The Tiger Of Vizianagaram

Disclaimer: This is a work of Fiction. :)

"What is the most intriguing thing in the world?" asked the old man breathing his last.

His forehead showed three parallel streaks on the loose skin as the brows moved in together, yet his visage showed an unusual serenity. He gestured to his youngest son while lying on a wooden cot to bring him the dagger resting on the table as his elder son looked on sitting beside him. As the crying lad, with his eyes raining like the blackest of the clouds, moved to grab the shining, sharp metal he thought of the men in uniform who had chased down a group of helpless men last night, abusing and hitting as bad as they could. One of the helpless men being his old, crippled father, Dantuluri Govindraju, respectfully known as Guru garu.

As Dhananjaya, presented the dagger to his father forwarding both his hands on which it was loosely held, the dying man gave a faint smile and said, “You are my strong Dhanu.”
He then looked onto the solemn face of Narayana as if to tell him to take good care of his younger brother after him. Narayana could read his eyes and replied with a weak nod. “You remember the ‘Tiger of Bobbili’ , that I had taught you about?” he asked, without expecting an answer in return as he knew the answer would be in a ‘yes’. He remembered the faces of his students when he used to narrate them the tale of the Tiger of Bobbili. He continued, in a dull, cracked voice unlike his classroom lectures which used to be full of animation, “The valorous Tiger of Bobbili did not kill himself like the other citizens of Bobbili. He not only fought his kingdom back but also through his intelligence and bravery earned himself a title of ‘Tiger’.”

The two brothers listened in silence remembering the story which their father had taught them the whole life. They remembered the quick movements their father used to make with his right arm, the only arm he had, in the classroom of Maharaja Vidyalaya. Guru garu continued holding the dagger in the same arm, “Alas! The time is near, the time when our country will need such tigers, not one, not two, but in hundred and thousands. That Tiger after more than a hundred years should be reborn among you and your brothers.”

He handed the dagger by its grip to Narayana while Dhanunjaya moved forward, raised his hand and put on the dagger’s grip over his brothers palm. They clutched it tightly while looking at each other when the same weak voice continued, “It’s a decade since the resistance first started. We must not forget Tatya Tope’s valor or Rani Lakshmi Bai’s sacrifice.”

Dhanunjaya until now had the few British men in his mind to be avenged for his father’s condition but suddenly a greater reason took over. But he was confused as such incidents had rarely occurred in Vizianagaram, at least not in his lifetime. It had been quite a peaceful town, developing with traders and education institutions. Ironically, Maharaja Vidyalaya was founded in 1857, the year of the mutiny.

“I never told the stories of our forerunners just to your amusement,” continued his father, “But I have no more time left of me to teach you further. I foresee a time when such incidents will grow to larger proportions and suffering will be common. Realizing about it then will be too late to act. Take this dagger and use it when necessary, not for flaunting your power but for freedom. Its time for me to go.”

The teenage brothers sat there when their father asked them the last question, “What is the most intriguing thing in the world?”

He answered himself with a smile, “Death, especially if you die for your motherland.”

Narayana and Dhanunjaya stared as his father faced the most fascinating thing in the world. He had left behind him two burning torches.

Narayana lived the next forty-six years of his life teaching and nurturing young minds with the lesson that his father had taught them on his death bed.

Dhanunjaya, the very next year being only 14 then, avenged his father’s killers and later on formed a group of guerilla fighters and went on to fight against the Englishmen. In 1899, at the age of 54, after a long one-on-one fight, he was martyred by a young sepoy. Dhanunjaya’s valor and courage were being compared to that of Tipu Sultan, another ‘Tiger’ who fought until death exactly one hundred years ago in Seringapatnam.

The Lost Symbol - An opinion

Finally I have read, after a long gap in my reading habit, the intriguing book by Dan Brown, The Lost Symbol. You can read this article, it reveals nothing about the book that will spoil the thrill of reading the book if you have not read it yet.

The first mistake anybody would do is to compare it with other writings of Dan Brown, especially the ones featuring Robert Langdon. Let me do that mistake, I am no exception. When it comes to detailing of the characters, of history and the story, all his five books get equal points. Looking at the 'fast-pace' perspective, this one is behind Angels and Demons and Digital Fortress and on par with The DaVinci Code. The style, he uses his trademark style of writing, i.e Novel divided into chapters, chapters run parallel stories, each story runs back and forth in time and in different timelines and all the stories destined to converge on one platform. Boy, I like this style, impressive!

Robert Langdon chases a secret, the secret of the Ancient Mysteries, that is hidden 'somewhere out there'. Although you dont feel the urgency in the need to find out the secret for the first half of the book, but then it catches the pace and the anxiety increases. Ah yes, the secret, that is a secret that could give you ultimate wisdom, a secret that could transform you into no one but god, a secret that could bring order in chaos, the greatest secret, the untold secret, the best-kept secret, the word 'secret' is repeated no less than 230 times in the book. A few places it becomes a little frustrating and you ask yourself, "What the heck is this secret!!!" The secret is no-where as shocking as the one in Da Vinci Code.

Coming to the puzzles or codes, I liked all of them except two. You cannot even guess and even if you do it will always be wrong! My knowledge in the history of religions, US of A and freemasonry is zero, so atleast I couldn't guess.

And the philosophy involved in the book, hmm, I dont agree with it. Although, Dan Brown, through his characters, kept on insisting his philosophy, which even made a strong personality like Robert Langdon to think, and the emphasis that this philosophy is "followed in all religion", I think in Islam, this philosophy is regarded the greatest sin. As a muslim I can speak of Islam, as I know. No where in the Holy Quran or the Hadith, ever it is written of this philosophy, not even indirectly. It is just that Dan knows the etymology of words or history of symbols which have mostly Greek or Latin origins, but yes No where in this book he says that Islam also speaks of this philosophy. He gives a general statement, "in all religion". Dont worry, the book is not about Islam, I am just presenting my perspective. :)

And one final point, that I am very happy about is that I can relate to Dan Brown in one important point. This book urges the people to do one thing that I urged when I wrote a post about "Angels and Demons" and another post, "Why do we fast?" The request, by both of us is the same. :)

Finally I hope you will now read, for the sake of the secret, for the intricacy of ancient puzzles, for the thoughtfulness of the philosophy or just for the love of books or to find out why did I highlight the word 'read' in bold. :)

Do let me know if this was a nice review, I tried to create the curiosity among you, what a review must do! And my review of this book starts and ends in the title... The Lost Symbol is an opinion.

Thanks!

A Few Good Gestures

One day me and my friend Kishore were returning home on a bike when we decided to buy some snacks from a local super market. As I reached the shop, I looked for a place to park my bike. An empty space behind some movable iron railings on the road looked auspicious. That space was meticulously created as an auto stand, with one entrance and one exit, such that only one auto can come inside while only one auto can go out. Without realising that we entered the space (the fact that all the autos were in juxtapose outside the space along the railings), when somebody objected. The exit was blocked by an auto and as I turned my vehicle back I saw another auto approaching. I thought that this guy will come inside the parking space and I waited for him. But he stopped his auto just at the entrance and got out of the auto blocking me inside. I was there surrounded by autos no place to get out. Ideally, I should have been outside and the autos should have been inside.

I said to the auto driver, while Kishore got down the bike, "Boss, thoda peeche le lo, ek second ke liye," (Boss, please move behind(the vehicle) for a second) gesturing him that I will make out if he does.

The auto driver, a dark-man, wearing a bright blue Honolulu-shirt and having short hairs said something in his local language of which I could only make out words like, "Auto stand, bike, inside, why"

"Boss, please, thoda sa bas." (Boss, please, Just a little). I gestured again.

He gestured to me to get out of the exit. At this point I thought whether he was drunk but his stability doesnot looked like he was drunk. I saw his face and gestured that the exit too is blocked and said, "Please." My friend also said, "Thoda peeche, choti si baat hai" (A little backwards, a small thing to do.)

Not sure whether he understood hindi or not, but I was sure that he was in a mood to fight. The fact that he has his fellow drivers nearby (who too I supposed then were idiots like this guy) to support him. He said again in local launguage, which is kannada, of which I could make out as, "O , o, What are you talking, grr?" in an angry voice.

I thought, "Saale, bina baal ka khaal kiu nikaal raha hai!" (%^&*, why creatinig fuss over nothing?).
"I can pull the railing a bit," said my friend to me and pulled one to create a space. The driver kept blabbering and I kept thinking, "Bewakoof aadmi" (Stupid person).

Just then two autos in front of his moved creating another space for me and before this 'ready-to-fight', 'suspected-drunk' driver could move his, I pulled my bike out of the 'supposed-to-be' auto stand. I left with my friend and parked my bike at another place in an angry mood(for a while).

To err is human, which I did by entering the 'No-Parking' space.
But To grrrrr, without a cause, is INHUMAN, which the driver did.

The Run

I was running as fast as I can, never looking back,breathing heavily. But every step I took forward my mind moved backwards in time. I didnt know why. I thought if only I can run faster, for my home was not much far away. It never occurred to me that I could have hired a taxi or atleast asked for a 'lift'. I just ran towards my past.

I remembered how I used to struggle to take out 75 paise from my 'good luck' every afternoon to buy an ice cream without breaking it. And I remembered just when I started earning 75000 Rupees every month. I touched the back pocket of my trousers to check my wallet while I ran incessantly.

I remembered the first time when I met my wife. The smile on her face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and when she had lowered her eyes with shyness I was lost in another world. And I remembered just the previous day when we had exchanged harsh words in anger. I touched the ring in my finger as I moved forward and adjusted it a little. I was completely drenched in sweat.

I remembered how I used to work through late nights, almost everynight, so that I was not behind others. And I remembered just in recent times, when I had stayed late for parties and fun. I was a few steps from my home when suddenly my feet slowed down.

I saw quite a number of people around the main gate of my home. I saw an ambulance parked and I was frightened to death. What if my wife or parents had met with an accident. I just couldnot move further but I had to. I moved slowly towards the gate, hoping everyone to be fine but alas! As I opened the gate with my shaky hands and entered, I saw a lifeless body, draped head to toe in a white cloth, lying right in front of the main door and my mom covering her face with her saree and crying eternally. My eyes searched for my wife, I saw her crying with tears never ending. Dad! I dragged my legs towards my dad, sleeping forever. Every step seemed like a mile. As I reached near I couldnot stand anymore. I fell on my knees and never knew when tears started flowing down my eyes. As I reached the drape, I heard the gate opened. Although I didnot look back, I heard a voice calling my mom. I was surprised and when I turned, to my happiness, I saw my dad who had just come back from his office. It was a mixed feeling as I was happy my dad was alright, but I was confused who the man-in-white could be. I quickly lifted the drape to check and my world was shatterred. It was me!

The whole life I never tried to search for my soul and now when I am lying there, lifeless, I dont know where my soul is.