coughed making a noise similar to ‘A-tishoo! A-tishoo! and all fall down’ One by one people died of
plague in spite of having pocket full of medicines. She is a genius, Kaku, she is a genius. She has left
a note for you stating that if she wins any prizes they may be handed over to you .As we chatted with
her she said that while we may call the idol Durga ma, her grandmother called this goddess “CybeleThe Mountain Mother” who rode a lion driven cart and was known as the Great Mother or the
Goddess of Fertility in Rome .All most everyone from our young brigade like Misha, Amrita ,Srija,
Siddharth, Tanima ,Torsha and Saachi had literally become her fans instantly and later Kapil, Babban,
Riu , Sukriti, Atashi, Abhishek, Himanish, Kinshook, Suraj, Nitisha, Shuva, Tiklu ,Veeresh,
Digby,Anindit ,Sagnik,Shreya ,Asmita, Srimoyee and Ritu joined them. Can you imagine her
popularity Kaku?’
******
Navami passed by and Dashami was in, but I could not stop thinking about the little girl. On the
Dashami day, it seemed to me that Devi Durga had left us early for her abode leaving all of us in
tears. I still remembered that on the Ashtami day, after having bhog, she went towards the Idol and
prayed in the same unique posture as she did that morning. Was she a British or an Anatolian or a
Roman? I questioned myself. I still remember the way she had thanked me profusely.
The sound of Dhak boomed once again and it was time for Bisarjan. Those eyes and the tanned
face of the girl were haunting me and my family. While Devi Durga was about to be put into the
water, I could see Shyama’s large eyes as if superimposed on the Devi’s face.
Time passed and I almost forgot about the mysterious girl. During the Laxmi Puja day, prize
distribution was being done along with some cultural function and we all had gathered for the
function. Suddenly, my name was announced to receive the prizes on behalf of Shyama! Shyama
O’Blair had won four prizes, I remembered. I was a little hesitant to accept the prizes on her behalf.
When prodded by everybody I went up to accept the four envelopes from the Organizers. I decided to
send the four envelopes to the girl’s address.
After watching the concert I was sitting in a corner and waiting to have dinner. My daughter and
her friends wanted to know what was there in the envelopes. When I opened the envelopes there were
Rs 300 in each envelope – Rs 1200 in all. Oh My God! We had handed over the same amount to
Shyama that day. What a coincidence!
I immediately thought of contacting Shyama so that I could ask for her address but she was not
reachable and the number seemed to be invalid. On looking at the notes minutely, I saw something
which I could not believe. My address and phone numbers were written on one of the 100 rupee notes.
On one of the other notes it was scribbled, ‘A Clergyman’s wife thought of shooting an animal in an
elephant farm in 1984 during the Burmese days,’ and in the third note it was written, ‘… but could not
do so as Comrade “Big Brother” was watching the ‘Cold War’!. Suddenly the place was filled by the
strange fragrance of the girl and I could sense her presence.
Slowly I began to solve the riddle and it came to me! Without any further delay I rushed to a
nearby internet cafe. Yes, my guess was right. The search on Google showed that George Orwell, the
famous writer, was born ‘Eric Arthur Blair’. He was born at Motihari, Bihar in India in 1903. His
father Richard Blair (Sr.) worked for the Indian Civil Services and lived with his wife Ida who was of
a mixed origin. Shyama must have been the daughter of the adopted son of George Orwell, Richard
(Jr). Possibly, Richard (Jr.) might have married a Bengali lady while in India or Burma and Shyama
might have been their daughter. While trying to convey her identity, she had jotted down on the
currency notes the titles of the books her Grandfather had penned and the words he had used – ‘Big
Brother’ and ‘Cold War’ which have been immortalized later. How could I not understand this!
‘Animal Farm’, ‘1984’, ‘The Burmese Days’, ‘Shooting an Elephant’, ‘A Clergyman’s Daughter’ are
some of the great books written by George Orwell who was a great novelist and a journalist, and I
missed that completely!
But how did the currency notes which I had handed over to Shyama come back to me through the
gift envelopes? Was the girl real or a figment of my imagination? Suddenly I felt a nudge ‘Get up
papa…..your tea is ready, time for you to go thru Pritha didi’s draft thesis on Orwell before you go to
office’, my daughter Saachi was at my bed side with a cup of tea in hand. Oh my God! Was it a dream
then? I murmured.