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    Blue Are the Far Off Mountains
    Blue Are the Far Off Mountains
    Blue Are the Far Off Mountains
    Ebook91 pages1 hour

    Blue Are the Far Off Mountains

    By Ratan Lal Basu

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    About this ebook

    Like the blue mountain romantic love endures only if the lovers are at distance from each other. Proximity destroys love as the lovers soon discover the shortcomings of each other and the harsh reality unravels the absurdity of the colorful image each paints about the other. The stories in this collection portrays this truth pertaining to sex-love between men and women.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRatan Lal Basu
    Release dateJun 3, 2011
    ISBN9781458059611
    Blue Are the Far Off Mountains
    Author

    Ratan Lal Basu

    The author of this volume Dr. Ratan Lal Basu is a Ph. D. in Economics (on Arthaśāstra, the treatise on political economy and statecraft composed by a Brāhmaṇa scholar Kauṭilya around 300 B. C.). He retired as principal from a Government-Sponsored College at Kolkata, and after retirement got fully occupied with research and publishing activities pertaining to Indology, ancient economics, modern economic problems, economic history, yoga and tantra cult, statecraft, international relations and espionage, ethics and morality and also fiction in English and Bengali (his mother tongue).

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      Book preview

      Blue Are the Far Off Mountains - Ratan Lal Basu

      Blue are the Far off Mountains

      Ratan Lal Basu

      Copyright 2023 Ratan Lal Basu

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      Thank you for purchasing this e-book. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you have enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase the e-book at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support

      Contents

      Chapter-1

      Chapter-2

      Chapter-3

      Chapter-4

      Chapter-5

      Chapter-6

      The Author

      Chapter-1

      Blue Are the Far Off Mountains

      I

      The car turned around and screeched to an abrupt halt and I could stretch out my hands in time to save my head from crushing against the driver’s seat but got my thumbs bruised in the process. I pushed open the side door and came out. The Nepali driver was watching the deep decline that the front wheels had missed for a few centimeters and as I got alongside he displayed an apologetic stupid smile. The wheels skidded on the stray pebbles at the shoulder of the road he blurted out and looked up with puzzled eyes at my comment, A thrilling adventure after all and squinted to decipher if I’d been serious or simply joking and remarked in an undertone, Could’ve been fatal sir.

      Certainly, but we may always relax and enjoy in reflection while out of danger.

      My comment made the driver burst out in wide guffaw revealing all his yellow-stained teeth and the charming simplicity which only the hill people possess. I looked around and was marveled at the away off deep blue mountain adorned with patches of sooty clouds capping the tops and the lush green vegetation with islands of thickets and swaying bamboo groves that spread in mild slopes from the foothills and dipped into the distant horizon to the right. Ahead lay a grassy narrow path barely passable by a car, bordered by stiff declines that curved into the green and a foot track at the middle, battered bare by constant walking. Some thirty yards ahead the road turned sharply to the right and lost behind a row of thickly foliaged tall trees and there was no sign of any house or shop. The passage was narrow and unsafe for the car and after the driver had parked the car safely at a niche right below the shoulder of the high road we started off on foot down the passage and turning the corner came upon a few wooden houses off the passage and nestling amidst plots of vegetables, blooming marigolds, banana groves and a few shady trees and the desired paan shop was there jutting out into the passage raised on wooden poles from the lowly field.

      The day before at the travel office I’d asked for a Mahindra Max but the Bhutia owner, fair, tall and with a large square face, back-brushed thick black hair, aquiline nose uncommon for hill people and a golden denture that glistened each time he smiled or talked, assured that the roads were good and the Chevrolet Tavera would give a safe and swell ride and I booked it right away without further argument in the first place owing to the nostalgic appeal of the name of the manufacturer that reminded me of the days of huge cars when fuel was not so costly. The car was cozy indeed and drove smooth even on bad patches and we traversed along zigzag streets lined on either side with tall trees in full blossom or embellished with multi-colored orchids hanging from the branches, through dense forests, across green vales and glades irrigated by tiny streams, and waded right through military installations and undulating tea plantations. We had a stopover at a tea garden and the manager enthusiastically showed me through the factory demonstrating how different grades of pekoes are being manufactured and the tea he served was brewed from second flush flowery orange pekoe rich in excellent spicy flavor. On a flat rock above a small stream kept alive by a galloping spring straight from the heights we had our lunch brought along from the hotel at Siliguri. I lighted a cigarette and offered one to the driver and then discovered with dismay that I had forgotten to bring zerda-paan for which I felt badly and when I queried if there was any paan shop around he laughed out and said, There’s none in these uninhabited hills, but I know one a few kilometers down close to the foothills and we may drop off on return journey if you could wait that long. I told him to do what he thought fit.

      The small shop that rose a few feet in front on sawed saal poles had wooden walls and an asbestos roof and the racks and planks inside were squeezed tight with all sorts of groceries, stationeries, toys, cigarettes and stuff like that in gunny sacks, jars, bottles and polythene packets and to my delight there were also sweet betel leaves and choicest zerdas along with other paan things on the ledge at the front. The shopkeeper, a young Nepali boy in mid twenties with drooping moustache, inwardly drawn small eyes, longish hair and sideburns curving down a fair yellowish cheek toward the nasal folds, was seated on a small wooden stool amidst the medley of wares. He stood up and grinned with questioning eyes as I walked over to the shop.

      I directed him to make three paans and spelt out the specifications and he reached for the betel leaves, rubbed them clean in water from a tin bucket and started smearing them with lime from an earthen container. Suddenly a boy raced in trots up the brick laid narrow track that led gingerly to the dwellings and breathed something to the driver who followed the boy toward the dwellings below. I stepped aside and noticed a Nepali woman beckoning the driver from under the shade of the bushy tree that fronted the house and I felt a bit disconcerted while this unknown woman whispered to the driver pointing out at me. I reached for the paans, tucked the open one into mouth and shoved the packed ones into my pocket. The driver returned and told that the woman desired to talk with me if I were the youngest son of late Anil Choudhury, the landlord of Bhatpur. I nodded yes and went down the track over to the woman wondering all the way how this woman had known me and watching intently my nervous countenance with beaming eyes she giggled and gesticulated like a teen age girl,

      He-he-he, I’m Tan-dra, daughter of Birbahadur Pradhan, the darwan of the raj-kachhari close to your father’s garden. Don’t you remember me?

      My God, You’re Tandra! I was then ten and you fourteen. How could I recognize you? I blurted out in utter astonishment.

      I had come out to drive off the goats and noticed across the field someone walking down the road with Paban and at once it occurred to me that it was nobody else but you.

      But how you did, I am now grown up in age and changed too! How could I tell? She wore an enigmatic smile.

      Are you very busy now by the way? She queried. Not at all. Just having a ride seeing sights around.

      "Then

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