women were fervently wishing for Maharaj’s victory in this war for motherland. At that time, pujas were organized in all the temples of Aror to wish father’s victory. One day my sister Parimal and I set out very secretly with Sheetal on the way to their village Rohri. Sheetal used to say that if you do puja in the temple of Mahadev in their village, all your wishes will be fulfilled. So Parimal and I secretly offered puja to that temple for the victory of my father. The white temple on the banks of the river Sindhu resembled like a Shiv Linga from a distance, surrounded by five banyan trees, inhabited by flock of birds. When we reached there it was a little before evening; there was no one in the temple premises. Mother Sindhu was flowing behind the temple. At that time surrounded by the chirping of birds and in the twilight environment of the temple, a strange tranquility was pervaded around. I and Parimal couldn’t arrange anything for puja, Sheetal brought water from the river in an earthen pot and some wild flowers. Parimal and I poured that water onto the Shivalinga and offered Anjali to Mahadev with those wild flowers. (Continues)
Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her most recent novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date.
Rajesh Giri, born in Kolkata, had his early schooling from Kolkata and then from Medinipur—a village in Bengal. He graduated from Calcutta University with Physics and Maths and Master’s from Burdwan University in 2016. Now he is associated with Adhdhyaan educational institution teaching Physics. History enthusiastic Rajesh Giri is particularly interested in the ancient civilization of India and other regions like Egypt, Mesopotamia, and North America. He loves traveling.
The grand mansion of the Satha-ghari Kirpalani family continues to stand across the congested road running in front of the Hyderabad Municipal Corporation in Sindh.
Saaz Aggarwal
The grand mansion continues to stand across the congested road running in front of the Hyderabad Municipal Corporation of Hyderabad, Sindh.
Much divided and depleted, one of these impressive buildings, constructed in 1930, was home to the illustrious Satha-ghari Kirpalani family until 1947, when Partition forced them to flee.
Hundomal Kirpalani and his wife Gangabai belonged to the Sindhi Bhaiband community, socially prominent and well-off. But, with 7 young sons and a daughter, their lives were a struggle in the early days.
In the 1920s, they lived in a simple home in Ghitti Baba Lakshmandas with other Kirpalani families, as can be seen in this sketch, which was made by Murli Kirpalani. Dada Murli’s father was Thakurdas, the second son of Gangabai and Hundomal. He gave the sketch to Gopi Kirpalani (daughter-in-law of Parmanand, their seventh son, and herself from the illustrious Kewalram Chanrai family) and she preserved it as a record for future generations.
The family had a turn of fortune when the eldest son, Lilaram, went to Sindhwork, and gradually grew to prosperity. They built a new, palatial residence with separate quarters for each of the 7 sons and their families. Its construction stretched over a long period, with materials and furnishings sourced from different parts of the world, including marble from Italy and beautiful Sindhi tiling, some of which still be seen inside the building. It was this home that brought the prestigious name “Satha-ghari Kirpalanis” to the family – the Kirpalani family with 7 homes.
One of the biggest and most dramatic movements in Hyderabad in the 1930s was the rise of an organization called Om Mandli. The founder was Hundomal’s cousin, Dada Lekhraj. They had lived together in the old house in Ghitti Baba Lakshmandas. A close association continued over the years, and is retained by many branches of the family even today.
Displaced by the Partition of India in 1947, members scattered all around the world, many settling in Pune. But members live not just in India but also in Belize, Cambodia, Canada, Curaçao, Chile, England, Germany, Ghana, Gibraltar, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Italy, Malta, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, Singapore, Spain, Switzerland, the US, Vietnam, and other places.
Partition was not the only trauma and loss of prestige, wealth, and comfort that members of this family faced! However, the response has remained unwavering: stoic acceptance, awe-inspiring resilience, and the heroic ability to move on and rebuild without a fuss, a characteristic that many Sindhi families also displayed during Partition and continued to do so in difficult times to come.
Saaz Aggarwal is an independent researcher, writer and artist based in Pune, India. Her body of writing includes biographies, translations, critical reviews and humour columns. Her books are in university libraries around the world, and much of her research contribution in the field of Sindh studies is easily accessible online for example in:
Her 2012 Sindh: Stories from a Vanished Homeland is an acknowledged classic. With an MSc from Mumbai University in 1982, Saaz taught undergraduate Mathematics at Ruparel College, Mumbai, for three years. After a career break when she had a baby, during which time she established a by-line as a humour writer, she was appointed features editor at Times of India, Mumbai, in 1989, where she launched Ascent, the highly successful HR pullout of the Times of India Group. From 1998 to 2006, she was HR and Quality Head of Seacom, an Information Technology company based in Pune. As an artist, she is recognized for her Bombay Clichés, quirky depictions of urban India in a traditional Indian folk style as well as a unique range of offerings at the annual Art Mandai event in Pune. Her art incorporates a range of media and, like her columns, showcases the incongruities of daily life in India.
The English translation of a novel ‘Maharaja Dahir’ authored by Kolkata-based renowned novelist Debasree Chakraborti in Bengali language. The novel has been translated by Rajesh Giri
Nagarparkar, Tharparkar, Sindh
Year 2021
On the one side of the rugged faded nature all around, there is Karoonjhar mountain range, made of granite rocks. In the vast stretch of wilderness in between, there are small white painted mud houses with hay thatched roof on which peacocks sit screaming; It has been evening for a while, still there is a sweet honey like hue of twilight pervading in the nature. In front of the house in the muddy floor of the yard, a neem tree, with lower part of the trunk, is surrounded by mud wall on all four sides. In this time, a cold breeze blows from across the mountain streams. Budhdha baba every day at this time sits under the neem tree and talks to his brother on video call. Budha Baba’s brother lives in Jaisalmer.
Sanghamitra looked at it once and covered his head and face with her veil and left the house. Today is Maha Shivratri, her mother along with their neighbor women has gone to perform puja at Bholenath temple on that hill; her father is not at home for the last three days; in the middle of every month father goes somewhere for three-four days keeping his employees in charge of the shop, then comes back again. Since Mithila’s departure, no one in this house speaks openly in front of her. Her parents have changed somehow these days. Since the disappearance of Mithila, her mother has increased the ritualistic jargon of puja, she now observes Vrat about three days a week, then breaks Vrat by going to the temple with her neighbors in the evening. Now at home no one talks to anyone unless necessary, but even though everyone has changed, Sanghamitra has not. If everyone changes, then their true existence cannot be retained. Thinking the words in mind, she walks towards the market. There is no attempt of development by the government here, the road to the market is through the desert all around, but there is no paved road in that sense. Peacock’s screams are coming from all sides. There are so many neem trees around this area; peacocks are sitting on these trees. Ahead there is Raja’s house, one of the few Muslim houses in this predominantly Hindu area. As she passed by Raja’s house, she saw a deep well (idara) in front; someone is sitting on the couch of an ancient temple by the side of this Idara. It is dark all around, so one who is sitting there is not clearly visible. Seeing Sanghamitra coming, the man stood up, came forward and walks towards the back of the temple with her. There is no one here, the surroundings are silent, only the call of the peacock can be heard. It was quite dark behind the temple now. Sanghamitra said, “Sarmad, it is not safe for me to stay here with you, hurry up.”
Sarmad took out a small thing wrapped in paper from his pocket and handed it to Sanghamitra and said, “Hope you have watched the video well?” Sanghamitra nodded in agreement and said “Yes I watched. But did you come just to deliver it, or do you have other plan?”
Sarmad said, “What would you do knowing that? Complete the task that is given to you first.” Sanghamitra walked out of the back of the temple in a hurry with the bag on her shoulder; it was very difficult for her to walk on the rocky path, but she had to endure this difficulty to reach the destination. Kerosene lights are burning in small mud huts far; in this region electricity was cut off for ten to eleven hours a day at a stretch; today is Shivratri. When Mithila was there, Maa used to spend the whole night in the temple on Shivratri, but nowadays Maa has changed. She doesn’t spend long anywhere without her.
It won’t be possible to stay out for long; she walked very quickly towards Nagarparkar market. When she was close to market then the electricity connection re-established, and the market in the distance sparkled; she entered the market scanning all around. Market shops are illuminated. She quickly walked through the alley and reached a dark place; there in the darkness she started knocking at the door; after knocking several times, a middle aged lady opened the door and said with a smile, “Hey Sanghamitra, come, come inside.” When Sanghamitra entered the house, the woman hugged her and said, “I really can’t wait for it anymore; I will be truly carefree if the nikah is done soon.” Sanghamitra said, “Ammi, I have already become one of your family by my heart and soul, I myself also do not like to come here hiding myself anymore like this.”
Maharaja Dahir – A novel authored by Debasree Chakraborti in Bengali language
The lady wiped her tears and said, “The coming day of jumma (Friday), everything is being arranged.”
“You know, my daughter, in our religion, when both husband and wife follow the Sunnah of Rasool (Prophet, PBUH) and his Companions, peace, joy and happiness will flow in their lives.”
Sanghamitra’s eyes twinkled. She insisted, “I myself am fully prepared mentally to accept Islam.” Hearing this, the lady raised her hands and said, “May Allah Ta’ala (Allah, The Great) grant taowfik (endurance) to all the husbands and wives of the Muslim Ummah to live according to the Qur’an and Sunnah. Amen.”
Sanghamitra also joined her hands and said Amen, and asked, “Ammi, where is Ahmed?”
The lady smiled and said, “He is there where you have met so far.”
The house is surrounded by a high earthen wall, a large courtyard, on one side of the courtyard; there are small houses made of bricks and mud, with thatched roofs. From inside of these rooms, electric light falls on the outer courtyard. Sanghamitra knows where she has to go. She quickly walked into a room and saw Ahmed is working on the couch with his laptop. Seeing Sanghamitra entering the room, he quickly got up and went to the door and closed it, then the two embraced.
Ahmed says in a choked voice, “Sanghamitra, this moment is like jannat (Heaven) for me. Just five more days, then on the day of Jumma we will be united.”
At that moment the bell rang in the market temple of Nagarparkar. Shivratri puja started in the evening. Sanghamitra saw Ahmed’s mobile phone next to his laptop. She said, “Today mother has gone to the temple to offer shivratri puja, I left budhdha baba alone and came running to meet you; my tongue is getting dry, will you bring some water?”
Ahmed held both sides of Sanghamitra’s cheeks with both hands, looked into his eyes and said, “This thirst won’t quench with water alone, I am thirsty for almost eleven days now; you have to quench my thirst before leaving!”
Ahmed replied while quenching his thirst, “My aunt’s sons have come as refugees from Raqqa, Syria. They have been invited tonight.”
Saying this, Ahmed left the room. Ammi’s kitchen is far away from this room; there is a huge earthen pitcher; it will take four to five minutes for Ahmed to fetch water from it. At this time Abbu stays in the Masjid and Ammi never come to this side when Sanghamitra comes to this house. Sanghamitra kept her eyes on the window and saw Ahmed walking towards the washroom. Very little time in hand, she quickly picked up the mobile phone from the side of the laptop, opened it, stuffed the device given by Sarmad into it, closed the mobile and put it back in its original place. The task was not very easy, but after Sarmad sent her a video on WhatsApp, she completed the task very easily. This house has fast internet connection throughout the day. Even if the electricity goes out, fans and laptops can always be run in Ahmed’s room. After finishing the task, she gasped and looked at the laptop to see a web page open, which had written about the suicide bombers, Sanghamitra started to go through the web page; suddenly she heard Ahmed’s voice, she stood up. Ahmed came and put a glass of water in Sanghamitra’s hand and shut the door and turned off the light in the room. A nice aroma of pulao and gosht (Rice and Meat) cooking are coming in the room.
Ahmed said while untying the pajama rope, “Mahemans (Guests) are coming in a while, hurry up.” Sanghamitra asked keeping the laptop aside and lied on the bed taking off her pajama, “Guests? So late at night?”
Ahmed replied while quenching his thirst, “My aunt’s sons have come as refugees from Raqqa, Syria. They have been invited tonight.”
The cot is making creaking noise on the floor, when they heard the knocking on the outer door. Ahmed got up quickly, gasping and said, “Sanghamitra, today you leave; only five more days left to nikah; it is better that we don’t meet before.” Ahmed left out of the room refastening his pajama; Sanghamitra stood in front of the window; she saw, when Ahmed opened the door, fifteen people entered the house, and their faces are fully covered with black cloth. Sanghamitra took a picture of the website still open on Ahmed’s laptop with her mobile phone and quickly stood by the door again. When Ahmed took the fifteen people to the living room on the west side of their house, Sanghamitra quickly left the house. Now the shops in Nagarparkar bazaar tend to close after sunset. All except a few shops are closed; Sanghamitra walks out of the dark lane and crosses the road towards her home. Shivratri puja is going on in the market temple; the dark desert starts after crossing the market. Walking through such a dark and rough path reminds her of Mithila. These days, the mind has also become very strong, tears don’t usually come to eyes, but while walking on this dark path, tears came to her eyes today. From Dadaji’s she hears about Lakshmibai, the queen of Jhansi, who fought with the British to protect her kingdom. Today she feels herself like Lakshmibai; she has almost sacrificed her life to save the dignity of women of her community; she doesn’t feel at all doing all this with Ahmed. But she considers all this as a part of the war against the enemy. She is just fighting like a soldier. While thinking all these, she was passing by the Jain temple, when Sarmad came from the side and stood beside her. Being conscious of Sarmad, Sanghamitra got surprised and said, “You are still here!”
Sarmad said, “Fifteen Islamic State militants went to Ahmed’s house for dinner. There is a secret meeting there today. After you came out, two more people went there; it is not clear who they are. Did you understand something?”
Sanghamitra’s blood get boiled up, as she suspected; it might be about to happen. She said, “Before I left, Ahmed was looking at a site regarding suicide bombing on his laptop; I think they are going to attack by sending a suicide bomber somewhere. I have taken a picture of the site; I am sending you on WhatsApp.”
Fifteen Islamic State militants went to Ahmed’s house for dinner. There is a secret meeting there today.
Sanghamitra sent the picture of that website on WhatsApp and deleted all the messages to herself and said, “It is done, now I have to return home, mother may have come.”
Sarmad said, “On the way back from the temple to the village, there is a big peepal tree; someone killed a herdsman and hanged him; the Nagarparkar police has now closed that road. Chachi (Aunt) will not be able to return before tomorrow morning. You go home, I am accompanying you to some distance.”
Sarmad and Sanghamitra are moving ahead; the light of Hindustan from beyond the barbed wire of the border falling on the sands of Thar of this side; they are moving ahead; the trilling of crickets is emerging from the bushes nearby. (Continues)
Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her most recent novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date.
Rajesh Giri, born in Kolkata, had his early schooling from Kolkata and then from Medinipur—a village in Bengal. He graduated from Calcutta University with Physics and Maths and Master’s from Burdwan University in 2016. Now he is associated with Adhdhyaan educational institution teaching Physics. History enthusiastic Rajesh Giri is particularly interested in the ancient civilization of India and other regions like Egypt, Mesopotamia, and North America. He loves traveling.
Albania-born Italian poet and writer Angela Kosta publishes ‘Women Global Poetic Gems’ – a collection of poems by 35 international poets
After publishing last month the anthology with her translations of 72 poet authors from all over the world, on the occasion of Mother’s Day (May12) , Angela Kosta publishes ‘Women Global Poetic Gems’ – a 285-page collection of lyric poems by 35 international poets.
This book is dedicated to all mothers, women, wives and daughters, who today more than ever, suffering often silently both verbal and psychological violence. In spite of this, the WOMAN continues and preserves this unspeakable power, which man is often unable to grasp and understand.
The Woman regenerates the same life in her womb, so she is not frightened by anything. It is the divine gem in the infinite spell on nature and that is precisely what you will find in this collection of poems. Every poet verses and puts her unprejudiced unconscious before the mirror of existence, elaborates her thoughts, defeats her torment, rejoices in her satisfactions, highlights the passion, the emotions of lost loves, highlights the profound reflection on family and social life, echoes and evokes peace everywhere, explores, preserves, decorates and cares with admiration for all that nature offers us in all its magnificent and enigmatic presence.
“Women – Global Poetic Gems” is the pure soul of all the women of the world, who fly free with feathers and ink, where no one can touch, hinder and prevent what they would like to externalize. Nothing can stop the rising of the sun, the flow of the river, the flowering and the rebirth all this exists on this earth, because the woman is there, just as the universe is because she herself is the universe. The Woman embraces the whole world at every moment, with her infinite sweetness and divine beauty. Alert and attentive, she rocks the cradle of the whole world because with her lungs she nourishes all that vibrates and breathes. And it is no coincidence that God created it… Woman is the author of the miracle of Life!!!
Biography of Author
Angela Kosta was born in Elbasan (Albania) and has lived in Italy since 1995. She is a translator, essayist, journalist, literary critic, publisher and promoter. She has published 13 books: novels, poems and fairy tales in Albanian, Italian and English. The proceeds of his two books in Italy were donated to the non-profit association for research on Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) and to the Association Daniele Chianelli for scientific research on Leukemia, Tumors and Lymphomas in children and adults. Her poetic volume translated by scholar and writer Hasan Nashid, approved by the Bangladeshi Ministry of Culture, will soon be published in Bengali.
Her publications and translations have been published in various literary magazines and newspapers in several continental and intercontinental countries.
Angela Kosta translates and writes articles and interviews for the newspaper “Calabria Live”, Saturno magazine, Alessandria Today Magazine, the international magazine “Orfeu:”, the newspaper “Nacional”, Gazeta Destinacioni, Perqasje Italo – Shqiptare, the magazine “Atunis”, she collaborates with the magazines: “International Literature Language Journal (Michigan), Wordsmith International Editorial (Florida), Raven Cage (Germany), Bangladesh, Pakistan, etc.
She is co-host in several anthologies in USA, England, India, Bangladesh, Albania, Russia, Germany, Kosovo, etc.
Angela Kosta has translated 150 authors into bilingual: Italian – Albanian and vice versa and has promoted over 500 poets in various national and international literary magazines as well as translating the books of poems by 3 Albanian and Kosovar authors. He has also translated the poems of important Italian classics, and many other famous authors.
Angela Kosta is Vice President of the South Korea Writers’ Association, Vice President of the Tamikio Dooley Writers Choach Organization, Ambassador for Culture and Peace in: Bangladesh, Poland, Morocco, Canada, Algeria, Egypt, Mexico, Romania, India, etc.
She is also a member of the Writers’ League (LSHASH) and BSHBSH – Italy, AAA (America), Greece, Poland, Hungary, Mexico, Romania, Croatia, India.
In Italy many important newspapers and magazines have written various articles about Angela Kosta: La Nazione, Il Messaggero, Il Corriere dell’Umbria, Revista Confidenze, Il Quotidiano d’Italia, Umbria 7, News Diretta, Umbria 24, Vivo Umbria, etc…
Prominent international critics have praised her writing: Francesca Gallello, (writer, screenwriter, journalist, director of Saturno magazine, Italy), Mustafa Gökçek (journalist and literary critic, Turkey), El Majjad (journalist, literary critic, Iraq), Pier Carlo Lava (publisher), Rasim Maslic (journalist, painter, writer, Croatia), Fabrizio Ciocchetti (writer, journalist, Italy), Elena Caruso (journalist, literary critic), Federica Mastroforti (journalist), Adriano Bottaccioli (writer, Director of Art), Paolo Ippoliti (journalist), Enzo Beretta (journalist), Simone Strati Editore, Nasir Aijaz journalist, poet, scholar, publisher, (Pakistan), Dibran Fylli, academic, director, poet, editor-in-chief, Ndue Dragusha, poet, editor, essayist, Rifat Ismaili, writer, literary critic, essayist, etc…
Angela Kosta has been translated and published in 30 foreign languages and foreign countries. In 2024 alone, it has been published in 95 national and international newspapers and magazines, with: poems, articles, interviews, books, reviews, etc. He has received numerous awards from various magazines and newspapers. In 2023, the magazine OBELISK directed by Roland Lushi declared her, among others, the best translator with translations of the Noblest poet Giosuè Alessandro Giuseppe Carducci, as well as the Moroccan newspaper Akhbar7 proclaimed her the Celebrity Woman for 2023.
Angela Kosta has received the Certification of Doctor Honoris Causa from various universities including: Colombia, Moldova, Yemen, Algeria, Romania, Mexico, and India and recently also from the University of Language and Literature in Morocco by Dean Muhammad Blik.
Maid Corbic from Tuzla, Bosnia Herzegovina, is a well awarded young poet. Many of his works have been published in anthologies and magazines in Chile, Spain, Ecuador, Bosnia and Herzegovina, San Salvador, United Kingdom, Indonesia, India, Croatia, Serbia, etc. as well as printed anthology of poems “Sea in the palm of your hand”, “Stories from Isolation”, and” Kosovo Peony “and others. In 2020 he was named Poet of the Year in the Indo-Universe Group, which also engages in charity around the world. He is winner of numerous awards, among them the association “KNS – Nova Svjetlost” in Sarajevo, during which he won a bronze charter for his work. He is the winner of the BigBang competition that was organized in Tuzla in 2021. 
LOVE IS NOT A GRAIN OF RICE
He saw divorce papers in the hands of his wife. Let me sign them he said. But the tears in his eyes said a different story. He did not want to sign them, because of their daughter. He knew, if the wife was left free to remarry, the girl will be ruined.
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand is an Indian author credited with an oeuvre of 160 plus books. He recently won the Serbian Award: Charter of Morava and his name appears on the Poet’s Rock in Serbia. [anandjs55@yahoo.com]
Rajendra Ojha (Nayan) is a Nepalese poet, social researcher, social worker, and EU-certified trainer. He also served as a citizen diplomat for three months under the ‘Ministry of Population and Environment’ in 2018 in Switzerland for the diplomatic program of the Minamata Convention, which was held in Geneva. Poems and philosophical writings of Rajendra Ojha have been published in various national as well as international literary journals from Nepal, U.S.A., India, China, Russia, Spain, Myanmar, Pakistan and United Kingdom in both Nepalese and English. He has also published two anthologies, ‘Through the World’ (a collection of experimental poems) and ‘Words of Tiger’ (a collection of philosophical and psychological poems), in 2011 and 2019, respectively. He has been honored by two major prestigious awards named ‘Asia’s Outstanding Internship Solution Provider Award 2020/21’ and ‘Dadasaheb Phalke Television Award 2023’ respectively for his work as a ‘Social Researcher’ as well as a ‘Social Worker’, respectively, in 2021 and 2023. 
Prudent Judgement
Tarana Turan Rahimli was born into an educated family on February 20, in 1970, in 
I WAS SO QUIET THEY MET WITH A STONE 
IF YOU WROTE LETTER 
Debasree Chakraborti is a renowned novel writer of Bengali language. Based in Kolkata, West Bengal, India, she has done Master’s in Modern History from the Kolkata University, and authored some thirty books, mostly the novels, with historical perspective and themes. Her most recent novel is ‘Maharaja Dahir’ that covers the history of Sindh from 662, the year of first attack on Sindh by the Arab armies till date. 
Rajesh Giri, born in Kolkata, had his early schooling from Kolkata and then from Medinipur—a village in Bengal. He graduated from Calcutta University with Physics and Maths and Master’s from Burdwan University in 2016. Now he is associated with Adhdhyaan educational institution teaching Physics. History enthusiastic Rajesh Giri is particularly interested in the ancient civilization of India and other regions like Egypt, Mesopotamia, and North America. He loves traveling.
Much divided and depleted, one of these impressive buildings, constructed in 1930, was home to the illustrious Satha-ghari Kirpalani family until 1947, when Partition forced them to flee.
In the 1920s, they lived in a simple home in Ghitti Baba Lakshmandas with other Kirpalani families, as can be seen in this sketch, which was made by Murli Kirpalani. Dada Murli’s father was Thakurdas, the second son of Gangabai and Hundomal. He gave the sketch to Gopi Kirpalani (daughter-in-law of Parmanand, their seventh son, and herself from the illustrious Kewalram Chanrai family) and she preserved it as a record for future generations.
One of the biggest and most dramatic movements in Hyderabad in the 1930s was the rise of an organization called Om Mandli. The founder was Hundomal’s cousin, Dada Lekhraj. They had lived together in the old house in Ghitti Baba Lakshmandas. A close association continued over the years, and is retained by many branches of the family even today.
Saaz Aggarwal is an independent researcher, writer and artist based in Pune, India. Her body of writing includes biographies, translations, critical reviews and humour columns. Her books are in university libraries around the world, and much of her research contribution in the field of Sindh studies is easily accessible online for example in:
Angela Kosta translates and writes articles and interviews for the newspaper “Calabria Live”, Saturno magazine, Alessandria Today Magazine, the international magazine “Orfeu:”, the newspaper “Nacional”, Gazeta Destinacioni, Perqasje Italo – Shqiptare, the magazine “Atunis”, she collaborates with the magazines: “International Literature Language Journal (Michigan), Wordsmith International Editorial (Florida), Raven Cage (Germany), Bangladesh, Pakistan, etc.