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Short Story

Ashes OfThe Veena*
) harna Rahman
(Translated by Jackie Kabir from Bengali)
Finally the Earth Angel completed his work, the creation of the most beautiful, rare stringed instrument called veena. He made it with utmost sincerity. The dexterous workers of heaven had not witnessed so much time or patience given to any other invention of any designer. It was constructed inch by inch with music of the highest notes from the flowing rivers of heaven. The sun lent its dazzling rays to add cheerfulness and the moon contributed its blue emission for its calmness.
It was the day of inauguration of the magnificent veena. God himself touched it first with his artistic fingers then he placed it in the garden on the bank of the river Alkananda. On an altar under the Parijat tree covered with flowers, behind which the silent silver river flew. The veena was made from a stout branch of the sandalwood tree. The full moon of Kojagori pumima, which was reflected on the waters of Alkanonda. was made into its podium.
The Earth Angel freed the veena from his embrace and held it up for his disciples to see. He announced: 'Can you see the strings? I constructed them from the flowing steams of the Alkanonda and Surodhini. These rivers stand both for quietness and fierceness." The veena was placed back on its creator's lap. It looked majestic with its glistening body shimmering. The creator was looking far ahead as if he was in trance, in euphoria. With his artistic middle finger he touched the strings of the veena. The sound that was produced was magical: it created an unimaginable environment in the moonlit night; it was as if the Parijat tree was waiting for this moment to bloom all its flowers, all the birds in the heavenly garden waited for this particular minute to fly in the sky above.
At last its creator put the veena down. He was not a creator of music; he had far more important things to attend to. It was as if everyone around was awakened by the veena's tune. Their astonishment wouldn't
• cease. They had never been so fascinated with something like this ever before.
Then the Earth Angel asked everyone what they thought of his creation.
'Unparalleled!' Unsurpassable!' was the resounding answer. No one in heaven had even heard anything like this.
“Was it for the Goddess Swaraswati, who is an admirer of veena?” they asked.
“No! Are you crazy?” said Earth Angel.
He had given Swaraswati a different veena already. It was the eternal veena with some divine mantras to play. If he gave this veena to her he would have rewrite all the mantras. Besides she couldn’t give up her old veena since it was against the heavenly rules. This veena was made to produce earthly tunes and was not an eternal one but dependent instead on its owner.
“Who is the veena for. Your Majesty? asked one of the disciples. “Is it Laksmi?"
The veena's creator laughed "Laksmi, the goddess of wealth? Oh no! She is always busy with her
household accounts. When does she have the time to play a veena?”
"Then who else is there on this abode of gods to play this beautiful instrument?”
"Well, the veena is intended for the earth where humans live.”
The creator touched the strings once again.
"For earth? Such a terrific instrument; who will play it there?" inquired the disciple.
"It will be played by whoever can play it. The earth is in dire state; the people there are always after one another. Even the rivers are drying up. The jungles arc disappearing, and birds are no longer singing. This veena could change it all with its beautiful melody.”
The creator bent down to the veena asked "My melodious, magnificent creation, tell me who do you want to belong to?"
The veena said "I want to belong to someone who is truthful and good."
“A truthful and good person? Where on earth would I get a truthful and good human being?" This was the one thing the world lacked; a good human being. The world was getting worse day by day. Even Brahma couldn't find one person who could be. chosen as a prophet, God's man.
The veena, however, was insistent, "I want a good and honest person!"
“So be it!” declared the creator. The veena was to be handed over to Shudhoshatya. He was a really good man. He was in a village named Arkpol near Manikanagar. He cultivated his own land. He milked his cows. He led a very simple life and spent more time doing good for others and less to take care of him. He wouldn't hesitate to give the last of his clothes to a beggar and the last grain to the hungry villager.
The veena was sent to Shudhoshatya's house.
Shudhoshatya became enthralled on getting this divine endowment without asking for it. But he was at a loss. He didn't know what he'd do with this heavenly instrument, for he was neither a composer nor a musician. The only thing he knew was ploughing. Shudhoshatya placed the veena next to his bed respectfully. Since he was always very busy during the day he could only see the veena at night. It glowed in the corner of his room and he would watch it with admiration. The veena was delighted by Shudhoshatya's appreciation and eagerly waited for Shudhoshatya's touch so that the unnamed tunes could be produced. Tunes that were inherited from the flowing streams of the Alkanonda, Surodhoni and Mondakini. But Shudhoshatya had lots of work pending. He went out forgetting the veena and its existence.
Late at night when Shudhoshatya prepared to go to sleep did he cast his eyes on his luminous veena. It was sitting in silence in melancholy. He picked the veena up. The veena ceased its vibrations for it longed for Shudhoshatya's touch.
Shudhoshatya didn't know how to place the veena on his chest so he put it next to him on his bed. It glistened; Shudhoshatya put his hand on the round resonator of the veena. Then he held the strings on
the fret board with his palm. Enigmatic sound, tunes out of harmony, filled the environment of the room.
Shudhoshatya didn't notice how out of tune the veena sounded as he was no musician nor did he have any idea about tunes. He kept plucking at the strings. He loved the way it resonated in the air. He used both his hands to produce the sound, out of inquisitiveness he banged on the resonator, the fret board, the brass frets. A strong but sad timbre which was in fact a cry that came out of the veena. Shudhoshatya found this very interesting.
Shudhoshatya played with his beautiful veena till midnight then he fell asleep getting tired. By then hearing the cacophony all the birds had awakened and flew around in extreme distress. Even the moon, getting alarmed by the noise, stopped shining. The river Nirajona's waters, which flowed coyly beside the village of Arkpol, stopped flowing. Only the cool breeze that came through a small opening in Shudhoshatya's room somehow placated the veena from its frenzied vibration.
After that night Shudhoshatya always played his beautiful veena with his inexpert hands. As he got used to the way veena was constructed he didn't have to look for its strings or brass frets. Even when he was lying on his bed he could easily locate where to strike in order to produce the out-of-tune melody.
Gradually he came to know about veena's magical powers. It resonated if it was held by the palm, if it was stroked or even banged. Shudhoshatya made it a habit to play the veena before going to bed. And every time he played the veena the natural beauty of the Arkpol village was lost, the trees lost their green luster and the crops failed. The fish died and the birds flew away. Everybody came to Shudhoshatya for help. He
didn't know what to do. He spent all his time trying to take care of the distressed people. He forgot about his beautiful veena.
The veena was left on one corner of his room for a long time. Shudhoshatya was not any expert on music. Day after day the veena would produce tunes out of harmony; which made it lose its softness, its melody. Even then it liked Shudhoshatya's touch and thought it to be the most important thing in Its life. It almost forgot the heavenly music it inherited while it was being constructed. Nowadays the veena didn't make any noise at all. It lost its lustre by not being able to produce the only thing it could -the music. Its brass strings rusted, cobwebs covered it.
The Earth Angel was frustrated seeing the condition of his precious veena. He couldn't accept the fact that the beautiful, luminous veena which he assembled with so much love and care was lying in such a deplorable state. Would it not play its magnificent melody once more before it perished?
The Earth Angel went to Brahma for help. He beseeched the Brahma to at least make the veena produce its melody once so that it could awaken the world from its slumber.
The god needed an instrumentalist, someone who would understand the heavenly tunes. But then the veena belonged to Shudhoshatya and if she went to anyone else she would lose her religion. It would perish.
The Earth Angel looked at his adorable veena with water brimming to his eyes. It didn't have any life, any joy or happiness. It'd be better if it ceased to exist.
Shudhoshatya became ill from the hard work he had been doing for the long time. And he remembered his beautiful veena; but he felt appalled looking at it and didn't feel like touching it.
Nilokdip, a friend of Shudhoshatya, had learnt classical music from his guru DibbyaPrava at the royal palace of the king Chandratilak. He had recendy come home, and had heard about the heavenly veena that Shudhoshatya had acquired. One day he arrived at Shudhoshatya's house, who was delighted to see his friend. Nilokdip asked for the veena, which by now had been stored in a room filled with useless utensils. Nilokdip himself entered that room and got the veena out. The veena sprang up with a tune at Nilokdip's touch. Nilokdip cleaned it and placed it on his chest. The whole room was illuminated with the light which was reflected by the round brass fret. Nilokdip took the beautiful veena in his hands and strung the torn string into its brass fret with utmost
care. He took a lot of time to adjust it, then played the finest tunes. The veena shuddered to be able to produce such fine melody for the first time in Its life. Nilokdip swooned with pleasure.
Shudhoshatya was almost asleep only to be awakened with the magical melody of his beautiful veena. As soon as he woke up he felt as though he was led in a trance to a wonderful world of music. It was almost midnight. Everything around was wakened; the trees were coming back to life again. The night was animated.
Shudhoshatya left his bed quietly. Following the tune he reached the unused room of his house. It was Nilokdip who was embracing his veena and producing the magical music that caressed the night. Nilokdip had his eyes closed as if in meditation, singing along with the veena's tune. Shudhoshatya had never ever heard anything like this before. He exclaimed out aloud his friend's name, "Nilokdip!”
Nilokdip opened his eyes but didn't stop playing. He finished his tune slowly and put the veena at Shudhoshatya's feet. He gently asked his friend, "You have something so precious that no one else in the world has. Why do you not value this precious gift? I'm so lucky to have come in touch with this heavenly instrument.”
Shudhoshatya eyes glistened but then he said, "Nilokdip, put the veena in its original place. I don't need it any more."
Nilokdip answered, "But the veena is in good condition now, it is tuned. It vibrates. I want to....”
Shudhoshatya screamed, "That's why I don't need the veena anymore. I take away my claim from it. This veena is cursed!”
Nilokdip was astounded. "Cursed! It's a heavenly veena; you acquired it without any perseverance”
"It is cursed with faulty music!"
"How can you say that; this veena is blessed with melody. It has all the vibrations from the heavenly rivers flowing through it. You must honour it."
Shudhoshatya was trembling with anger. He kicked the veena. The veena resonated and flew apart. The strings became loose. The resonator got separated from its body. Nilokdeep ran towards it. But before he could go near it Shudhoshatya stormed out. “Let it perish," he said.
The veena shattered into pieces and turned into ashes.
Nilokdip was shocked at the incidence. Shudhoshatya left the room. A cold wind blew through the room. Nilokdeep collected the ashes and spread it in the river Niranjaona
The wind took away the ashes back to heaven where there was Kojagori Pumima.
•This st1 ory has been abndged for publication. It is included in a forthcoming anthology being edited by Professor Niaz Zaman. Jhama Rahman is a Bengali short story writer Jackie Kabir is a writer and translator.