Exodus

 Exodus

Fear gripped us, cold as the wind’s hollow moan,
A family trembling, no shield, not one stone.
We fled the green valley, its orchards, its streams,
With hearts like cracked mirrors, unstitched at the seams.

No farewell was whispered, no glance cast behind,
Just the ghosts of our footsteps, erased by the blind.
The earth where we planted, where love first took root,
Now a scar in the memory, a wound left mute.

Never to return? No—never’s too kind.
The past is a country we’re barred to find.

The cold of December, Nineteen Ninety, bit sharp,
A knife in the ribs of the night, dark and charred.
The air clenched to ice—even the winds seemed to mourn,
As if heaven itself wept for the land we had torn.

Could I withstand this cold? My bones screamed No,
But the road stretched before us, relentless as snow.
No ember of mercy, no sign, not a track—
We walked. We were shadows. No turning back.

"Uprooted"

 "Uprooted"

I was torn from my roots, so deep and so wide,
Like an old mulberry upended by time’s cruel tide.
The land of my fathers, of love and pain,
Now lives in my blood, yet I’m severed in vain.

The stones bore the weight of my ancestors’ hands,
Their sweat built these walls that no longer stand.
Each brick held a story, each step had a prayer,
Now dust on the wind—gone, as if never there.

The hearth where we gathered, where embers would glow,
Now whispers are ashes, the breezes will blow.
The laughter, the weeping, the songs left unsung,
Are ghosts in the echoes of a tongue now unstrung?

I walk with the shadows of all left behind,
A relic of ruins no stranger would find.
What’s lost can’t return, yet it clings to my soul—
A home now just memory, half-mended, half-whole.

So, I bear the weight of a name without ground,
A seed without soil, yet still longing for sound.
For though I was taken, though all seems erased,
The land lives within me—unbroken, though displaced.

"The wind whispered secrets the trees dared not keep,
Their silence too heavy, their roots dug too deep.
I reached for the echoes—so faint, yet so true—
But the past, like a storm, tore the world that I knew."

Sham Misri

(Sundra)

"The Camel’s Odyssey: From Ancient Toes to Distant Roads"

 

"The Camel’s Odyssey: From Ancient Toes to Distant Roads"

I. Ancestral Shadows

No child of dunes, yet king of sand,

Your lineage walks a stranger land—

Once, fox-small feet with fourfold tread

Pressed forests where the west wind fled.

Giraffe-camels browsed the dawn,

Their necks like creaking masts withdrawn,

Till fate’s tide turned: some eastward crept,

Some south where Andean glaciers wept.

North’s last sons sank into stone,

Their bones the only markers known.

II. South American Kin

Now vicuñas, light as mist,

Dance where freezing summits twist—

Soft as camel-pads they go,

Grazing slopes where thin winds blow.

Sentinel and swift retreat,

Their fleece more dear than kings’ conceit.

While guanacos, broad and dour,

Mass like storms on Patagonia’s floor—

Wild kin tamed to llama’s load,

The Inca’s weight on mountain road.

Alpaca’s coat, though fine it gleams,

Ne’er matches vicuña’s moonlit dreams.

III. The Bridge of Service

When Columbus breached the sea,

No hoofbeat shook the land—save thee,

O llama! Sole beast bowed to bear

Gold and corn through thinning air.

Still today your patient frame

Climbs where engines fear to claim.

IV. Global Steed

From Australia’s rabbit-warred plain

To Zanzibar’s monsoon-slung chain,

You hump the wire, you haul the bale,

A nomad still, though leased to sail.

Canary isles or Tuscan hill,

You bend—but never to man’s will.

V. Epilogue: The Eternal Stranger

Melancholy architect,

Building roads none could erect—

Your toes pared down by time’s harsh hand,

Yet still you walk each demanded land.

Sundra

The Blind Experts

 The Blind Experts

A noble king on Andhak’s throne heard every subject’s plea,

When came an old man, bowed with need, from shackles of poverty.

“A loan,” he begged, “of gold, a sum, a thousand coins to hold,

I leave my sons, both blind, as pledge—a tale will soon unfold.”

The king, intrigued, then asked him how such sons could serve his hand,

The old man swore on skill and sense they’d faithfully command.

“The elder smells the soul of steeds, the younger gems can tell,

By touch and scent, their judgment’s pure—they read what truths compel.”

The gold was paid, and the sons remained within the royal keep,

Till traders came with goods to sell—with promises so deep.

A horse was brought, of noble breed, or so the seller swore,

But when the blind boy touched its flank, truth rose from folklore.

“This horse will throw its rider down—it knows a milkman’s hand!

It drank from buffalo’s own milk and grew on that man’s land.”

The trader shamed, confessed the lie, and left within the hour,

The king now knew the blind boy’s gift—a rare and potent power.

Then came a jeweller, gems in hand, with diamonds bright and clear,

The younger son held one and sensed a presence dark and near.

“This stone has blood,” the blind boy said, “and sorrow clings within,

It stole the lives of two who held—a cursed and tragic sin.”

The jeweller fled in silent dread—his secret had been told,

The king sat stunned by truths unearthed more precious than the gold.

Then came the father, gold repaid, to take his sons and go,

The king then asked, “And what of you? What special skill do you show?”

“I see the truth in any soul,” the old man spoke outright,

“Then tell me mine,” the king demanded, standing in his light.

“You are the son,” the old man said, “of one who lived by theft.”

Enraged, the king cried, “Off with heads! You leave me all bereft!”

Then Betal paused upon the path, mid-air and darkly hung,

“O Vikram, was this judgment just? Speak—hold or loose your tongue!”

The king replied, “The truth cuts deep, but spoken out of place,

The old man’s pride brought doom to all—a blind and reckless grace.”

Then Betal laughed—a chilling sound—and flew back to the tree,

And Vikram drew his sword and sighed… the quest still yet to be.

 

WHO WAS KING VIKRAMADITYA?

 WHO WAS KING VIKRAMADITYA?

There have been at least four Vikramaditya in history. 

Chandragupta II Vikramaditya had 'nine gems' in his court. They were –

1. Kalidas, 2. Dhanwantari, 3. Kshapanak, 4. Amar Simha, 5. Shanku, 6. Ghatkarpar, 7. Varahmihir, 8. Vararuchi and 9. Vaital Bhatt.

The name 'Vaital Bhatt', one of the nine gems of Chandragupta II Vikramaditya, has nothing to do with Betal 'The Vampire' of 'Vaital Panchavimshati'; because 'Bar Kaha' had been written a few centuries before Christ and 'Vaital Bhatt' was born a few centuries after Christ. Similarly, the Vikramaditya of 'Vaital Panchavimshati' does not have to do anything with Chandragupta II Vikramaditya. But a logical conclusion can be drawn that those who assumed the title of 'Vikramaditya' did it only to give recognition to their success and emulate his greatness by suffixing 'Vikramaditya' to their names. This means that these kings were greatly impressed by him, and this also means that King Vikramaditya, who has been depicted as a hero in Vikram and Betal, was born much earlier and has nothing to do with Chandragupta II Vikramaditya, who was the son of Samudragupta. But even though his historicity cannot be established, he remains a historical figure in a work of fiction.

'Katha Sarit Sagar' is a famous book in the Sanskrit language written by 'Somdeva'. In fact, it would be more correct to say that it was rewritten by 'Somdeva' from the book 'Vrihad Katha', which was a translation of the book 'Bar Kaha'. 'Bar Kaha' was written by 'Gunadhya' in Paishachi Prakrit language. 'Gunadhya' was a minister at the court of King Satvahan of Andhra dynasty around the period 495 B.C. It is said of 'Gunadhya' that he composed seven lakh couplets in a period of seven years and named it 'Bar Kaha'. First this book was translated into Sanskrit language by King Durvineet as 'Vrihad Katha'; but unfortunately neither 'Bar Kaha' nor Vrihad Katha' is available now.

'Somadeva' who was contemporary of King Awant of Kashmir (1029-1064 AD), rewrote 'Vrihad Katha' in the Sanskrit language and named it 'Katha Sarit Sagar', which consists of 21,388 couplets. 'Vaital Panchavimshati' or 'Betal Pachchisi' and 'Vaital Panchavimshati or 'Betal Pachchisi' and 'Simhasan Dwatrinshika' or 'Simhasan Battisi' are parts of 'Katha Sarit Sagar'. In 'Betal Pachchisi' the poet has made Betal tell twenty-five meaningful stories to King Vikramaditya and in 'Simhasan Battisi', the poet has used the thirty-two puppets to give a detailed introduction of King Vikramaditya one by one.

Then much later, as the stories in 'Katha Sarit Sagar' aroused interest and curiosity in the minds of people, Mohammad Shah, a Mughal Emperor, got it translated into Braj language by 'Sorath', a poet at the court of Sawai Raja Jai Singh. Next, it was Captain Mart who got it made more comprehensible and intelligible by Tarinicharan Mishra and introduced it in the schools of Bengal during the British period in India.

This book consists of twenty-five stories told by Vaital to King Vikramaditya. But who was King Vikramaditya and what place he held in the history of India is a matter of debate. There is no historical evidence; there is nothing that can establish the historicity of King Vikramaditya mentioned in the book Vaital Panchavimshati. But it seems he played an important role in the historical process, because, as is evident from the history of ancient India, there had been about twelve Vikramadityas and each one embraced this title after having achieved some kind of great success as a title of honour. Even Chandragupta II Vikramaditya, who ruled from 375 AD to 415 AD, assumed this title only after having conquered Gujarat and Kathiawad which was indeed a great success.

Some anecdotalists have made available a little of anecdotal material which will, we are sure, make interesting reading. Thus goes the story-

There was a shepherd lad in a village. He used to take his sheep out for grazing, and some other village boys would also accompany him. After having shepherded his sheep towards a pasture, he used to start playing with his friends. And every day, while playing, he would go and sit on a mound of earth and call himself a king. His friends, too, enjoyed this game and posing themselves to be his subjects, they would come with their grievances, which were, of course, not real, and the shepherd lad would pronounce his judgment like a just king. Gradually, the villagers too came to know about his great sense of justice. Whenever there was a problem among them and they could not solve and settle the matter, they would come to the shepherd lad, and this boy would go and sit on that particular mound of earth, listen to both the parties patiently and pronounce his judgement; and both the parties would go back satisfied.

It took no time for the story to spread like wildfire and the then ruling king Raja Bhoja Dev also came to know about it. He called the boy at his court and tried to test his sense of justice, but to his astonishment, he found him to be a most ordinary boy.

"I have heard a lot about your sense of justice, but now I find you are a most ordinary boy," said Raja Bhoj Dev.

To this, the shepherd lad said, "Sir, I have never had education and am indeed a very ordinary boy. But sir, there is a mound of earth in the hilly region in the north-west province of your kingdom. When I sit on that mound, sense of justice starts flowing automatically from above; I begin to feel that I am a great king."

Raja Bhoj Dev sensed some meaning in what the shepherd lad said. He asked him to lead him to the mound of earth. After reaching there Raja Bhoj Dev made the boy sit on the mound and posed a very complicated problem before him. This was a case to which he himself had given several hearings in his court and had not yet been able to solve it, owing to its complicatedness. But to his utter bewilderment, the boy, after giving a patient hearing, solved the case as if it was a very simple one.

The Third Suiter

  

The Third Suiter

[Tale from Vikram and Betal]

Betal spoke from the corpse’s hold, as Vikram walked the night,

“Another tale of choices bold, of wisdom, love, and might.

In Magadh lived a princess fair, with beauty like the moon,

Who turned away each prince’s prayer, and every splendid groom.

‘What gift have you?’ she asked each one, ‘to win me as your wife?’

The first could read fate’s course begun—the prophecies of life.

The next, a chariot that could soar o’er mountain, stream, and vale,

The third, a sword that rocks would tear—a warrior without fail.

But fate then played a cruel hand—the princess disappeared,

Abducted by a giant’s hand, to all, her loss was feared.

The seer prince divined the place where she was held in dread,

The charioteer flew through the space to where the foe was spread.

The warrior prince, with blade held high, did face the monstrous brute,

And struck the giant so he died—one swift and fatal cut.

The palace vanished with the blow—the princess stood there, free,

But then the princes claimed her hand—each one for all to see.

The seer said, ‘I found the way!’ The charioteer, ‘I flew!’

The warrior cried, ‘I won the day! The giant, I overthrew!’

So tell me, Vikram, wise and true, beneath this starry dome—

Which prince deserved the hand he drew? Speak, king, and bear me home.”

Then Vikram thought and gave a reply, “Though all played their own part,

The one who dared to fight and die—the warrior, strong of heart.

For might makes right when darkness falls—his sword brought freedom’s breath,

Without that blow, the giant’s halls had been the princess’s death.”

“You judge with truth,” Betal declared, “but still, you spoke—you failed!”

And so, the ghost, no longer shared, to the distant treetop sailed.

And Vikram, with a determined sigh, held his sword in the air,

Set out once more to fetch the fly—to conquer and ensnare.

King Vikram and Betal

 King Vikram and Betal

A hermit came to Vikram’s court, a king of fearless might,

And offered him a simple fruit, a humble, daily sight.

The just king, thinking of his realm and all beneath his care,

Declared the gift belonged to all and placed it with great care.

Day after day, the sage returned, this ritual to repeat,
Until he asked to see the fruits, now rotting and complete.

The king then cut one open, and a brilliant gem was found,
A priceless, gleaming treasure from within the earthly mound.

The hermit spoke of occult arts and promised greater wealth,
If Vikram would perform a task to bolster kingdom’s health.

To fetch a corpse from distant woods where Krishna’s waters flow,
From a lonely Peepal tree where darkest shadows grow.

And so the king on a moonless night did venture to the wood,
And found the body hanging where the haunted tree once stood.
He placed it on his shoulder to begin the lengthy trek,
When from the corpse a voice did speak, the ghostly soul of Betal.

“I’ll tell a tale to pass the time,” the clever ghost then said,
“But you must not utter a word until our path is sped.
And within my story’s fold, a puzzle you must solve,
Or else your royal head, O King, I promise will dissolve.”

So, Vikram walked in silent thought, beneath the starless dome,
As Betal wove a tangled web of love and terror home.
A test of wisdom, will, and truth on that dark path began,
The legendary dialogue of the king and the ghost, Betal.