Time Space & Me

The bell happily tinker as the clapper danced through the brass. I would announce to the family that Deewa (grandpa) had finally arrived. For certain unobvious reason my deewa never arrived home before dark. I would ansciously wait him on the eve of the parapad, typically of three and plus year old, with patched half pants and printed shirt. His stallion would finally smell the equus stink as rythemic hoof drummed through the lose mud of the yard. He would unsaddle himself with sporty composure and would ask me for the kirosene lamp. He would clear his throat, the unconditional announcement of his presence and would settle himself at the bed which remained forever there. Senior attendant would feed the horse and put it to the stable. Seewa deewa....I would say and bow my head in veneration that he bless me with sweets and jaggri from his coat pocket. I would sit near him and look at him in great expectation. Not that he was a kid loving deewa but he would notice my ogling and fish few toffees to wash my constant longing. My deewa was a giant in himself but gentle and wise. I have seen him strong and compassionate. At times he had a name of being real rough. Especially, I adore the slightly exaggerated stories of his youth...as true as they may be, they are as amazing as they could be. How he fought with wild bear, ram and bufflo...how he travelled through northen India doing business. The old man use to tell me how our great grands travelled through elephant and tiger populated jungle fighting malaria and tropical dieases. The introduction of cereals and citruses are interesting. How he got his bride is yet another risky errand yet romantic melodrama of a crazy man. Then he was young and breaming with youthful glories, restless with shooting hormones and volcanic energy. Then he decided to endeavour risky endeavour of woman's world. He went to Chanchey bazzar, the only metropolitian of his time, just open market with stalls stuffed with animal meat, local alcohol of every brewery, boiled yam, potatoes, tapioca and banana. He partcelled cigrettes, coconuts and dry fruits for his lady....its a kind of gestural foreplay. He with his accomplice drank to duch and trailed his girl at resonable pace. The girls would sense the raid and alerted themselves like a deer. They flip flopped the trail and in quite essence. Finally, they reached the watergate where the foot path fell into a chasm. The lad sat there intercepting the ladies in his best of voices and mannerism, least they fell into his sweet bait. Ladies as they were determined to pull out.....did not submit to their cranky propositions. They wipped out the predators, wailed and wizzed. Then my grandpa whirled out her in his strong arms and fled with his game. His friend got his prey....indifferent to what these ladies were doing to save themselves, he put her inside the house and jailed her. In a moment, the commotion ceased and the village headmen summoned the act. With home brewed alcohol and pig in the bucked, they were declared husband and wife.....my grandma bore 19 children to him. Life then was a happy routine...the old man tought me how to ride a horse and clean a gun.....I wrote his epitaph.