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   Swagato

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I was getting bored, because I couldn't understand anything out of the
topic.  I knew it would look bad and would be disrespectful to the old man
if I had left the room, but at one stage, I made some pretext of going out
of the room.

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

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

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

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

   ****

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

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

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

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

   Both of us were silent for a few moments.

   "Why did you come here ?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Then do"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Now you sing a song." she requested.

   "Keka-di, since last two days, I have been singing only one song within
me.  The song of touch, the song of love in Spring "....Jetuku jaay re
doore Bhaabnaa knaapaay sure Taai niye jaay belaa Noopur-ero taal guni
Rochi mamo phaalguni Ektuku chhnoaa laage Ektuku kathaa shuni..."

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

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

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

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

   *********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   We said goodbye to :

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

   **********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

   **********

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

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