Arakshi SS: Jatishwar

1905, East Bengal (Bangladesh), British India

Riots, religion, betrayal, love, death

2015, Mumbai, Independant India

Silence, misunderstanding, search and love. 

It is strange and perhaps nothing but a misconception that rebirth occurs with the memories of the past life. Even stranger when love transcends through time. It may seemed far fetched, it may seem nothing but a faux imagination. 

But then, truth is stranger than fiction. With more than a hundred years apart - love finds itself again. In the same people, different form. 

A/N: This is one of my favourite concepts and I wish you like this :) below is the first chapter and I look forward to your comments!

CHAPTER 1

“Joy Bangal!”  (Hail Bengal!) Amidst the crowd and chaos, Shaakhi Muntasir caught hold of her younger brother against her chest and tried to sail through the maddening crowd.

“Moruk ei hindu golo!”  (Let these Hindus die!) Her younger brother growled to get slapped on his cheek. Shaakhi pushed back the veil from her face and glared at Hussain, her younger brother.  “Bishas ei kono parthokko nei! Arek baar jodi bolish tahole amar chaite baje kyo na!” (There’s no difference in faith! If you dare repeat this then you shall face the worst of me!) Shaakhi shook her baby brother’s shoulder who clung on to her desperately.

“Ami bhoi pacchi!” (I am scared!) Shaakhi tried to blink back her tears as her brother’s tiny arms flung around her neck. Hell had broken loose ever since the partition of her beloved Bengal begun.

Just due to religion. Or apparently due to the power vested in those religious leaders. That wasn’t true faith. Not at all.

Her feet were sore from miles of walking on uneven path. She didn’t dare to keep her baby brother down for even a second. Amidst the bustling crowd there were several risks. Those waiting to take her brother, and her - away.

She had been running away from the refugee camp ever since a drunk soldier walked in, wanting to claim Shaakhi and that had been the limit. Her arms, breasts and bosoms bore bruises of his grip yet she had fought for her brother and herself. A bitter sob broke from her mouth at the recollection of the brutal memory but she silenced herself before Hussain would realise that his sister was crying.

No place gave her solace.

Shaakhi had no clue that she had crossed the border of East Bengal and had walked into West Bengal.

“Ke okhane!” (Who’s there?) Shaakhi flinched at the male tone and held on to her brother with her life. She started running away, running for her life amidst the pitch darkness.

“Oi! Dara!” (Oye! Wait!)  Shaakhi gasped for breath as she ran harder, little rock pieces piercing her barefoot - her slipper lost long before. “Oh Maa!” Sakshi screamed as she felt glass cut through her feet.

She cradled her brother against her heart and fell on the floor, several pieces of rocks piercing her skin as she fell on the sandy terrain. “Babu tui theek acchis?” (Baby are you okay?) Shaakhi glanced over her brother who seemed fine, but was howling in fear and had paled several shades.

“Na baccha…” (No my child…) Shaakhi hushed him and bit her lower lip as the sand grains and rocks burned her skin. Before she could comprehend her injuries she felt hauled away by a pair of strong arms.

“Theek accho?” (Are you fine?) Tears blurred her vision as she heard the words of care after a long time. Her parents being killed by a mad crowd of people who claimed to be Hindus. She gulped and gasped as he removed the chips of rock on her face and made her steady. She pulled the veil over her face and cuddled her brother, ignoring the shooting pain from her ankle.

“Kothakar  apni?” (From where are you?) Shaakhi didn’t know whether it was the chill in the air or his voice which shook her. “Ami rephugee camp teke astesi…” (I come from the refugee camp) Shaakhi pointed to a deserted distance and paused to take breath.

“East Bangal ba West Bangal?” He frowned as the woman in front of him shivered. “E...ee..east..”

His answer was just as she expected “Musalmaan hoicho?” (Are you a Muslim?) Rage coursed through her veins as she pushed against his chest, a throbbing pain shot up her knuckles when her pale hands hit his sculpted chest but that didn’t deter her. 

“TOH KI! Shobai amader ke maarche! Hindura amar ammi abbu ke mereche kintu ami jaani je kono bishaash er log na ora!” (SO WHAT! Everyone’s killing us! The Hindus have killed my mother and father but I know they are not from the faith they claim to be!).

Shaakhi screamed her voice out and found herself to be pointed by a few guns, she braced her brother against her chest and gasped a little as tears stung the bruises on her cheek. She backed up till a camp and stared in fright yet amazement as the most handsome man came into view. Dressed in a loose dhoti, khaki shirt and a gamcha around his head he looked every bit of a rebel she had only heard about, till now.

The red thread around his right wrist confirmed his faith.

No wonder the biased opinion. His stubbled jaw spoke of days of negligence and his ripped physique exuded strength. Shaakhi was intimidated and scared. She had seen the wrong version of men and he seemed no exception…

Men in war were strong, masculine and hungry.

Not for food.

Shaakhi, however, knew better than to form a preconceived notion. Not all were terrible, most of them were honourable but this wasn’t a war of patriotism - it was a war for power. She glared into his eyes as he chinned her up with his gun, a stark contrast to the warmth in his eyes when he gazed at her brother.

“Ami apna ke bhul bujheni, shudu jante chai chilam apni kon dhormo ke bishas koren.”  (I didn’t misunderstand you, I just wanted to know which religion do you believe in?) His voice had relatively softened, maybe due to the fear in the child’s eyes.

“Baccha?”  (Your child?)He stroked the boy’s head which lay rested on Shaakhi’s shoulder while she drew in a deep breath. “Hmm…” she replied, hoping that her image portrayed as a mother of a young one would save her from other’s eyes.

Though his intense gaze sent a chill in her, it spoke several things - many which she couldn’t decipher.

Shaakhi barely had time to reply as she heard gunshots being fired in the air. “Maa!” Shaakhi cried as she felt herself being thrown on the ground but looked up to find her acquaintant covering her tiny frame with his much larger body. His hesitance on being at such a close proximity brought relief in Shaakhi and her heart warmed on seeing a protective hand over her brother.

“Didi…” Her baby brother called up and climbed onto her, enjoying the safety and warmth between the stranger and her older sister. He completely missed the changing expressions on the stranger’s face. Shaakhi sat upright and calmed her racing heartbeat as he yelled out “Gadha’r moton guli ki chalachish! Arek baar korbi toh toke thuke dibo!”  (You Idiot! Why are you firing for reason? If you repeat this idiocracy once more then you will be the first person I will shoot down!)

Another comrade of the man before her had been shooting in the sky as he was drunk, but he came to his senses after the bark. Shaakhi held on to the edge of her stole nervously as he got up and pulled her up by her elbow with a startling gentleness.

“Toh apnar baccha na eta, or bon apni? Eta mone rakhun je amar mitthe kotha shojjo hoina. “ (So you’re not a mother eh? You are just a lone girl with her brother… just remember that I can’t digest lies, I detest liars.) He tugged on her chin and smirked as she stepped back, glaring at him again.

“Aar ki boli! Tomader moton lok theke door thakte hobe amake.” (What else do I say? I need to stay away from leeches like you.) Shaakhi gulped as he shook in wrath and grabbed her arm and dragged her away;

“Tor eta mone hoi je tor shorir er jonno ami toke ekhane rakchi! Toke bachalam ami ar otar bodol e eta pelam!” (You think I am letting you stay here so as to I can bed you? This is the respect I get after looking out for you!) His fingers bit into her soft flesh and she yelped in pain.

She tried to scream but found her mouth clamped by his hand as he effortlessly carried her and her brother like a sack of potatoes. He threw her into a tent and gently placed her baby brother on a chair. Shaakhi sobbed uncontrollably and held on to a pillow to throw it at him. He seemed to stand for a minute and cool himself by breathing hard.

“Ami bujhi je tui occhish refugee, amra kaaj korchi jaano toder moton log shukhe thaake. Eta tor ghor, kyo ashbena ekhane. Aar tor je bhai acche, kalke oke master moshai’r kache pathie debo. Aar kichu?” (I know you are a refuge, we all work here to protect and keep those refugees happy. This, is your room, no one will come here. And your brother shall be educated at the hands of a local teacher tomorrow. Anything else?) 

He wiped the sweat beads on his head and roughly dabbed a cotton dipped in antiseptic on her wound.

“Kano?” (Why?) She whispered weakly and hissed as he treated her wounds. “Shune chile oder bapare jara ei bhaag ta chai ni? Kichu log ra ota… ki bole, ha - revolution aane?” (There were a few people who didn’t want a partition - does this ring a bell for you? Some people… what do you say, yeah… those who bring in revolution?). He said as he brushed the dried blood on her arm.

“Hmm…” He looked briefly at her “Amra ora…” (We are them). Shaakhi gasped as his callous fingers tied a sterilised cloth around her arm.

“Amar domar dorkar, kisher… ota kalke bolbo… ajke shui poro…” (I do need you but for what… I shall tell you tomorrow. Go to sleep.)

Barely listening to him, Shaakhi got onto her footsteps and peeked out of the tent to find him marching towards another set of men who stopped talking at his presence. From the distance she heard “Arjun da!”

A soft smile filled her plump lips as she repeated the name, Arjun.

The man she misunderstood and was yet to understand.

Arjun.

~*~

Chapter 2

*Sakshi is pronounced as Shak-khi (witness) in Bengali.

Jatishwar means a person who remembers everything from his past birth.

And this is the rebooted version of Aye Khuda, apart from Princess this is also for Sneha and especially for Ritu who so wanted to read the other version of rebirth... hence the bong touch ;)