THE STORY OF A STORY TELLER

Childhood memories last forever. I still remember the days of my childhood when my mother after dinner, would take me to the terrace. With no one to disturb us, the moon would be stealthily traversing the sky as if to reach somewhere in a hurry whereas the stars preferred to be stationary and silent listeners, setting right, the mood for story-telling, enhancing it was the pleasant breeze from the meadows.

Having settled down in bed my mother would start a story.

Once there were two villages on the opposite side of a big jungle. The connecting road between these two villages passed through this jungle. In this jungle lived a cruel and ruthless person. His name was Valiyo. He would not only rob the pedestrian of their belonging but also kill them. He was a merciless person. He had killed many and his killing spree continued unabated. One day he happened to meet Narad. Narad had nothing to offer. The anger of Valiyo knew no bounds, he raised his hand to kill Narad. Narad said I don’t mind getting killed but can you answer me a question or two. Narad asked why do you rob people? Valiyo replied “To feed my family” Narad asked another question “Would your family members be willing to accept the consequences of the robbing that you do for them?” Valiyo had never come across such a person. He tied up Narad to a tree and went back home to ask. Having heard “No” from his family members; dejected and dispirited he came back and released Narad. Narad gave him some more advice and went on his way. Valio was a changed person from then on. In the beginning I was consciously involved in the story but later on, my unconscious involvement in the story subsided and the birds’ clutter in the sky disturbed me. I looked around. My mother was gone and busy with her kitchen chores. As I raised my eyes towards the crimson sky the stars were nowhere to be found but the moon who still there. I asked him why, what happened, why are you left behind? He didn’t reply. I left for the morning tea, thinking he might have got interested in the story at the last moment and was hoping the story would continue……

Come night, and an urge for story listening would get stronger and stronger. I would finish my dinner soon. Having finished my dinner I would help my mother finish her kitchen chores so that I could take her to the terrace. She too would be willing to tell one. Every night it was the same venue and the same ambience except for the waxing and waning mood of the moon. I use to think about his abnormal behavior. At times being late, at times being totally absent and at times fully shining. Of course every night it was time for a new story, new characters and a new plot.

Rivers have to flow, seasons have to go, time has to change and I have to grow. The story listener is here but the story teller is no more. She has left for her heavenly abode. Though alone, the treasure handed over by her, keeps me going. Now it is my turn to tell stories. See you next time with my own story and stories within my story. To start with the story of Arvind Srivastav.