Homeland after Eighteen Years - A 48 hour Travelogue

K L Chowdhury
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Homeland after Eighteen Years
First Glimpse of the Lord
Gone are the farmlands and fields,
gone the pastures and rural scenes.
Shops with big billboards
line the streets on either side,
while fences, strong and high,
insulate the private lots
from the evil eye.
Our first halt is at Lal Mandi,
the office of the Academy,
where the driver stops
to report the arrival of the awardees.
I come out of the van, and,
what an arresting sight!
Mountain ranges in the background
and beloved Shankaracharya right in front,
towering tall over this ancient city
in its breathtaking profundity!
The heart gives a loud thud
for that joyous climb up the hill -
my everyday rendezvous
before our forced exodus.
My salutations to you, Siva;
you are my first port of call
and I am here to fulfill my vow
that if I ever returned to the valley,
to you would I make my first bow.
Vitasta
I look on my left at the Vitasta
that has meandered merrily
from the dawn of history,
and, on her sacred shores,
reared generations of its progeny.
Alas, what offers the sight
is a lazy, almost stagnant stream,
duckweed and refuse,
and an occasional animal carcass,
floating on her sullied surface.
There is no evidence, whatever,
of her youthful voluptuous sway
but bare banks sloping up to the bund,
and the river in deep depression,
bemoaning the valley’s transformation.
We cross a new bridge across the river,
unspectacular and architecturally poor,
that supplants the zero bridge just near,
and blights the beauty of the bund here.
We turn right soon after
and move into a high security zone -
the Government Guest House,
the Stadium, and the Amarsingh Club -
fortified by a wire-mesh fence,
and gun- wielding personnel on guard.