All the beautiful daughters of Mara by Ashok Aatreya (books to read for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕
Excerpt from the book:
A novel written by Ashok atreya is an attempt of embodying the para-psychological, ethereal and day-to-day experiences of the hero. The Key to this novel is very clearly explained in the 54th chapter with the same title " All the beautiful Daughters of Mara", in which Anand, the hero, tells us the story of his previous births, where he visualizes the past and present where his unfulfilled desire for eternal love accentuates with unending lust for life, get freely expressed.
The myth of "All the beautiful Daughters of Mara" existing parallel to his own span of life, of which only present is visible and the rest of the episodes in his previous births, Anand experiences as and when he encounters them.
The overall development of this novel could only be examined with the help of a "Tantrik-based parody", where not only the sequence of Janma-Janmantra is added for an additional fervor, exposing the hero's passion and lust through and through but also his predicament of being a helpless victim in the hands of mystic destiny.
The author has picked up an apparently mystic theme. Unconsciously, as he has inherited the tradition of religion, Indian mythology and Tantra from his ancestors, but the beauty of the work lies in the fact of a secular approach to life omitting the bondages of caste and creed. In this background, this work of fiction becomes para-modern!
The libidinal instinct of Anand in his present and previous births, attaches with himself a number of voluptuous women belonging to various ethnic backgrounds. Tantra, as a distinctive sect of Hindu worship tradition, has very significant role of "Panch-Makars" and, therefore, the Omni-presence of women around the hero is the internal necessity of the theme, which results into many neo-vam-margi experience. This is, thus, a novel-departure in the field of contemporary Indian English writing.
The novelist has very aptly casted valid comment on the degeneration of present political scenario by elevating the police -shooter, an encounter-specialist to the supreme office of the President. (this is just like The then President of Pakistan General Parvez Musharraf (Who started his career as an ordinary military commando) These are not mere fiction fantasies but all around us, we find such absurdities taking shape !
The sub-titles attributed to 58 chapters lucidly establish the internal consistency of unbelievable episodes full of love, lust and crime, tied with an unseen threads of births and rebirths.
Naturally such a theme has interminable prospective of constructing stories -interesting and unending, of which Ashok Aatreya, as a fiction writer, has all the potential.
The myth of "All the beautiful Daughters of Mara" existing parallel to his own span of life, of which only present is visible and the rest of the episodes in his previous births, Anand experiences as and when he encounters them.
The overall development of this novel could only be examined with the help of a "Tantrik-based parody", where not only the sequence of Janma-Janmantra is added for an additional fervor, exposing the hero's passion and lust through and through but also his predicament of being a helpless victim in the hands of mystic destiny.
The author has picked up an apparently mystic theme. Unconsciously, as he has inherited the tradition of religion, Indian mythology and Tantra from his ancestors, but the beauty of the work lies in the fact of a secular approach to life omitting the bondages of caste and creed. In this background, this work of fiction becomes para-modern!
The libidinal instinct of Anand in his present and previous births, attaches with himself a number of voluptuous women belonging to various ethnic backgrounds. Tantra, as a distinctive sect of Hindu worship tradition, has very significant role of "Panch-Makars" and, therefore, the Omni-presence of women around the hero is the internal necessity of the theme, which results into many neo-vam-margi experience. This is, thus, a novel-departure in the field of contemporary Indian English writing.
The novelist has very aptly casted valid comment on the degeneration of present political scenario by elevating the police -shooter, an encounter-specialist to the supreme office of the President. (this is just like The then President of Pakistan General Parvez Musharraf (Who started his career as an ordinary military commando) These are not mere fiction fantasies but all around us, we find such absurdities taking shape !
The sub-titles attributed to 58 chapters lucidly establish the internal consistency of unbelievable episodes full of love, lust and crime, tied with an unseen threads of births and rebirths.
Naturally such a theme has interminable prospective of constructing stories -interesting and unending, of which Ashok Aatreya, as a fiction writer, has all the potential.
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- Author: Ashok Aatreya
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will come and take my price any time…with interest.
‘Taking Interest is a crime in shariat Boss’.
‘It will not be in cash but in kind.You should be prepared for that.’Saadat was talking in a way as if some hidden deal was made between him and Asad. I was scared. I also felt depressed. Perhaps Asad understood my feeling.
He told with smile to Saadat-‘Boss you can cut good jokes…but don’t you know, your jokes make Shaheen bibi deeply disturbed.’
In the plane Saadat’s obseen pretentions and acts, anchroaching my body continieously offended me.I had to tolerate all that since I was his one hour bibi. It was a verbal contract between ‘two very good friends’.
The behavior and words of Saadat dared to cast a slur on my character. I felt bad about it and thought to react in the appropriate time.
When our aeroplane touched the land of Pakistan I was in slumber. I did not know when Saadat left us.
‘We reached Lahore.Sadaat had gone to enquiry for finding the time for his next flight for Abudhabi. Just after crossing the runway and lawns we entered in the lounge, Asad expressed his extreme religious attitude. He took out the bedsheet from his bag and after spreading it offered namaj at the side of the wall close to enquiry office.I felt well. Good that he was a god fearing man .Again we waited another two hours as somebody from his close relation was supposed to come here to receive us from some old township, Rahmatganj.
‘Why don’t we move out…it’s already late- I asked Asad.
Saadat was still starring her.
‘Saadat will be with us till we make exit but before that a senior Police Officer will clear our papers’. While telling this,Asad was also not feeling easy.
Then came another man. He was from custom.
‘Your papers are clear gentleman? The long and stout custom man enquired.
‘We are waiting for Usman Saheb’.
‘Oh no problem but if you are in a hurry I can make some routine cheking and releive you in fifteen thousand only ….only. As you are known to our senior boss.After a pause he told Asad-‘ Usman Sahib is on leave today.’
‘On leave? Asad seemed depressed.
‘Yaas… sir, He answered politely.But his answering was timid.That smelt of his cunningness.
His way of talking, made me little worried.
‘Pay the dog his due and go home’- Arab cried. ’My flight is due in next twenty minute.
The trouble was not over and in another twenty minute when Saadat left, three more custom persons joined the old one.Then there was a long round of enquiries.
We were brought to the Downstairs to big Custom Intellegence cell.Their way of functioning and questioning was more of amusing nature and not serious as their interest was in delaying only.One senior officer was moving in his night gown also and he was reading some cheap novel….He was sitting across the table and would speak every after ten minutes …interesting… very interesting…was it about us or a reaction of his novel reading was not clear .Now Asad alone was facing the problem, although being a journalist and writer he was confident of his talking with seniors. Still things were not that easy.
It was already night folloewd by dusk and staff also changed…and their enquiry did not come to an end and the whole matter became as portentous as prison….they meant, they might detain us…but what for …they said our pasport was fake .
‘Fake….what you say…it is issued by the valid authority’.Asad argued
‘But then where was Mr Saadaat? And how Mrs Saadaat was here? Simple, absurd and illogical question…Asad answered each question but I became worried about my future. Fortunately in the late night custom team waved us through the gate.One small size….three feet tiny man Bauna… opened the gate with his left hand while his other hand was engaged in smoking.He asked us for tip.I gave him fifty rupees. There was another checking on the last gate, if we had any firearm.
Outside the gate, it seemed to be a long way down the home town.The flat shanty houses disappointed me further. I was badly tired.
Asad’s father was known as Haji Sahab.He had recently returned after holy prilgrimage from Mecca…He was thoroughly a gentleman but was not ready to accept me as wife of his only son and advised his son to take me to one so called other home.
In reality it was more of a social service Centre for Mentally Retarded persons and Home for Psychiatric patients and a Dawakhana.Also affiliated with some Rescue cum- fondling home for destitute children and ladies cought in crime and immoral traffic. Run with the help of one old practitioner of Unani and Tibbiya Hakim Saheb and owned by his Anglo-Indian wife who was a nurse in Lahore before division of India and became his Bibi. She changed her name as Roshan Ara. The bus stop near the centre became famous as Roshan Bibi ka Pagalkhana later only Pagal Khana.
When I was introduced to that lady( Perhaps the feed back was already given to her ) who was the Superendent of that institution,she gave me a mother like smile but told me,'' I know ‘beta’ you are running in trouble…Allah will make everything fine. Don’t worry.I am now your mother.'’Her softness and concern touched my heart.Tears rolled from my eyes and she took me close to her heart.It was a warm feeling,first time in another country.
I remembered I left my parents in Bikampur…what might be happening to my grand father who loved me more than anything in the world.I wept for whole day and whole night…and then came Asad ,with all his assurances, being helpless for sometime he cut a sorry figure for this decision.
The lady was very hard working social worker and gave love to all the inmates. She had no issue of her own and since she descended from a converted Anglo-Indian family who took to Islam after the division of India, she felt special affection for me. I forgot everything what happened to me in last few days .Asad continued coming to me and both of us maintained physical and emotional intimacy…It was decided between us that he would marry me after I become mother .My being pregnant from ‘A’ still remained an untold story to anyone except Asad. He made an agreement and entered into settlement with me to marry me and decided to pay ten thousand rupees in case of divorce .But nothing of that sort was settled legally. It was all verbal.
I believed in him as he was introduced to me as a Writer and Journalist of reputation but very soon I realized, he had all the problems but none of the attributes of a writer. He ultimately proved to be a fundamentalist and an impulsive fanatic.
Then and there, I faced many twists in my life. Ahasas was being looked after by Anglo-Indian lady…we all called her ‘Amma’.Like her hundred’s of other sons and daughters, Ahasas was also looked after as her own son. I did'nt understand, why he became a pupil of her eye. Ahasas remained in the Institution till he became young.
I shifted to Asad’s house after the demise of his father. But in all these years Asad was changing fast. Even the near and dear relatives of Asad started drumming into his ears that my living with Asad was not acceptable to them…Asad started treating me as a kept and never gave me the status of wife. After the death of his father he adopted his easy profession of pursuing and preaching prostitutes in their Kothas for leaving their sinful profession and take path towards virtuous life. Perhaps for his ‘bright’ future his late father had left for him the old hand written copy of Koran which was in use in their family for last six generations. No doubt his earning was good. In such conditions, realising my position I started making good political contacts outside and I made my status stronger in the society and political circle…The changed circumstances brought me close to Pakistan President and I came with him in this visit to India. But that all , was not tolerated by him.
Now I am fighting cases in shariat courts of Zinna and Asad has declared an open war against me.
I now wish to come to India and live here if god blesses me or there might be a curse on me and if I loose the case I might be punished for that charge in Pakistan ….
Nothing more…Hope you will forgive and forget me if I am no more in this world…But only request you, You will take your son Ahasas in your arms for at least for one moment…I have protected him from all evil eyes…..Khuda Hafij.
… …. ….. Another letter was written on the letter head of Rambagh Palace Hotel without any date. Even in that letter she did not put her signatures .It read like that-
‘Respected Anand Saheb,
Aadab, I have no right of any sort now to write such letter to you as we are travellers of two different boats. We are two families now. God bless you, your wife and children a very happy and prosperous life…
Since the day I met you again, I still had the feeling in my heart that I should boldly expose before you my false face…I was again and again in the state of ‘to be or not to be’ but then my mind and heart both agreed to tell you certain truths about my life. I don’t know how long I will live now but ‘your and my AHSAS is still before my eyes. He might some day meet you in my and your life time, as he is the only living entity and inspiration which keeps ‘my old Anand’ in my heart. You might have forgotten your Shaheen, but I have not.
My life in Pakistan is not well, still I am fighting. Shaheen has inborn qualities of struggling against the odds .I am fighting a case in different courts and any day I might say Khuda Hafij to everyone whom I loved…. I will come to India again if I WIN…..
( …And like that Shaheen wrote another letter…rather more of a fact finding story on another sheet of paper…not on hotel letter-head this time. It was more of a diary… but for that she used another small envelop. Envelop in the envelop)
‘……………..’
49/ MORE GHOSTS IN THE ENVELOP
Before opening envelop, Anand thought again, was there any ghost hidden in this envelop? Might be one old letter written to him long long ago but not posted. Or letter from a son in the name of his father or some eye opening document or another press cutting of Ahsas’s achievements, may be another story of her battle with her so called husband that begins again. And the naked realities of life, The ‘Dropadi the helpless woman, demanding protection from some Dushasan…Abla calling lord Krishna…and the unending cloth saves her ‘womanhood’.
That’s the untold story of life being told to him. The ‘Jinn’ from the bottle will come in the fresh air, but its going to relieve whom…or putting in someone in trouble ?Perhaps the mystery of another envelop was going to be a mercury of facts. To be revealed to Anand .
This time, bunch of pages no full sentence or description but notes, ambiguously written, sometime in clear hand writing. But overall conveying meaning with difficulty. To him it was more a poetry than prose, something different.
What she wrote after that was in these words, her statements and words often repeated but the bare truthful
‘Taking Interest is a crime in shariat Boss’.
‘It will not be in cash but in kind.You should be prepared for that.’Saadat was talking in a way as if some hidden deal was made between him and Asad. I was scared. I also felt depressed. Perhaps Asad understood my feeling.
He told with smile to Saadat-‘Boss you can cut good jokes…but don’t you know, your jokes make Shaheen bibi deeply disturbed.’
In the plane Saadat’s obseen pretentions and acts, anchroaching my body continieously offended me.I had to tolerate all that since I was his one hour bibi. It was a verbal contract between ‘two very good friends’.
The behavior and words of Saadat dared to cast a slur on my character. I felt bad about it and thought to react in the appropriate time.
When our aeroplane touched the land of Pakistan I was in slumber. I did not know when Saadat left us.
‘We reached Lahore.Sadaat had gone to enquiry for finding the time for his next flight for Abudhabi. Just after crossing the runway and lawns we entered in the lounge, Asad expressed his extreme religious attitude. He took out the bedsheet from his bag and after spreading it offered namaj at the side of the wall close to enquiry office.I felt well. Good that he was a god fearing man .Again we waited another two hours as somebody from his close relation was supposed to come here to receive us from some old township, Rahmatganj.
‘Why don’t we move out…it’s already late- I asked Asad.
Saadat was still starring her.
‘Saadat will be with us till we make exit but before that a senior Police Officer will clear our papers’. While telling this,Asad was also not feeling easy.
Then came another man. He was from custom.
‘Your papers are clear gentleman? The long and stout custom man enquired.
‘We are waiting for Usman Saheb’.
‘Oh no problem but if you are in a hurry I can make some routine cheking and releive you in fifteen thousand only ….only. As you are known to our senior boss.After a pause he told Asad-‘ Usman Sahib is on leave today.’
‘On leave? Asad seemed depressed.
‘Yaas… sir, He answered politely.But his answering was timid.That smelt of his cunningness.
His way of talking, made me little worried.
‘Pay the dog his due and go home’- Arab cried. ’My flight is due in next twenty minute.
The trouble was not over and in another twenty minute when Saadat left, three more custom persons joined the old one.Then there was a long round of enquiries.
We were brought to the Downstairs to big Custom Intellegence cell.Their way of functioning and questioning was more of amusing nature and not serious as their interest was in delaying only.One senior officer was moving in his night gown also and he was reading some cheap novel….He was sitting across the table and would speak every after ten minutes …interesting… very interesting…was it about us or a reaction of his novel reading was not clear .Now Asad alone was facing the problem, although being a journalist and writer he was confident of his talking with seniors. Still things were not that easy.
It was already night folloewd by dusk and staff also changed…and their enquiry did not come to an end and the whole matter became as portentous as prison….they meant, they might detain us…but what for …they said our pasport was fake .
‘Fake….what you say…it is issued by the valid authority’.Asad argued
‘But then where was Mr Saadaat? And how Mrs Saadaat was here? Simple, absurd and illogical question…Asad answered each question but I became worried about my future. Fortunately in the late night custom team waved us through the gate.One small size….three feet tiny man Bauna… opened the gate with his left hand while his other hand was engaged in smoking.He asked us for tip.I gave him fifty rupees. There was another checking on the last gate, if we had any firearm.
Outside the gate, it seemed to be a long way down the home town.The flat shanty houses disappointed me further. I was badly tired.
Asad’s father was known as Haji Sahab.He had recently returned after holy prilgrimage from Mecca…He was thoroughly a gentleman but was not ready to accept me as wife of his only son and advised his son to take me to one so called other home.
In reality it was more of a social service Centre for Mentally Retarded persons and Home for Psychiatric patients and a Dawakhana.Also affiliated with some Rescue cum- fondling home for destitute children and ladies cought in crime and immoral traffic. Run with the help of one old practitioner of Unani and Tibbiya Hakim Saheb and owned by his Anglo-Indian wife who was a nurse in Lahore before division of India and became his Bibi. She changed her name as Roshan Ara. The bus stop near the centre became famous as Roshan Bibi ka Pagalkhana later only Pagal Khana.
When I was introduced to that lady( Perhaps the feed back was already given to her ) who was the Superendent of that institution,she gave me a mother like smile but told me,'' I know ‘beta’ you are running in trouble…Allah will make everything fine. Don’t worry.I am now your mother.'’Her softness and concern touched my heart.Tears rolled from my eyes and she took me close to her heart.It was a warm feeling,first time in another country.
I remembered I left my parents in Bikampur…what might be happening to my grand father who loved me more than anything in the world.I wept for whole day and whole night…and then came Asad ,with all his assurances, being helpless for sometime he cut a sorry figure for this decision.
The lady was very hard working social worker and gave love to all the inmates. She had no issue of her own and since she descended from a converted Anglo-Indian family who took to Islam after the division of India, she felt special affection for me. I forgot everything what happened to me in last few days .Asad continued coming to me and both of us maintained physical and emotional intimacy…It was decided between us that he would marry me after I become mother .My being pregnant from ‘A’ still remained an untold story to anyone except Asad. He made an agreement and entered into settlement with me to marry me and decided to pay ten thousand rupees in case of divorce .But nothing of that sort was settled legally. It was all verbal.
I believed in him as he was introduced to me as a Writer and Journalist of reputation but very soon I realized, he had all the problems but none of the attributes of a writer. He ultimately proved to be a fundamentalist and an impulsive fanatic.
Then and there, I faced many twists in my life. Ahasas was being looked after by Anglo-Indian lady…we all called her ‘Amma’.Like her hundred’s of other sons and daughters, Ahasas was also looked after as her own son. I did'nt understand, why he became a pupil of her eye. Ahasas remained in the Institution till he became young.
I shifted to Asad’s house after the demise of his father. But in all these years Asad was changing fast. Even the near and dear relatives of Asad started drumming into his ears that my living with Asad was not acceptable to them…Asad started treating me as a kept and never gave me the status of wife. After the death of his father he adopted his easy profession of pursuing and preaching prostitutes in their Kothas for leaving their sinful profession and take path towards virtuous life. Perhaps for his ‘bright’ future his late father had left for him the old hand written copy of Koran which was in use in their family for last six generations. No doubt his earning was good. In such conditions, realising my position I started making good political contacts outside and I made my status stronger in the society and political circle…The changed circumstances brought me close to Pakistan President and I came with him in this visit to India. But that all , was not tolerated by him.
Now I am fighting cases in shariat courts of Zinna and Asad has declared an open war against me.
I now wish to come to India and live here if god blesses me or there might be a curse on me and if I loose the case I might be punished for that charge in Pakistan ….
Nothing more…Hope you will forgive and forget me if I am no more in this world…But only request you, You will take your son Ahasas in your arms for at least for one moment…I have protected him from all evil eyes…..Khuda Hafij.
… …. ….. Another letter was written on the letter head of Rambagh Palace Hotel without any date. Even in that letter she did not put her signatures .It read like that-
‘Respected Anand Saheb,
Aadab, I have no right of any sort now to write such letter to you as we are travellers of two different boats. We are two families now. God bless you, your wife and children a very happy and prosperous life…
Since the day I met you again, I still had the feeling in my heart that I should boldly expose before you my false face…I was again and again in the state of ‘to be or not to be’ but then my mind and heart both agreed to tell you certain truths about my life. I don’t know how long I will live now but ‘your and my AHSAS is still before my eyes. He might some day meet you in my and your life time, as he is the only living entity and inspiration which keeps ‘my old Anand’ in my heart. You might have forgotten your Shaheen, but I have not.
My life in Pakistan is not well, still I am fighting. Shaheen has inborn qualities of struggling against the odds .I am fighting a case in different courts and any day I might say Khuda Hafij to everyone whom I loved…. I will come to India again if I WIN…..
( …And like that Shaheen wrote another letter…rather more of a fact finding story on another sheet of paper…not on hotel letter-head this time. It was more of a diary… but for that she used another small envelop. Envelop in the envelop)
‘……………..’
49/ MORE GHOSTS IN THE ENVELOP
Before opening envelop, Anand thought again, was there any ghost hidden in this envelop? Might be one old letter written to him long long ago but not posted. Or letter from a son in the name of his father or some eye opening document or another press cutting of Ahsas’s achievements, may be another story of her battle with her so called husband that begins again. And the naked realities of life, The ‘Dropadi the helpless woman, demanding protection from some Dushasan…Abla calling lord Krishna…and the unending cloth saves her ‘womanhood’.
That’s the untold story of life being told to him. The ‘Jinn’ from the bottle will come in the fresh air, but its going to relieve whom…or putting in someone in trouble ?Perhaps the mystery of another envelop was going to be a mercury of facts. To be revealed to Anand .
This time, bunch of pages no full sentence or description but notes, ambiguously written, sometime in clear hand writing. But overall conveying meaning with difficulty. To him it was more a poetry than prose, something different.
What she wrote after that was in these words, her statements and words often repeated but the bare truthful
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