" Reality leaves a lot to the imagination." --- John Lenon
( Year-4, Issue-38 )
In The English section: Inspirational:Osho. Favourites Forever: Sir John Bretjman. Poetry Here & Now:Surjit Patar. Story:Laura E. Richards. Introduction to comets-Shail Agrawal. Kids' Poem: Robert Louis Stevenson, Kids' Story: An Old Traditional Tale from India.
What is there in a star that captures the imagination and commands our attention to such an extent, that it starts to lure. Is it a fixation of the mind or undisputed audacity of the heart! Excellence is a fine star quality, not the guile or deceit, so probably ‘lure’ is not a very kind world; ’mesmerise’ may be more appropriate, because it is both a twinkle in our eyes and a pang in our heart.
‘ A self-luminous celestial body consisting of a mass of gas held together by its own gravity in which the energy generated by nuclear reactions in the interior is balanced by the outflow of energy to the surface, and the inward-directed gravitational forces are balanced by the outward-directed gas and radiation pressures’
So when we talk about stars, we talk about perfect balance and harmony between any of the inward and outward flow of the energy. In its star-lit realm grown ups and kids are alike. One wanders like Alice in wonderland, only to find that waking up is as important as is the dreaming.
This conflict between reality and imagination causes confusion, causes heartache. Lekhni’s this issue is focusing on this same heartache and confusion. Perhaps to a human mind ' unheard melody is sweeter than heard one'; because memory or pain is not attached to it .
Lekhni’s this issue is centered around stars…our dreams, our aspirations, our hope as well as our loss and failures. Laugh or cry, Stars are stars and we love and loath them simultaneously all our life . Chaos is the source from which cosmos was born and 'chaos' is the source of all things in creation also.
It is one of the most fundamental things to understand. People ordinarily think that forgiveness is for those who are worthy of it, who deserve it. But if somebody deserves, is worthy of forgiveness, it is not much of a forgiveness. You are not doing anything on your part; he deserves it. You are not really being in love and compassion. Your forgiveness will be authentic only when even those who don’t deserve it receive it.
It is not a question of whether a person is worthy or not. The question is whether your heart is ready or not.
I am reminded of one of the most significant woman mystics, Rabiya al-Adabiya, a Sufi woman who was known for her very eccentric behavior. But in all her eccentric behavior there was a great insight. Once, another Sufi mystic Hasan was staying with Rabiya. Because he was going to stay with Rabiya, he had not brought his own holy Koran, which he used to read every morning as part of his discipline. He thought he could borrow Rabiya’s holy Koran, so he had not brought his own copy with him.
In the morning he asked Rabiya, and she gave him her copy. He could not believe his eyes. When he opened the Koran he saw something which no Mohammedan could believe: in many places Rabiya had corrected it. It is the greatest sin as far as Mohammedans are concerned; the Koran is the word of God according to them. How can you change it? How can you even think that you can make something better? Not only has she changed it, she has simply cut out a few words, a few lines — removed them.
Hasan said to her, “Rabiya, somebody has destroyed your Koran!” Rabiya said, “Don’t be stupid, nobody can touch my Koran. What you are looking at is my doing.” Hasan said, “But how could you do such a thing?” She said, “I had to do it, there was no way out. For example, look here: the Koran says, “When you see the devil, hate him.” Since I have become awakened I cannot find any hate within me. Even if the devil stands in front of me I can only shower him with my love, because I don’t have anything else left. It does not matter whether God stands in front of me, or the devil; both will receive the same love. All that I have is love; hate has disappeared. The moment hate disappeared from me I had to make changes in my book of the holy Koran. If you have not changed it, that simply means you have not arrived to the space where only love remains.”
I will say to you, the people who don’t deserve, the people who are unworthy, don’t make any difference to the man who has come to the space of forgiveness. He will forgive, irrespective of who receives it. He cannot be so miserly that only the worthy should receive it. And from where is he going to find unforgiveness? This is a totally different perspective. It does not concern itself with the other. Who are you to make the judgment whether the other is worthy or unworthy? The very judgment is ugly and mean.
I know Rudolph Hess is certainly one of the greatest criminals. And his crime becomes even a millionfold bigger, because in the Nuremburg trial with the remaining companions of Adolf Hitler — who killed almost eight million people in the second world war — he said in front of the court, “I don’t repent anything!” Not only that, he also said, “And if I could start from the very beginning, I would do the same thing again.” It is very natural to think this man is not worthy of forgiveness; that will be the common understanding. Everybody will agree with you.
But I cannot agree with you. It does not matter what Rudolf Hess has done, what he is saying. What matters is that you are capable of forgiving even him. That will raise your consciousness to the ultimate heights. If you cannot forgive Rudolf Hess you will remain just an ordinary human being, with all kinds of judgments of worthiness, of unworthiness. But basically you cannot forgive him because your forgiveness is not big enough.
I can forgive the whole world for the simple reason that my forgiveness is absolute; it is nonjudgmental. I will tell you a small Tibetan story which will make the point absolutely clear to you.
A great old master, worshiped by millions of people, refused to initiate anyone into disciplehood. His whole life, consistently, he was asked by kings, he was asked by very rich people, he was asked by great ascetics, saints, to be initiated as his disciples, and he went on refusing. He would always say, “Unless I find a man who deserves it, unless I find a man who is worthy of it...I am not going to initiate any Tom, Dick, Harry.”
He had a small young boy who used to cook food for him, wash his clothes, fetch vegetables from the market. The boy himself had become slowly, slowly old and for his whole life he had been listening to the old man, who had lived almost one hundred years, and without exception the denial: nobody is worthy! “I will die,” he said, “without initiating anyone, but I will not initiate anyone who is nondeserving.”
People became tired, frustrated. They loved the man, the man had immense qualities, but they could not understand his very stubborn attitude — no kindness, no compassion.
But one morning the old man woke up his companion, who himself had become old, and said to him, “Run immediately down the hills to the marketplace and tell everybody that whoever wants to be initiated must come soon, because this evening as the sun sets I am going to die.”
His companion said, “But what about worthiness? I don’t know who is worthy and who is not worthy. Who have I to bring?”
The old man said, “Don’t worry at all. It was only a device, because I myself was not worthy to initiate anyone, but it was against my dignity to say so. So I chose the other way round. I was saying, ‘Unless I find somebody worthy enough, deserving enough, I am not going to initiate.’ The truth is, I was not worthy to be a master. Now I am, but the time is very short. Only this morning as the sun was rising, my own consciousness has also risen to the ultimate peak. Now I am ready. Now it does not matter who is worthy and who is unworthy. What matters now is that I am worthy. Just go and fetch anybody! Just go and make the whole village aware that this is the last day of my life, and anybody who wants to be initiated should come immediately. Bring as many people as you can.”
The companion of the old man was at a loss, but there was no time to argue. He ran down the hill, reached the marketplace and shouted all over the village, “Anybody who wants to become a disciple, the old man is ready now.”
People could not believe it. But out of curiosity a few thought, “There is no harm at least to see what is going on.” The man had refused his whole life, and on the last day of his life suddenly such a great change. Somebody’s wife had died and he was feeling very lonely, so he thought, “It is good. If he is going to initiate everybody, no question of worthiness...” Somebody was released from jail just the night before; he thought, “Nobody is going to give me employment; this is a good chance to become a saint.”
All kinds of strange people went to the cave of the old man, and his companion was feeling so embarrassed at the kind of people he had brought: one is a criminal, one’s wife is dead, that’s why he thinks, “It is better...now, what else to do?” Somebody has gone bankrupt and was thinking to commit suicide; now he thinks that this is better than suicide.
A few had come just out of curiosity. They had no other work; they were playing jazz and they thought, “We can play jazz tomorrow, but today there is no harm, let us see what this initiation is. Anyway, that man is going to die by the evening so we will be free to remain disciples or not. We can play jazz tomorrow — there is no harm.”
The companion of the old man was feeling very embarrassed, “How will I present this strange lot when that old man has refused kings, saints, sages, who have come with deep earnestness to be initiated? And now he is going to initiate this gang!” He was even feeling ashamed, but he entered and asked, “Should I call the people? — eleven have come.”
The old man said, “Call them quickly, because it is already afternoon. You took so much time and you could fetch just eleven people?”
His companion said, “What can I do? It is a working day; it is not a holiday. I could only get these. All are absolutely useless; even I could not initiate them. Not only that they are not worthy — they are absolutely UNworthy. But you insisted to bring somebody; nobody else was available.”
The old man said, “There is no problem. Just bring them in.” And he initiated them all. Even they were shocked. And they said to the old man, “This is strange behavior. All your life you have insisted that one has to deserve to be a disciple. What happened to your principle?”
The old man laughed. He said, “That was not a principle, that was only to hide my own unworthiness. I was not yet in the position to be a master. And I cannot cheat anyone, I cannot deceive anyone; hence I have taken shelter behind a judgmental attitude, that unless you are worthy, you will not get initiation.”
Obviously nobody is worthy.
Everybody has his own flaws, weaknesses; everybody has done things that he never wanted to do. Everybody has gone astray. Nobody can say that he is absolutely pure; everybody is polluted. So when the old man insisted, “Unless you are worthy don’t come back to me,” nobody argued with him; he was right. First they have to be worthy!
On the last day, he said to those eleven disciples, “I bless you and initiate you. It doesn’t matter whether you are worthy or not, but for the first time I am worthy. And if I am really worthy, just my presence is going to purify you. My worthiness of being a master is going to make you a worthy disciple. Now I don’t have to depend on your worthiness. My worthiness is enough.
“I am just like a rain cloud; I will shower all over the place — on the mountains, on the streets, on the houses, in the farms, in the gardens. I will shower everywhere, because I am too burdened with my rainwater. It does not matter whether the garden deserves...I don’t even make any distinction between the garden and the rocks. I will simply shower out of my abundance.”
If your meditations bring you to the state of a rain cloud, you will forgive without any judgment out of your abundance, out of your love, out of your compassion.
In fact I would like to make the statement that the man who is unworthy deserves more than the man who is worthy. The man who does not deserve, deserves more, because he is so poor; don’t be hard upon him. Life has been hard upon him. He has gone astray; he has suffered because of his wrong doings. Now don’t you be hard on him. He needs more love than those who are deserving; he needs more forgiveness than those who are worthy. This should be the only approach of a religious heart.
Your question was raised before Gautam Buddha, because he was going to initiate a murderer into sannyas — and the murderer was no ordinary murderer. Rudolf Hess is nothing compared to him. His name was Angulimal. Angulimal means a man who wears a garland of human fingers.
He had taken a vow that he would kill one thousand people; from each single person he would take one finger so that he could remember how many he had killed and he will make a garland of all those fingers. In his garland of fingers he had nine hundred and ninety-nine fingers — only one was missing. And that one was missing because his road was closed; nobody was coming that way. But Gautam Buddha entered that closed road. The king had put guards on the road to prevent people, particularly strangers who didn’t know that a dangerous man lived behind the hills. The guards told Gautam Buddha, “That is not the road to be used. You will have to take a little longer route, but it is better to go a little longer than to go into the mouth of death itself. This is the place where Angulimal lives. Even the king has not the guts to go on this road. That man is simply mad.
“His mother used to go to him. She was the only person who used to go, once in a while, to see him, but even she stopped. The last time she went there he told her, `Now only one finger is missing, and just because you happen to be my mother...I want to warn you that if you come another time you will not go back. I need one finger desperately. Up to now I have not killed you because other people were available, but now nobody passes on this road except you. So I want to make you aware that next time if you come it will be your responsibility, not mine.’ Since that time his mother has not come.”
The guards said to Buddha, “Don’t unnecessarily take the risk.” And do you know what Buddha said to them? Buddha said, “If I don’t go then who will go? Only two things are possible: either I will change him, and I cannot miss this challenge; or I will provide him with one finger so that his desire is fulfilled. Anyway I am going to die one day. Giving my head to Angulimal will be at least of some use; otherwise one day I will die and you will put me on the funeral pyre. I think that it is better to fulfill somebody’s desire and give him peace of mind. Either he will kill me or I will kill him, but this encounter is going to happen; you just lead the way.”
The people who used to follow Gautam Buddha, his close companions who were always in competition to be closer to him, started slowing down. Soon there were miles between Gautam Buddha and his disciples. They all wanted to see what happened, but they didn’t want to be too close.
Angulimal was sitting on his rock watching. He could not believe his eyes. A very beautiful man of such immense charisma was coming towards him. Who could this man be? He had never heard of Gautam Buddha, but even this hard heart of Angulimal started feeling a certain softness towards the man. He was looking so beautiful, coming towards him. It was early morning...a cool breeze, and the sun was rising...and the birds were singing and the flowers had opened; and Buddha was coming closer and closer.
Finally Angulimal, with his naked sword in his hand, shouted, “Stop!” Gautam Buddha was just a few feet away, and Angulimal said, “Don’t take another step because then the responsibility will not be mine. Perhaps you don’t know who I am!”
Buddha said, “Do you know who you are?”
Angulimal said, “This is not the point. Neither is it the place nor the time to discuss such things. Your life is in danger!”
Buddha said, “I think otherwise — your life is in danger.”
That man said, “I used to think I was mad — you are simply mad. And you go on moving closer. Then don’t say that I killed an innocent man. You look so innocent and so beautiful that I want you to go back. I will find somebody else. I can wait; there is no hurry. If I can manage nine hundred and ninety-nine...it is only a question of one more, but don’t force me to kill YOU.”
Buddha said, “You are absolutely blind. You can’t see a simple thing: I am not moving towards you, you are moving towards me.”
Angulimal said, “This is sheer craziness! Anybody can see that you are moving and I am standing on my rock. I have not moved a single inch.”
Buddha said, “Nonsense! The truth is, since the day I became enlightened I have not moved a single inch. I am centered, utterly centered, no movement. And your mind is continuously moving round and round in circles...and you have the guts to tell to me to stop. You stop! I have stopped long ago.”
Angulimal said, “It seems you are impossible, you are incurable. You are bound to be killed. I will feel sorry, but what can I do? I have never seen such a mad man.”
Buddha came very close, and Angulimal’s hands were trembling. The man was so beautiful, so innocent, so childlike. He had already fallen in love. He had killed so many people.... He had never felt this weakness; he had never known what love is. For the first time he was full of love. So there was a contradiction: the hand was holding the sword to kill the person, and his heart was saying, “Put the sword back in the sheath.”
Buddha said, “I am ready, but why is your hand shaking? — you are such a great warrior, even kings are afraid of you, and I am just a poor beggar. Except the begging bowl, I don’t have anything. You can kill me, and I will feel immensely satisfied that at least my death fulfills somebody’s desire; my life has been useful, my death has also been useful. But before you cut my head I have a small desire, and I think you will grant me a small desire before killing me.”
Before death even the hardest enemy is willing to fulfill any desire.
Angulimal said, “What do you want?”
Buddha said, “I want you just to cut from the tree a branch which is full of flowers. I will never see these flowers again; I want to see those flowers closely, feel their fragrance and their beauty in this morning sun, their glory.”
So Angulimal cut with his sword a whole branch full of flowers. And before he could give it to Buddha, Buddha said, “This was only half the desire; the other half is, please put the branch back on the tree.”
Angulimal said, “I was thinking from the very beginning that you are crazy. Now this is the craziest desire. How can I put this branch back?”
Buddha said, “If you cannot create, you have no right to destroy. If you cannot give life, you don’t have the right to give death to any living thing.”
A moment of silence and a moment of transformation...the sword fell down from his hands. Angulimal fell down at the feet of Gautam Buddha, and he said, “I don’t know who you are, but whoever you are, take me to the same space in which you are; initiate me.”
By that time the followers of Gautam Buddha had come closer and closer. Seeing that now Gautam Buddha was standing in front of Angulimal, there was no problem, no fear, although he needed only one finger. They were all around and when he fell at Buddha’s feet they immediately came close. Somebody raised the question, “Don’t initiate this man, he is a murderer. And he is not an ordinary murderer; he has murdered nine hundred and ninety-nine people, all innocent, all strangers. They have not done any wrong to him. He had not even seen them before!”
Buddha said again, “If I don’t initiate him, who will initiate him? And I love the man, I love his courage. And I can see tremendous possibility in him: a single man fighting against the whole world. I want this kind of people, who can stand against the whole world. Up to now he was standing against the world with a sword; now he will stand against the world with a consciousness which is far sharper than any sword. I told you that murder was going to happen, but it was not certain who was going to be murdered — either I was going to be murdered, or Angulimal. Now you can see Angulimal is murdered. And who I am to judge?”
He initiated Angulimal.
The question is not whether anybody is worthy or not. The question is whether you have the consciousness, the abundance of love — then forgiveness will come out of it spontaneously. It is not a calculation, it is not arithmetic.
Life is love, and living a life of love is the only religious life, the only life of prayer, peace, the only life of gratitude, grandeur, splendor.
The Great Pilgrimage: From Here to Here, chapter 24
Kind o’er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy, White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress, Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery Soap scented fingers I long to caress.
Were you a prefect and head of your dormit'ry? Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym? Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you? Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?
Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle, Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge, Home and Colonial, Star, International, Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.
Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle, Out of the shopping and into the dark, Back down the avenue, back to the pottingshed, Back to the house on the fringe of the park.
Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy, Golden the light on the book on her knee, Finger marked pages of Rackham's Hans Anderson, Time for the children to come down to tea.
Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade, Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all, My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy, Some in the alcove and some in the hall.
Then what sardines in half-lighted passages! Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek. You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy, Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.
Meditation on the A 30
A man on his own in a car Is revenging himself on his wife; He opens the throttle and bubbles with dottle And puffs at his pitiful life.
‘She’s losing her looks very fast, She loses her temper all day; That lorry won’t let me get past, This Mini is blocking my way.
‘Why can’t you step on it and shift her! I can’t go on crawling like this! At breakfast she said that she wished I was dead— Thank heavens we don’t have to kiss.
‘I’d like a nice blond on my knee And one who won’t argue or nag. Who dares to come hooting at me? I only give way to a Jag.
‘ You’re barmy or plastered . I’ll pass you, you bastard--- I will overtake you. I will!’ As he clenches his pipe, his moment is ripe And the corner’s accepting its kill.
My mother could not understand my poem thou it was written In my mothertoungue
She only gathered that there was some grief in her son’s mind.
But where from his grief came while I am here to guard him She wondered
My illiterate mother scanned my poem and said to herself: look here despite the mother who gave him birth from her womb the son tells his grief to the papers.
Then she took the papers to her breast hoping perhaps it is the only way of getting close to me
Returning Home
It is difficult to return home now Who will recognise us Death has left signature on our foreheads Friends have trodden our faces
Someone else glances back in the mirror
In the eyes there is a dim light Of a house in ruins… My mother will get scared Her son older than her Who has cursed him
What a black magic in this?
My mother will get scared It is better not to return home now So many suns have set So many gods are dead Seeing my mother alive, I’ll wonder If she is a ghost or I am one
When I’ll meet some old friends I will miss the love That died inside me long ago I will feel like crying but then I will remember that I left my tears in the pocket of my other coat
When aunt issri caresses my hair How will I tell of the thoughts Which are hidden in my head…
Some mother of Hamlet Roasting flesh on her husband’s fresh pyre. God who warms himself From pyre flames in winter…
With eyes which has seen such tragedies How will I meet the eyes of my childhood picture Or those of my younger brother.
In the evening when a Lamp is lit on a grave And the sound of prayer Rises from the gurudwara I will remember him a lot He who is now no more. Of whose death in this crowded city Only I know.
If someone searches my mind now I will be left very alone Like a spy from a hostile land It is not easy to live in our homes now
Death has left the signature on our foreheads Friends have trodden our faces
"I wouldn't, Lena!" "Well, I guess I shall!" "Don't, Lena! please don't! you will be sorry, I am sure, if you do it. It cannot bring good, I know it cannot!" "The idea! Mary Denison, you are too old-fashioned for anything. I'd like to know what harm it can do." The rag-room was nearly deserted. The whistle had blown, and most of the girls had hurried away to their dinner. Two only lingered behind, deep in conversation; Mary Denison and Lena Laxen.
Mary was sitting by her sorting-table, busily sorting rags as she talked. She was a fair, slender girl, and looked wonderfully fresh and trim in her gray print gown, with a cap of the same material fitting close to her head, and hiding her pretty hair. The other girl was dark and vivacious, with laughing black eyes and a careless mouth. She was picturesque enough in her blue dress, with the scarlet handkerchief tied loosely over her hair; but both kerchief and dress showed the dust plainly, and the dark locks that escaped here and there were dusty too, showing little of the care that may keep one neat even in a rag-room.
"It's just as pretty as it can be!" Lena went on, half-coaxing, half-defiant. "You ought to see it, Mame! A silk waist, every bit as good as new, only of course it's mussed up, lying in the bag; and a skirt, and lots of other things, all as nice as nice! I can't think what the folks that had them meant, putting such things into the rags: why, that waist hadn't much more than come out of the shop, you might say. And do you think I'm going to let it go through the duster, and then be thrown out, and somebody else get it? No, sir! and it's no good for rags, you know it isn't, Mary Denison."
"I know that it is not yours, Lena, nor mine!" said Mary, steadily. "But I'll tell you what you might do; go straight to Mr. Gordon, and tell him about the pretty waist,--very likely it got in by mistake, --tell him it is no good for rags, and ask if you may have it. Like as not he'll let you have it; and if not, you will find out what his reason is. I think we ought to suppose he has some reason for what he does."
Lena laughed spitefully.
"Like as not he's going to take it home to his own girl!" she said. "I saw her in the street the other day, and I wouldn't have been seen dead with the hat she had on; not a flower, nor even a scrap of a feather; just a plain band and a goose-quill stuck in it. Real poorhouse, I thought it looked, and he as rich as a Jew. I guess I sha'n't go to Mr. Gordon; he's just as hateful as he can be. He gave out word that no one was to touch that bag, nor so much as go near it; and he had it set off in a corner of the outer shed, close by the chloride barrels, so that everything in it will smell like poison. If that isn't mean, I don't know what is.
"Well, I can't stay here all day, Mame. Aren't you coming?"
"Pretty soon!" said Mary. "Don't wait for me, Lena! I want to finish this stint, so as to have the afternoon off. Mother's poorly to-day, and I want to cook something nice for her supper."
Lena nodded and went out, shutting the door with a defiant swing. Mary looked after her doubtfully, as if hesitating whether she ought not to follow and make some stronger plea; but the next moment she bent over her work again.
"I must hurry!" she said. "I'll see Lena after dinner, and try to make her promise not to touch that bag. I don't see what has got into her."
Mary worked away steadily. The rags were piled in an iron sieve before her; they were mostly the kind called "Blue Egyptians," cotton cloth dyed with indigo, which had come far across the sea from Egypt. Musty and fusty enough they were, and Mary often turned her head aside as she sorted them carefully, putting the good rags into a huge basket that stood beside her on the floor, while the bits of woollen cloth, of paper and string and other refuse, went into different compartments of the sorting-table, which was something like an old-fashioned box-desk.
Mary was a quick worker, and her basket was already nearly full of rags. Fastened upright beside her seat was a great knife, not unlike a scythe-blade, with which she cut off the buttons and hooks and eyes, running the garment along the keen edge with a quick and practised hand. Usually she amused herself by imagining stories about the buttons and their former owners, for she was a fanciful girl, and her child-life, without brothers or sisters, had bred in her the habit of solitary play and "make-believe," which clung to her now that she was a tall girl of sixteen. But to-day she was not thinking of the Blue Egyptians. Her thoughts were following Lena on her homeward way, and she was hoping devoutly that her own words might have had some effect, and that Lena might pass by the forbidden bag without lingering to be further tempted. It was strange that this one special bundle of rags, coming from a village at some distance, should have been kept apart when the day's allowance was put into the dusters. But--"Mother always says we ought to suppose there is a reason for things!" she said to herself. And she shook her head resolutely, and tried to make a "button-play."
She pulled from the heap before her a dark blue garment, and turned it over, examining it carefully. It seemed to be a woman's jacket. It was of finer material than most of the "Egyptians," and the fashion was quaint and graceful. There were remnants of embroidery here and there, and the heavy glass buttons were like nothing Mary had ever seen before.
"I'll keep these," she said, "for little Jessie Brown; she will be delighted with them. That child does make so much out of so little, I'm fairly ashamed sometimes. These will be a fortune to Jessie. I'll tell her that I think most likely they belonged to a princess when they were new; they were up and down the front of a dress of gold cloth trimmed with pearls, and she looked perfectly beautiful when she had it on, and the Prince of the Fortunate Islands fell in love with her."
Buttons were a regular perquisite of the rag-girls in the Cumquot Mill; indeed, any trifle, coin, or seal, or medal, was considered the property of the finder, this being an unwritten law of the rag-room.
Mary cut the buttons off, and slipped them into her pocket; then she ran her fingers round the edge of the jacket, in case there were any hooks or other hard substance that had escaped her notice, and that might blunt the knives of the cutter, into which it would next go.
In a corner of the lining, her fingers met something hard. Here was some object that had slipped down between the stuff and the lining, and must be cut out. Mary ran the jacket along the cutting-knife, and something rolled into her lap. Not a button this time! she held it up to the light, and examined it curiously. It was a brooch, of glass, or clear stones, in a tarnished silver setting. Dim and dusty, it still seemed full of light, and glanced in the sun as Mary held it up.
"What a pretty thing!" she said. "I wonder if it is glass. I must take this to Mr. Gordon, for I never found anything like it before. Jessie cannot have this."
She laid it carefully aside, and went on with her sorting, working so quickly that in a few moments the sieve was empty, and the basket piled with good cotton rags, ready for the cutting-machine.
Taking her hat and shawl, Mary passed out, holding the brooch carefully in her hand. There were few people in the mill, only the machine-tenders, walking leisurely up and down beside their machines, which whirred and droned on, regardless of dinnertime. The great rollers went round and round, the broad white streams flowed on and on over the screens, till the mysterious moment came when they ceased to be wet pulp and became paper.
Mary hardly glanced at the wonderful machines; they were an old story to her, though in every throb they were telling over and over the marvellous works of man. The machine-tenders nodded kindly in return to her modest greeting, and looked after her with approval, and said, "Nice gal!" to each other; but Mary hurried on until she came to the finishing-room. Here she hoped to find a friend whom she could consult about her discovery; and, sure enough, old James Gregory was sitting on his accustomed stool, tying bundles of paper with the perfection that no one else could equal. His back was turned to the door, and he was crooning a fragment of an old paper-mill song, which might have been composed by the beating engine itself, so rhythmic and monotonous it was.
"'Gene, 'Gene,
Made a machine;
Joe, Joe,
Made it go;
Frank, Frank,
Turned the crank,
His mother came out,
And gave him a spank,
And knocked him over
The garden bank."
At Mary's cheerful "Good morning, Mr. Gregory!" the old man turned slowly, and looked at the young girl with friendly eyes.
"Good day, Mary! glad to see ye! goin' along home?"
"In just a minute! I want to show you something, Mr. Gregory, and to ask your advice, please."
The old finisher turned completely round this time, and looked his interest. Mary opened her hand, and displayed the brooch she had found.
James Gregory drew his lips into the form of a whistle, but made no sound. He looked from the brooch to Mary, and back again.
"Well?" he said.
"I found it in the rags; blue Egyptians, you know, Mr. Gregory. It was inside the lining of a jacket. Do you think--what do you think about it? is it glass, or--something else?"
Gregory took the ornament from her, and held it up to the light, screwing his eyes to little points of light; then he polished it on his sleeve, and held it up again.
"Something else!" he said, briefly.
"Is it--do you think it might be worth something, Mr. Gregory?" asked Mary, rather timidly.
"Yes!" roared Gregory, with a sudden explosion. "I do! I b'lieve them's di'monds, sure as here I sit. Mary Denison, you've struck it this time, or I'm a Dutchman."
He got off his stool in great excitement, and walked up and down the room, still holding the brooch in his hand. Mary looked after him, and her face was very pale. She said one word softly, "Mother!" that was all.
Mary Denison and her mother were poor. Mrs. Denison was far from strong, and they had no easy time of it, for there was little save Mary's wages to feed and clothe the two women and pay their rent. James Gregory knew all this; his pale old face was lighted with emotion, and he stumped up and down the room at a rapid pace.
Suddenly he stopped, and faced the anxious girl, who was following him with bewildered eyes.
"Findin's havin'!" he said, abruptly. "That's paper-mill law. Some folks would tell ye to keep this to yourself, and sell it for what you could get."
Mary's face flushed.
"But you do not tell me that!" she said, quietly.
"No!" roared the old man, with another explosion, stamping violently on the floor. "No, I don't. You're poor as spring snakes, and your mother's sickly, and you've hard work to get enough to keep the flesh on your bones; but I don't tell ye to do that. I tell ye to take it straight to the Old Man, and tell him where ye found it, and all about it. I've knowed him ever since his mustash growed, and before. You go straight to him! He's in the office now."
"I was going!" said Mary, simply. "I thought I'd come and see you first, Mr. Gregory, you've always been so good to mother and me. You--you couldn't manage to come with me, could you? I am afraid of Mr. Gordon; I can't help it, though he is always pleasant to me."
"I'll go!" said old James, with alacrity. "You come right along with me!"
In his eagerness he seized Mary by the arm, and kept his hold on her as they passed out through the mill. The few "hands" who were at work here and there gazed after them in amazement; for the old man was dragging the girl along as if he had caught her in some offence, and was going to deliver her up to justice.
The same impression was made in the office, when the pair appeared there. The two clerks stared open-mouthed, and judged after their nature; for one of them said, instantly, to himself, "It's a mistake!" while the other said, "I always knew that Denison girl was too pious to last!"
A tall man who sat at a desk in the corner looked up quietly.
"Ah, Gregory!" he said. "What is it? Mary Denison? Good morning, Mary! Anything wrong in the rag-room?"
Gregory waved his hat excitedly.
"If you'd look here, sir!" he said. "If you would just cast your eye over that article, and tell this gal what you think of it! Blue Egyptians, sir! luckiest rags that ever come into this mill, I've always said. Well, sir?"
Mr. Gordon was not easily stirred to excitement. It seemed an age to the anxious girl and the impetuous old man, as he turned the brooch over and over, holding it up in every light, polishing it, breathing on it, then polishing it again. Gregory's hands twitched with eagerness, and Mary felt almost faint with suspense.
"You found this in the rags?" he asked at length, turning to Mary. He spoke in his ordinary even tone, and Mary's heart sank, she could not have told why.
"Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in a blue jacket. It was in between the stuff and the lining. There were glass buttons on the jacket."
She drew them from her pocket and held them out; but Mr. Gordon, after a glance, waved them back.
"Those are of no value!" he said. "About this brooch, I am not so sure. The stones may be real stones--I incline to think they are; but it is possible that they may be paste. The imitations are sometimes very perfect; no one but a jeweller can tell positively. I will take it to Boston with me to-morrow, and have it examined."
He dropped the brooch into a drawer at his side, turned the key and put it in his pocket, all in his quiet, methodical way, as if he were in the habit of examining diamond brooches every day; then he nodded kindly to the pair, and bent over his papers again.
Mary went out silently, and Gregory followed her with a dazed look on his strong features. He looked back at the door two or three times, but said nothing till they were back in the finishing-room.
Then--"It's one of his days!" he said. "I've knowed him ever since his mustash growed, and there's days when he's struck with a dumb sperit, just like Scriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll see you righted, or I'll give you my head."
Mary might have thought that Mr. Gregory's head would be of little use to her without the rest of him. She felt sadly dashed and disappointed. She hardly knew what she had expected, but it was something very different from this calm, every-day reception, this total disregard of her own and her companion's excitement.
"I guess he thinks they're nothing great!" she said, wearily. "What was that he said about paste, Mr. Gregory? You never saw any paste like that, did you?
"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered of Di'mond Glue, but 'twan't nothin' like stones--nor glass neither. You may run me through the calenders if I know what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!" he added, vehemently. "I done right to tell you to go to him. He's in one of his moods to-day, but you'll hear from him, if there's anything to hear, now mark my words! And now I'd go home, if I was you, and see your ma'am, and get your dinner. And--Mary--I dono as I'd say anything about this, if I was you. Things get round so in a mill, ye know."
Mary nodded assurance, and went home, trying to feel that nothing of importance had happened. Do what she would, however, the golden visions would come dancing before her eyes. Suppose--suppose the stones should be real, after all! and suppose Mr. Gordon should give her a part, at least, of the money they might bring in Boston. It might--she knew diamonds were valuable--it might be thirty or forty dollars. Oh! how rich she would be! The rent could be paid some time in advance, and her mother could have the new shawl she needed so badly: or would a cloak be better? cloaks were more in fashion, but Mother said a good shawl was always good style.
Turning the corner by her mother's house, she met one of the clerks who had been in the office when she went in there. He looked at her with the smile she always disliked, she hardly knew why.
"You did the wrong thing that time, Miss Denison!" he said.
"What do you mean, Mr. Hitchcock?" asked Mary.
"You'll never see your diamonds again, nor the money for them!" replied the man. "That's easy guessing. He'll come back and tell you they're glass or paste, and that's the last you'll hear of them. And the diamonds--for they are diamonds, right enough--will go into his pocket, or on to his wife's neck. I know what's what! I wasn't born down in these parts."
"You don't know Mr. Gordon!" said Mary, warmly. "That isn't the way he is thought of by those who do know him."
The clerk was a newcomer from another State, and was not liked by the mill-workers.
"I know his kind!" he said, with a sneer; "and they're no good to your kind, Mary Denison, nor to mine. Mark my words, you'll hear no more of that breastpin."
Mary turned away so decidedly that he said no more, but his eyes followed her with a sinister look.
Next moment he was greeting Lena Laxen cordially, and she was dimpling and smiling all over at his compliments. Lena thought Mr. Hitchcock "just elegant!" and believed that Mary was jealous when she said she did not like him. Something now prompted her to tell him about the silk waist in the forbidden sack; he took her view at once and zealously. The boss (for he did not use the kindly title of "Old Man," by which the other mill-hands designated Mr. Gordon, though he was barely forty) had his eye on the things, most likely, as he had on the pin Mary Denison found. Hadn't Lena heard about that? Well, it was a burning shame, he could tell her; he would see that she, Lena, wasn't fooled that way. And Lena, listening eagerly, heard a story very different from that which had been told to Mr. Gordon.
In an hour the whole mill knew that Mary Denison had found a diamond pin in the rags, and that Mr. Gordon had told her it was nothing but hard glue, and had sold it himself in Boston for a thousand dollars, and spent the money on a new horse.
Nor was this all! Late that evening Lena Laxen stole from her home with a shawl over her head, and met the clerk by the corner of the outer shed. A few minutes of whispering and giggling, and she stole back, with a bundle under her shawl; while Hitchcock tied a bright silk handkerchief round his neck, and strutted off with the air of a conqueror.
Next morning, as Mary Denison was going to her work, Lena rapped on the window, and called her attention by signs to the bodice she had on. It was a gay striped silk, little worn, but still showing, in spite of pressing, the marks of crumpling and tossing. The bright colors suited Lena's dark skin well, and as she stood there with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, Mary thought she had never seen her look prettier. At first she nodded and smiled in approval; but the next moment a thought darted into her mind that made her clasp her hands, and cry anxiously:
"Oh! Lena, you didn't do it! you never did it! it's not that waist you have on?"
Lena affected not to hear. She only nodded and laughed triumphantly, and turned away, leaving Mary standing pale and distressed outside the window.
Mary hesitated. Should she go in and reason further with the wilful girl, and try to persuade her to restore the stolen garment? Something told her it would be useless; but still she was on the point of going in, when old James Gregory came by, and asked her to walk on with him.
She complied, but not without an anxious look back at the window, where no one was now to be seen.
"Well, May," said Gregory, "how're ye feelin' to-day? hearty? that's clever! I hope you wasn't frettin' about that pin any. Most girls would, but you ain't the fool kind."
"I don't know, Mr. Gregory!" said Mary, laughing. "I'm afraid I have thought about it more or less, but I haven't been fretting. Where's the use?"
"Jes' so! jes' so!" assented the old man, with alacrity.
"And I didn't say anything to Mother," Mary went on. "I didn't want her to know about it unless something was really coming of it. Poor Mother! she has enough to think about."
"She has so!" said Gregory. "A sight o' thinkin' your mother doos, Mary, and good thoughts, every one of 'em, I'll bet my next pay. She's a good woman, your mother; I guess likely you know it without me sayin' so. I call Susan Denison the best woman I know, and I've told my wife so, more times than she says she has any occasion for. I don't say she's an angel, but she's a good woman, and that's as fur as we're likely to get in this world.
"But that ain't what I wanted to say to you, May! Somehow or 'nother, the story's got round about your findin' that pin yesterday. You didn't say nothin'?"
"Not a word!" said Mary. "How could it--"
"'Twas that pison Hitchcock, I expect!" said Gregory. "I see him lookin' up with his little eyes, as red as a ferret, and as ugly. I bet he started the hull thing; and he's tacked on a passel of lies, and the endurin' place is hummin' with it. Thought I'd tell ye before ye went in, so's ye could fix up a little what to say."
Mary thanked him cordially, and passed on into the mill: the old man looked after her with a very friendly glance in his keen blue eyes.
"She's good stuff, May is!" he murmured. "Good stuff, like her mother.
"Folks is like rags, however you look at 'em. Take a good linen rag, no matter how black it is, and put it through the washers, and the bleachers, and the cutters, and all the time it's gettin' whiter and whiter, and sweeter and sweeter, the more you bang it round; till at last you have bank-note paper, and write to the Queen of England on it, if you're a mind to, and she won't have none better. And take jute or shoddy, and the minute you touch to wash it, it cockles up, or drops to pieces, and it ain't no good to mortal man. Jest like folks, I tell ye! and May and her mother's pure linen clippin's, if ever I see 'em."
Forewarned is forearmed, and Mary met quietly the buzz of inquiry that greeted her when she entered the rag-room. The girls crowded round her, the men were not far behind. To each and all Mary told the simple truth, trying not to say a word too much. "The tongue is a fire!" her mother's favorite text, was constantly in her mind, and she was determined that no ill word should be spoken of Mr. Gordon, if she could help it. Almost every one in the mill liked and respected the "Old Man;" but the human mind loves a sensation, and Lena and Hitchcock had told their story so vividly the day before that Mary's account seemed tame and dull beside it; and some of the hands preferred to think that "Mame Denison was a sly one, and warn't goin' to let on, fear some one'd git ahead of her."
Lena, who came shortly, in her usual dress, fostered this feeling, not from malice, but from sheer love of excitement and gossip. In spite of Mary's efforts, the excitement increased, and when, late in the afternoon, word came that Mary Denison was wanted in the office, the rag-room was left fairly bubbling with wild surmise.
Mr. Gordon did not see Mary when she came in. He was standing at his desk, with an open letter in his hand, and his face was disturbed as he spoke to the senior clerk.
"Myers, it is as I feared about that bag of rags from Blankton. You have kept it carefully tied up, and close by the chlorides, as I told you?"
Myers, a clear-eyed, honest-browed man, looked troubled.
"I did, sir!" he said. "I have looked at the bag every time I passed that way, and have cautioned every one in the mill not to go near it, besides keeping the shed-gate locked; but this morning I found that it had been tampered with, and evidently something taken out. I hope there is nothing wrong, sir!"
George Gordon struck his hand heavily on the desk. "Wrong!" he repeated. "There have been two fatal cases of smallpox in Blankton, and that bag has been traced to the house where they were."
There was a moment of deathly silence. He went on:
"I suspected something wrong, the moment you told me of things that looked new and good; but I did not want to raise a panic in the mill, when there might be some other explanation. I thought I had taken every precaution--what is that?"
He turned quickly, hearing a low cry behind him. Mary Denison was standing with clasped hands, her face white with terror.
"Mary!" said Mr. Gordon, in amazement. "You--surely you have had nothing to do with this?"
"No, sir!" cried Mary. "Oh, no, Mr. Gordon, indeed I have not. But I fear--I fear I know who has. Oh, poor thing! poor Lena!"
Then, with an impulse she could not explain, she turned suddenly upon Hitchcock.
"Who let Lena Laxen into the yard last night?" she cried. "She could not have got in without help. You had a key--you were talking to her after I left her yesterday. Oh! look at him, Mr. Gordon! Mr. Myers, look at that man!"
But Hitchcock did not seem to hear or heed her. He sat crouched over his desk, his face a greenish-gray color, his eyes staring, his hands clutching the woodwork convulsively; an awful figure of terror, that gasped and cowered before them. Then suddenly, with a cry that rattled in his throat, he dashed from his seat and ran bareheaded out of the door.
Myers started up to pursue him, but Mr. Gordon held up his hand.
"Let him go!" he said, sternly. "It may be that he carries his punishment with him. In any case we shall see him no more."
Quickly and quietly he gave Myers his orders; to take Lena Laxen to her home, notify the physician, and proclaim a strict quarantine; to burn the infected rags without loss of time; to have every part of the shed where the fatal bag had stood thoroughly disinfected. When the man had hastened away, Mr. Gordon turned to Mary, and his stern face lightened.
"Do not distress yourself, Mary," he said, kindly. "It may be that Lena will escape the infection; it seems that she only had the garment on a few minutes; and you did all you could, I am sure, to dissuade her from this piece of fatal and dishonest folly."
"Oh! I might have said more!" cried Mary, in an agony of self-reproach. "I meant to go into her house this morning, and try to make her hear reason; it might not have been too late then."
"Thank Heaven you did not!" said Mr. Gordon, gravely. "The air of the house was probably already infected. No one save the doctor must go near that house till all danger of the disease developing is over."
He then told Mary briefly why he had sent for her. Finding that he could not go to Boston himself at present, as he had planned, he had sent the brooch by express to a jeweller whom he knew, and would be able to tell her in a few days whether it was of real value or not. Mary thanked him, but his words fell almost unheeded on her ears. What were jewels or money, in the face of a danger so awful as that which now threatened her friend, and, through her, the whole village?
Days of suspense followed. From the moment when the weeping, agonized Lena was taken home and put, tenderly, pityingly, in her mother's hands (it was Mr. Gordon himself who had done this, refusing to let any other perform the duty), an invisible line was drawn about the Laxen cottage, which few dared pass. The doctor came and went, reporting all well to the eager questioners. Mr. Gordon called daily to inquire, and every evening Mary Denison stole to the door with a paper or magazine for Lena and her mother, or some home-made delicacy that might please the imprisoned girl. Lena was usually at the window, sometimes defiant and blustering, sometimes wild with fright, sometimes again crying for sheer loneliness and vexation; but always behind her was her mother's pale face of dread, and her thin voice saying that Lena was "as well as common, thank ye," and she and Mary would exchange glances, and Mary would go away drawing breath, and thanking the Lord that another day was gone.
So on, for nine anxious days; but on the tenth, when Mary looked up at the window, the mother stood there alone, crying; and the doctor, coming out of the house at the moment, told Mary harshly to keep away from him, and not to come so near the house.
In the dreadful days that followed, his people learned to know George Gordon as they had never known him before. The grave, silent man, who never spoke save when speech was necessary, was now among them every day, going from room to room with cheerful greetings, encouraging, heartening, raising the drooping spirits, and rebuking sharply the croakers, who foretold with dismal unction a general epidemic. While taking every possible precaution, he made light of the actual danger, and by his presence and influence warded off the panic which might have brought about the dreaded result.
As a matter of fact, there were no more cases in the mill; and Lena herself had the terrible disease more lightly than any one had dared to hope. The doctor, hurrying through back ways and alleys to change his clothes and take his bath of disinfectants, was hailed from back gates and windows at every step; and he never failed to return a cheery "Doing well! out of it soon now! No, not much marked, only a few spots here and there."
This was when he left the quarantined house; but when he sought it, he might be seen to stop at one gate and another, picking up here a jar, there a bowl, here again a paper bag; till by the time he reached the Laxen gate he stood out all over with packages like a summer Santa Claus.
"There ain't anybody goin' to starve round here, if they have got the smallpox!" was the general verdict, voiced by James Gregory, and when he added, for the benefit of the mill-yard, that he had heard Mr. Gordon order ice-cream, oranges, and oysters, all at once, for Lena, a growl of pleasure went round, which deepened into a hearty "What's the matter with the Old Man? he's all right!"
At length, one happy day, Mary Denison met Mr. Gordon at the Laxens' gate, and heard the good news that Lena was sitting up; that in a day or two now the quarantine would be taken off, the house disinfected, and Lena back in her place at the mill. The manager looked with satisfaction at Mary's beaming face of happiness; then, as she was turning away to spread the good tidings, he said:
"Wait a moment, Mary! I have some other news for you. Have you forgotten the brooch that you found in the Blue Egyptians?"
The color rushed to Mary's face, and Mr. Gordon had his answer.
"Because," he added, "I have not forgotten, though you might well think I had done so. All this sad business has delayed matters, but now I have it all arranged. I am ready to-day, Mary, to give you either the brooch itself, or--what I think will be better--five hundred dollars, the sum I find it to be worth. Yes, my child, I am speaking the truth! The stones are fine ones, and the Boston jeweller offers you that sum for them. Well, Mary, have you nothing to say? What, crying? this will never do!"
But Mary had nothing to say, and she was crying, because she could not help it. Presently she managed to murmur something about "Too much! too great kindness--not fair for her to have it all!" but Mr. Gordon cut her short.
"Certainly you are to have it all, every penny of it! Finding's having! that is paper-mill law; ask James Gregory if it is not! There comes James this moment; go and tell him of your good fortune, and let him bring you up to my house this evening to get the money.
"But, Mary,"--he glanced at a letter in his hand, and his face, which had been bright with kindness and pleasure, grew very grave,-- "there is something else for you to tell James, and all the hands. James Hitchcock died yesterday, of malignant smallpox!"
The Sun · Mercury · Venus · Earth · Mars · Ceres · Jupiter · Saturn · Uranus · Neptune · Pluto these are the ten planets of our solar system. ( ceres is a recent addition to the list ) But the comets are among the most brilliant, and most rare objects in the night sky. These soaring beacons with their beautiful tails come from the outer realms of the Solar System.
Unlike the other small bodies in the solar system, comets have been known since antiquity. There are Chinese records of Comet Hailey going back to at least 240 BC. The famous Bayeux Tapestry,which commemorates the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, depicts an apparition of Comet Halley.
As of 1995, 878 comets have been cataloged and their orbits at least roughly calculated. Of these 184 are periodic comets (orbital periods less than 200 years); some of the remainder are no doubt periodic as well, but their orbits have not been determined with sufficient accuracy to tell for sure.
Comets are sometimes called dirty snowballs or "icy mudballs". They are a mixture of ices (both water and frozen gases) and dust that for some reason didn't get incorporated into planets when the solar system was formed. This makes them very interesting as samples of the early history of the solar system.
When they are near the Sun and active, comets have several distinct parts: nucleus: relatively solid and stable, mostly ice and gas with a small amount of dust and other solids; coma: dense cloud of water, carbon dioxide and other neutral gases sublimed from the nucleus; hydrogen cloud: huge (millions of km in diameter) but very sparse envelope of neutral hydrogen; dust tail: up to 10 million km long composed of smoke-sized dust particles driven off the nucleus by escaping gases; this is the most prominent part of a comet to the unaided eye; ion tail: as much as several hundred million km long composed of plasma and laced with rays and streamers caused by interactions with the solar wind.
Comets are invisible except when they are near the Sun. Most comets have highly eccentric orbits which take them far beyond the orbit of Pluto; these are seen once and then disappear for millennia. Only the short- and intermediate-period comets (like Comet Halley), stay within the orbit of Pluto for a significant fraction of their orbits.
After 500 or so passes near the Sun off most of a comet's ice and gas is lost leaving a rocky object very much like an asteroid in appearance. (Perhaps half of the near-Earth asteroids may be "dead" comets.) A comet whose orbit takes it near the Sun is also likely to either impact one of the planets or the Sun or to be ejected out of the solar system by a close encounter (esp. with Jupiter).
By far the most famous comet is Comet Halley but SL 9 was a "big hit" for a week in the summer of 1994.
Meteor shower sometimes occur when the Earth passes thru the orbit of a comet. Some occur with great regularity: the Perseid meteor shower occurs every year between August 9 and 13 when the Earth passes thru the orbit of Comet Swift-Tuttle. Comet Halley is the source of the Orionid shower in October.
Many comets are first discovered by amateur astronomers. Since comets are brightest when near the Sun, they are usually visible only at sunrise or sunset. Charts showing the positions in the sky of some comets can be created with a planetarium program
What are these comets Dirty Ice Balls, Time Capsules, or Harbingers of Doom? A Cosmic Snowball, small comets hitting Earth? (maybe not)
Open IssuesWhat happens to comets after they have lost their volatile materials? What mechanism(s) perturb comets from their origin in the Oort cloud into orbits that take them into the inner solar system? Was it a comet or something else that caused the Tunguska fireball over central Siberia in 1908? Was it a comet or an asteroid that caused the Chicxulub crater in the Yucatan (and probably caused the extinction of the dinosaurs)? The Stardust mission will return samples of a comet for study in earthly labs.
· Before the invention of the telescope, comets seemed to appear out of nowhere in the sky and gradually vanish out of sight. They were usually considered bad omens of deaths of kings or noble men, or coming catastrophes, or even interpreted as attacks by heavenly beings against terrestrial inhabitants. From ancient sources, such as Chinese oracle bones, it is known that their appearances have been noticed by humans for millennia. Some authorities interpret references to "falling stars" in Gilgamesh, the Book of Revelation and the Book of Enoch as references to comets, or possibly bolides.
· In the first book of his Meteorology, Aristotle propounded the view of comets that would hold sway in Western thought for nearly two thousand years. He rejected the ideas of several earlier philosophers that comets were planets, or at least a phenomenon related to the planets, on the grounds that while the planets confined their motion to the circle of the Zodiac, comets could appear in any part of the sky. Instead, he described comets as a phenomenon of the upper atmosphere, where hot, dry exhalations gathered and occasionally burst into flame. Aristotle held this mechanism responsible for not only comets, but also meteors, the aurora borealis, and even the Milky Way.
· A few later classical philosophers did dispute this view of comets. Seneca the Younger, in his Natural Questions, observed that comets moved regularly through the sky and were undisturbed by the wind, behavior more typical of celestial than atmospheric phenomena. While he conceded that the other planets do not appear outside the Zodiac, he saw no reason that a planet-like object could not move through any part of the sky, humanity's knowledge of celestial things being very limited. However, the Aristotelian viewpoint proved more influential, and it was not until the 16th century that it was demonstrated that comets must exist outside the earth's atmosphere.
· One very famous old recording of a comet is the appearance of Halley's Comet on the Bayeux Tapestry, which records the Norman conquest of England in AD 1066.
· In 1577, a bright comet was visible for several months. The Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe used measurements of the comet's position taken by himself and other, geographically separated, observers to determine that the comet had no measurable parallax. Within the precision of the measurements, this implied the comet must be at least four times more distant from the earth than the moon.
Isaac Newton described comets as compact, solid, fixed, and durable bodies: in other words, a kind of planet, which move in very oblique orbits, every way, with the greatest freedom, persevering in their motions even against the course and direction of the planets; and their tail as a very thin, slender vapour, emitted by the head, or nucleus of the comet, ignited or heated by the sun. Comets also seemed to Newton absolutely requisite for the conservation of the water and moisture of the planets; from their condensed vapours and exhalations all that moisture which is spent on vegetations and putrefactions, and turned into dry earth, might be resupplied and recruited; for all vegetables were thought to increase wholly from fluids, and turn by putrefaction into earth. Hence the quantity of dry earth must continually increase, and the moisture of the globe decrease, and at last be quite evaporated, if it have not a continual supply. Newton suspected that the spirit which makes the finest, subtilest, and best part of our air, and which is absolutely requisite for the life and being of all things, came principally from the comets.
Another use which he conjectured comets might be designed to serve, is that of recruiting the sun with fresh fuel, and repairing the consumption of his light by the streams continually sent forth in every direction from that luminary — “ From his huge vapouring train perhaps to shake Reviving moisture on the numerous orbs, Thro' which his long ellipsis winds; perhaps To lend new fuel to declining suns, To light up worlds, and feed th' ethereal fire." ”
— James Thomson , "The Seasons" (1730; 1748)
While hundreds of tiny comets pass through the inner solar system every year, very few are noticed by the general public. About every decade or so, a comet will become bright enough to be noticed by a casual observer — such comets are often designated Great Comets. In times past, bright comets often inspired panic and hysteria in the general population, being thought of as bad omens. More recently, during the passage of Halley's Comet in 1910, the Earth passed through the comet's tail, and erroneous newspaper reports inspired a fear that cyanogen in the tail might poison millions, while the appearance of Comet Hale-Bopp in 1997 triggered the mass suicide of the Heaven's Gate cult. To most people, however, a great comet is simply a beautiful spectacle.
Predicting whether a comet will become a great comet is notoriously difficult, as many factors may cause a comet's brightness to depart drastically from predictions. Broadly speaking, if a comet has a large and active nucleus, will pass close to the Sun, and is not obscured by the Sun as seen from the Earth when at its brightest, it will have a chance of becoming a great comet. However, Comet Kohoutek in 1973 fulfilled all the criteria and was expected to become spectacular, but failed to do so. Comet West, which appeared three years later, had much lower expectations (perhaps because scientists were much warier of glowing predictions after the Kohoutek fiasco), but became an extremely impressive comet.
The late 20th century saw a lengthy gap without the appearance of any great comets, followed by the arrival of two in quick succession — Comet Hyakutake in 1996, followed by Hale-Bopp, which reached maximum brightness in 1997 having been discovered two years earlier. The first great comet of the 21st century was Comet McNaught, which became visible to naked eye observers in January 2007. It was the brightest in over 40 years. We saw the last comet with its Geminid showers pass through our orbit on 14 December 2007.
Once two farmers, named Ramu and Shamu came to Akbar seeking justice. They both were claiming that Mango tree on the edge of the farm belonged to them. Ramu claimed, the tree has always belonged to him. While Shamu said,’ No, it is his because he has watered and looked after it, since it was a small sapling.
Akbar asked the Birbal to look into the matter. Birbal told them to go home then, but present themselves next morning.
As soon as the two arguing farmers left, Birbal called for his trusted servant. He asked him to go to their houses and tell them that some mangoes are being stolen by thieves . Then the servant should come back and report their reactions to him.
When Ramu heard the news , his reaction was that he is very busy at the moment, but he will look into the matter later on. While Shamu, as soon as he heard the news, ran out towards the tree with a stick in his hand to protect it.
Next day two farmers presented themselves again at the Birbal’s court , as asked.
Birbal said, ‘ The tree obviously cannot belong to both of you. Please tell me the truth-to whom does it belong?’
‘To me, Sir!’, Ramu Shamu, both claimed again.
‘Since I find it difficult to settle this dispute, I order that the mangoes be plucked and divided equally between the two of you.’ Birbal announced the judgement. ’ The tree will be cut down and the wood will be also divided equally .’
Ramu felt happy at this judgement and praised Birbal on his fairness and justice. But Shamu was very upset. He pleaded to Birbal with folded hands, ‘ Please Sir, do not destroy this tree! I have tended it for seven years. I can not see it cut down into pieces like this. It is better that you let the tree go to Ramu.’
Now there was no doubt in Birbal’s mind. He gave the tree back to the Shamu, who was the rightful owner and Ramu was whipped for telling a lie. Narration by Shail Agrawal
Windy Nights
Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway,low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.
(गांधी जी की प्रसिद्ध कृति हिन्द स्वराज पर संगोष्ठी का आयोजन)
(प्रथम पंक्ति में डॉ. सूर्यबाला, कवयित्री रेखा मैत्र , डॉ.रत्ना झा, कमलेश बख्शी, हंसाबेन)
महात्मा गांधी से पूछा गया- क्या आप तमाम यंत्रों के ख़िलाफ़ हैं ? उन्होंने उत्तर दिया- मैं यंत्रों के ख़िलाफ़ नहीं हूँ मगर यंत्रों के उपयोग के पीछे जो प्रेरक कारण है वह श्रम की बचत नहीं है, बल्कि धन का लोभ है। इस लिए यंत्रों को मुझे परखना होगा। सिंगर की सीने की मशीन का मैं स्वागत करूँगा। उसकी खोज के पीछे एक अदभुत इतिहास है। सिंगर ने अपनी पत्नी को सीने और बखिया लगाने का उकताने वाला काम करते देखा। पत्नी के प्रति उसके प्रेम ने, ग़ैर ज़रूरी मेहनत से उसे बचाने के लिए, सिंगर को ऐसी मशीन बनाने की प्रेरणा दी। ऐसी खोज करके सिंगर ने न सिर्फ़ अपनी पत्नी का ही श्रम बचाया, बल्कि जो भी ऐसी सीने की मशीन ख़रीद सकते हैं, उन सबको हाथ से सीने के उबाने वाले श्रम से छुड़ाया। सिंगर मशीन के पीछे प्रेम था, इस लिए मानव सुख का विचार मुख्य था। यंत्र का उद्देश्य है- मानव श्रम की बचत। उसका इस्तेमाल करने के पीछे मकसद धन के लोभ का नहीं होना चाहिए।
यह रोचक प्रसंग महात्मा गांधी की चर्चित पुस्तक ‘हिंद स्वराज’ का है जिसे प्रकाशित हुए सौ वर्ष हो गए हैं और अब पूरी दुनिया में इसके पुनर्मूल्यांकन का दौर चल रहा है। सुभाष पंत के सम्पादन में निकलने वाली दिल्ली की साहित्यिक पत्रिका शब्दयोग और मुम्बई की संस्था हिन्दुस्तानी प्रचार सभा के संयुक्त तत्वावधान मे हिन्द स्वराज की समकालीन प्रासंगिकता पर एक संगोष्ठी हिन्दुस्तानी प्रचार सभा के सभागार मे आयोजित की गई जिसकी अध्यक्षता न्यायमूर्ति श्री चन्द्रशेखर धर्माधिकारी ने की। एक समर्पित गाँधीवादी होने के साथ-साथ धर्माधिकारीजी ने दस सालों तक महात्मा गांधी के साथ आज़ादी के आंदोलन में सक्रिय भागीदारी भी की थी। उनके उदगार सुनने के लिए इतने अधिक लोग आ गए कि सभागार में सीटें कम पड़ गईं।
महात्मा गांधी के ‘हिन्द स्वराज’ पर केंद्रित समाज सेवी संस्था योगदान की त्रैमासिक पत्रिका शब्दयोग के इस विषेशांक का परिचय कराते हुए संगोष्ठी के संचालक देवमणि पाण्डेय ने महात्मा गांधी के योगदान को अकबर इलाहाबादी के शब्दों में इस तरह रेखांकित किया-
बुझी जाती थी शम्मा मशरिकी, मगरिब की आँधी से
उम्मीद-ए-रोशनी कायम है लेकिन भाई गाँधी से
शब्दयोग के अतिथि सम्पादक प्रतिष्ठित कथाकार आर.के.पालीवाल ने इस अंक की पृष्ठभूमि पर प्रकाश डालते हुए कहा कि महात्मा गांधी के गुरु श्री गोपालकृष्ण गोखले ने ‘हिंद स्वराज’ को ‘पागलपन के किन्हीं क्षणों में लिखी किताब’ कहकर खारिज़ कर दिया था मगर विश्व प्रसिद्ध लेखक टॉलस्टाय को इसमें ‘क्रांतिकारों विचारों का पुंज’ दिखाई पड़ा और उन्होंने इसकी तारीफ़ करते हुए कहा कि यह एक ऐसी किताब है जिसे हर आदमी को पढ़ना चाहिए । पालीवालजी ने बताया कि ‘हिंद स्वराज’ के ज़रिए गाँधीजी ने पुस्तक लेखन में एक नया प्रयोग किया है। प्रश्नोत्तर शैली में लिखी गई इस पुस्तक में उन्होंने अपने विचारों से असहमति जताने वाले सभी लोगों को ‘पाठक’ के प्रश्नों में प्रतिनिधित्व दिया है। इस तरह उन्होंने उन सब संशयों, विरोधों और असहमति के स्वरों को एक साथ अपने उत्तरों से संतुष्ट करने की पुरज़ोर कोशिश की है जो गाँधीजी के समर्थकों, विरोधियों या स्वयं गाँधीजी के मन में उपजे थे । कवि शैलेश सिंह ने हिंद स्वराज के प्रमुख अंशों का पाठ किया । हिंदुस्तानी प्रचार सभा की मानद निदेशक डॉ. सुशीला गुप्ता ने अपने आलेख में हिंद स्वराज के प्रमुख बिंदुओं पर रोशनी डाली ।
न्यायमूर्ति चन्द्रशेखर धर्माधिकारी ने अध्यक्षीय वक्तव्य में कहा कि दुनिया के कई देशों में हिंद स्वराज की सौवीं जयंती मनाई जा रही है। अमेरिका के राष्ट्रपति बराक ओबामा से लेकर कर्इ देशों के राष्ट्राध्यक्ष हिंद स्वराज में अपनी आस्था व्यक्त कर चुके हैं । मेरे विचार से हर हिंदुस्तानी को महात्मा गांधी की इस किताब को अवश्य पढ़ना चाहिए और इस पर चिंतन करना चाहिए । गांधी जी ने अगर मशीनों, वकीलों और डॉक्टरों के खिलाफ़ लिखा तो उनके पास इसके लिए तर्कसंगत आधार भी था ।
कार्यक्रम की शुरुआत में सुश्री चंद्रिका पटेल ने गांधी जी का प्रिय भजन ‘वैष्णव जन तो तेने कहिए’ प्रस्तुत किया । हिंदुस्तानी प्रचार सभा के संयुक्त मानद सचिव सुनील कोठारे ने आभार व्यक्त किया । इस आयोजन में मुंबर्इ के साहित्य जगत से कथाकार डॉ. सूर्यबाला, कथाकार कमलेश बख्शी, कवि अनिल मिश्र, कथाकार ओमा शर्मा, कवि तुषार धवल सिंह, कवि ह्रदयेश मयंक, कवि हरि मदुल, कवि रमेश यादव, डॉ. रत्ना झा और महाराष्ट्र राज्य हिंदी साहित्य अकादमी के कार्यकारी अध्यक्ष श्री नंदकिशोर नौटियाल मौजूद थे । अमेरिका से पधारी कवयित्री रेखा मैत्र और मुख्य आयकर आयुक्त द्वय श्री बी.पी. गौड़ और श्री एन.सी. जोशी ने भी अपनी उपस्थिति से कार्यक्रम की गरिमा बढ़ार्इ । कार्यक्रम का समापन राष्ट्रगान से हुआ। अंत में संगोष्ठी के संचालक कवि देवमणि पाण्डेय ने महात्मा गाँधी पर लिखी मुम्बई के वरिष्ठ कवि प्रो.नंदलाल पाठक की कविता की कुछ लाइनें उद्धरित कीं-
पसीने से जिसे तुम सींचते आए , उसे अंतिम दिनों में रक्त से सींचा हमारी ज़िंदगी पर है हमें लानत, तुम्हारी मौत पर तुमको बधाई है
महामानव ! तुम्हें जो देवता का रूप देने पर उतारू हैं कदाचित वे यहाँ कुछ भूल करते हैं
तरसते देवता जिसकी मनुजता को , उसे हम देवता बनने नहीं देंगे
न जब तक सीख लेता विश्व जीने की कला तुमसे तुम्हें जीना पड़ेगा आदमी बनकर महामानव 1
एक उल्लेखनीय बात यह भी है कि गांधीजी की दुर्लभ पुस्तक ‘हिंद स्वराज’ को शब्दयोग ने अपने इस विशेषांक में पूरा प्रकाशित कर दिया है। शब्दयोग का संकल्प है कि ‘हिंद स्वराज’ को कम से कम दो हज़ार विद्यार्थियों तक ज़रूर पहुँचाया जाए।
(कवि देवमणि पाण्डेय, कथाकार आर.के.पालीवाल, न्यायमूर्ति श्री चन्द्रशेखर धर्माधिकारी, डॉ. सुशीला गुप्ता)
***
औरत की हैसियत दोयम दर्जे की है..... काउंसलर ज़कीया ज़ुबैरी
रिपोर्टः दीप्ति शर्मा
(बाएं से तेजेन्द्र शर्मा, रमा पाण्डेय, काउंसलर ज़कीया ज़ुबैरी, मोनिका मोहता, यावर अब्बास, कैलाश बुधवार, अचला शर्मा)
“
रमा पाण्डेय की नायिकाएं दबी कुचली नारियां नहीं हैं। वे सब अपने अपने परिवेश में विद्रोह का बिगुल बजाने की क्षमता रखती हैं।” यह कहना था काउंसलर ज़कीया ज़ुबैरी का। अवसर था लंदन के नेहरू सेंटर में निर्माता, निर्देशिका व लेखिका रमा पाण्डेय की भारतीय मुस्लिम महिलाओं की जिंदगी पर लिखे नाटक संकलन फ़ैसले एवं उन नाटकों पर बने डी.वी.डी. के कथा यूके द्वारा आयोजित विमोचन का।
ज़कीया ज़ुबैरी ने आगे कहा, “रमा पाण्डेय केवल ग़रीब तबक़े की महिलाओं के बारे में बात नहीं करती हैं। वे पूरी शिद्दत से महसूस करती हैं कि मुसलमानों के पढ़े लिखे वर्ग में भी औरत की हैसियत दोयम दर्जे की ही है। एक तरफ़ सुलताना, हाजरा और शाइस्ता ग़रीब और पिछड़े वर्ग का प्रतिनिधित्व करती हैं तो वहीं सियासत, रेड और परवीन की नायिकाएं मुस्लिम समाज के पढ़े लिखे तबक़े से आती हैं।... रमा पाण्डेय का हर नाटक समाज को सच्चा आइना दिखाता है।”
कार्यक्रम का संचालन करते हुए प्रतिष्ठठित पत्रकार, साहित्यकार एवं कथा यू.के. की उपध्यक्षा डा. अचला शर्मा ने रमा पाण्डेय के नाटकों एवं टेलिफ़िल्म पर सारगर्भित टिप्पणी करते हुए कहा, “हीरो बनने के लिए कोई बहुत बड़ा काम करने की ज़रूरत नहीं होती. छोटे छोटे क़दम, छोटी छोटी कोशिशें, छोटे छोटे फ़ैसले भी एक आम व्यक्ति को, अपनी नज़र में और कुछ लोगों की नज़र में हीरो बना सकते हैं. ऐसी ही कुछ हीरोइनें रमा पांडे की किताब फ़ैसले और उस पर आधारित फिल्म श्रृंखला की नायिकाएँ हैं. फ़ैसलों तक पहुँचने का सफ़र एक परंपरावादी परिवार में जन्मी, पली-बढ़ी किसी भी लड़की के लिए आसान नहीं होता. इसके लिए बड़ी हिम्मत जुटानी पड़ती है, कुछ बग़ावत भी करनी पड़ती है. और फिर लड़की अगर ग़रीब, अपढ़, मुस्लिम परिवार की हो तो उसे दुगुनी-चौगुनी हिम्मत की ज़रूरत होती है. रमा पांडेय ने ऐसी ही कुछ आम मुस्लिम लड़कियों के साहसी फ़ैसलों को किताब और फ़िल्म की शक्ल दी है. और इस नाते वे ख़ुद किसी हीरोईन से कम नहीं हैं.”
कथा यू.के. के महासचिव तेजेन्द्र शर्मा ने रमा पाण्डेय की फ़िल्म सुल्ताना पर टिप्पणी करते हुए कहा, “रमा जी की फ़िल्म मुस्लिम औरत की दो स्थितियों का चित्रण करती है। पहली स्थिति जिसके विरुद्ध वे टिप्पणी करना चाहती हैं और दूसरी स्थिति जिसमें वे अपनी नायिका को देखना चाहती हैं। उनके सभी नाटक सकारात्मक अंत लिये हैं।”
पश्तो की लेखिका सोफ़िया हलीमी का कहना था कि इस किताब के पृष्ठों का अनुवाद जरूरी है, ताकि यह बात उन सभी लोगों तक पहुंचे जिनके बारे में यह सीरियल बना है.
प्रश्न काल के दौरान रमा पाण्डेय ने दर्शकों को बताया कि उनके सभी नाटकों की नायिकाएं हाड़-मांस की जीती जागती नारियां हैं। अपने नाटकों में मुस्लिम चरित्रों के बारे में उन्होंने बताया कि वे चाहती थीं कि दुनियां को दिखा सकें कि मुस्लिम औरतें भी विद्रोह करना जानती हैं। अपने 26 एपिसोड के सीरियल के बारे में उन्होंने आर्थिक समस्याओं का भी ज़िक्र किया। अपनी रंगरेज़ नायिका सुल्ताना द्वारा बनाए हुए दुपट्टे एवं अन्य सामग्री दर्शकों के ख़रीदने के लिये उपलब्ध करवाई गईँ थीं। पूरे सभागार को जयपुर के रंगरेजों द्वारा बनाये गए रंगीन दुपट्टों से सजाया गया था।
कार्यक्रम में अन्य लोगों के अतिरिक्त जाने-माने अग्रेज़ी उपन्यासकार लारेंस नारफ़ॉक, कैलाश बुधवार, यावर अब्बास, प्रो. मुग़ल अमीन, मधुप मोहता, रज़ा अली आबिदी, ममता गुप्ता, विजय राणा, ललित मोहन जोशी, मीरा कौशिक, के.सी. मोहन, विभाकर बख़्शी, हिना बख़्शी, दिव्या माथुर, सोहन राही, महेन्द्र दवेसर, रमेश पटेल, मंजी पटेल, क्लासिकल गायक सुरेन्द्र कुमार (सभी लंदन से), डा. कृष्ण कुमार, चित्रा कुमार, शैल अग्रवाल, डा. नरेन्द्र अग्रवाल, स्वर्ण तलवाड़, अनुराधा शर्मा (सभी बरमिंघम से), नीना पॉल (लेस्टर), जय वर्मा, डा. महिपाल वर्मा (नॉटिंघम), महेन्द्र वर्मा, उषा वर्मा (यॉर्क), एवं शमील चौहान (मेडनहेड) शामिल थे।
***
हरनोट का नया कथा संग्रह `मिट्टी के लोग` का विश्व पुस्तक मेले में प्रसिद्ध आलोचक नामवर सिंह और हंस के संपादक राजेन्द्र यादव द्वारा लोकार्पण: महात्मागांधी अंतरराष्ट्रीय हिन्दी विश्वविद्यालय, वर्धा तथा मुम्बई जनवादी लेखक संघ के आयोजनों में हरनोट का कहानी पाठ और सम्मान:
विश्व पुस्तक मेले, दिल्ली में आधार प्रकाशन से प्रकाशित साहित्यकार एस.आर.हरनोट के नए कहानी संग्रह `मिट्टी के लोग` का सुप्रसिद्ध आलोचक डॉ० नामवर सिंह और हंस के संपादक राजेन्द्र यादव द्वारा लोकार्पण किया गया। इस आयोजन में देश के विभिन्न भागों से जानेमाने लेखक और पत्रकार मौजूद थे। हरनोट के लेखन की प्रशंसा करते हुए नामवर सिंह ने कहा कि वे बिल्कुल नए और दुर्लभ विषय को कहानियों में लेते हैं जो महत्वपूर्ण है। एक तरह से हरनोट का काम ऐतिहासिक है जिसका नोटिस लिया जाना चाहिए। मिट्टी के लोग में हरनोट की ९ कहानियां किन्नर, बेजुबान दोस्त, मिट्टी के लोग, नदी गायब है, नंदी मेनिया, अ-मानव, चीखें, सड़ान और दीवारें संग्रहीत है जो देश व विदेश की पत्र-पत्रिकाओं में प्रकाशित होकर खूब चर्चित रही है। यह हरनोट का छठा कहानी संग्रह है। एक उपन्यास हिडिम्ब के साथ हरनोट की हिमाचल पर भी चार पुस्तकें हैं। श्रीमती सरोज वशिष्ठ द्वारा उनकी १४ कहानियों का अंग्रजी में अनुवाद किया गया है जो माफिया शीर्षक से प्रकाशित हुआ है।
हरनोट को कई राष्ट्रीय तथा अन्तरराष्ट्रीय सम्मानो से सम्मानित किया जा चुका है। जनवरी में प्रकाशित हुई दो महत्वपूर्ण कथा संकलनों में हरनोट की बहुचर्चित कहानी `बिल्लियां बतियाती है` संकलित हुई है। पहला महत्वपूर्ण संग्रह `कथा में पहाड़` संवाद प्रकाशन से आया है जिसका संपादन सुविख्यात कवि-आलेचन श्रीनिवास श्रीकांत ने किया है। इस का संयोजन एस आर हरनोट द्वारा किया गया था। दूसरा संग्रह पीपुल्स पब्लिशिंग हाउस प्रा०लि० दिल्ली से `श्रेष्ठ हिन्दी कहानियां` शीर्षक से छपा है जिसमें वर्ष १९९० से २००० तक की महत्वपूर्ण और चर्चित कहानियां संकलित की गई है। इसका संपादन चर्चित युवा कवि-आलोचक उमा शंकर चौधरी और ज्योति चावला द्वारा किया गया है। इस पुस्तक पर अप्रैल, २०१० में शिमला में एक कथा गोष्ठी का भी आयोजन किया जा रहा है। महात्मा गांधी अंतरराष्ट्रीय हिन्दी विश्वविद्यालय, वर्धा में आयोजित साहित्यिक सम्मेलन में भाग लेने की वजह से हरनोट इस लोकार्पण समारोह में नहीं पहुंच पाए। इसका आयोजन आधार प्रकाशन द्वारा किया गया।
महात्मागांधी अंतरराष्ट्रीय हिन्दी विश्वविद्यालय, वर्धा द्वारा आयोजित `हिन्दी कथा समय-साहित्य के दो दशक` नाम से तीन दिवसीय साहित्य सम्मेलन में हरनोट का लंदन से पधारे प्रसिद्ध लेखक तेजेन्द्र शर्मा तथा कथाकार अमरीक सिंह दीप व युवा लेखिका महुआमाझी के साथ कहानी पाठ हुआ जिसकी अध्यक्षता प्रख्यात उपन्यासकार संजीव ने की। हरनोट ने अपनी बहुचर्चित कहानी `नदी गायब है` का पाठ किया जिसकी खूब चर्चा हुई। तेजेन्द्र शर्मा ने जिस अंदाज से कहानी पढ़ी वह अपनेआप में कहानी पाठ न होकर पूर्ण नाटक ही था। तेजेन्द्र जी का कहानी पाठ जितना अच्छा था उनकी कहानी भी उतनी ही बेहतर। इस अवसर पर विश्वविद्यालय के कुलाधिपति और प्रख्यात उपन्यासकार विभूतिनारायण राय, आलोक धनवा, असगर वजाहत, डॉ० सूरज पालीवाल, गंगा प्रसाद विमल, से० रा० यात्री, अब्बदुल विस्मिल्लाह, अजित राय, भगवानदास मोरवाल, सूरज प्रकाश, नवीन चन्द्र लोहनी, राकेश मिश्र सहित कई जानेमाने लेखक उपस्थित थे। इसी दौरान कथा यू०के० लंदन की ओर से आयोजित स्नेह सम्मेलन में हरनोट को अन्य अन्तरराष्ट्रीय इन्दु शर्मा कथा सम्मान प्राप्त लेखकों के साथ कथा यू०के० के महा सचिव तेजेन्द्र शर्मा द्वारा सम्मानित किया गया।
इसके अतिरिक्त मुम्बई में अपनी यात्रा के दौरान मुम्बई जनवादी लेखक संघ ने हरनोट और आलोचक लेखक हरियश राय के सम्मान में एक गोष्ठी का आयोजन किया जिसमें दोनों लेखकों ने अपनी-अपनी कहानियों के पाठ किए। इस आयोजन की अध्यक्षता विनोद दास ने की। परिचर्चा में अनूप सेठी, ओमा शर्मा, शैलेश सिंह, विजय कुमार, विनोद कुमार श्रीवास्तव, परिदृश्य प्रकाशन के रमन, आर के पालीवाल, रमेश राजहंस ने भाग लिया। कार्यक्रम में हिमाचल मित्र के संपादक कुशल कुमार, मुख्तार खान, जे आर यादव और राकेश कुमार सहित मुम्बई के कई जानेमाने साहित्यकार और पत्रकार मित्र मौजूद थे। जनवादी लेखक संघ द्वारा अपने एक अन्य पुस्तक विमोचन कार्यक्रम में हरनोट का मुम्बई पधारने पर स्वागत और सम्मान किया गया। दोनों आयोजनों की जो विशेष बात रही वह यह थी कि सभी ने अनूप सेठी और कुशल कुमार के कुशल संपादन में प्रकाशित की जाने वाली पत्रिका हिमाचल मित्र की प्रशंसा की। मुम्बई के लेखकों और पत्रकारों का मानना था कि हिमाचल प्रदेश में रचे जा रहे साहित्य के साथ-साथ उन्हें इस पत्रिका के माध्यम् से हिमाचल की संस्कृति, इतिहास और राजनीति के अनेक रंग देखने -पढ़ने को मिल रहे हैं। उन्होंने कहा कि अनूप सेठी का इस बात के लिए सम्मान किया जाना चाहिए कि मुम्बई जैसे महानगरीय जीवन के बीच रहकर भी वे अपनी मिट्टी से जुड़े रहे हैं और उन्होंने इस महानगर में भी हिमाचल जैसे खूबसूरत पहाड़ी प्रदेश की खुशबू से बुद्धिजीवियों और पाठकों को सराबोर किया है।
***
भारत रत्न डॉ.ए.पी.जे. अब्दुल कलाम शीर्षक पुस्तक की प्रति डॉ. कलाम को प्रस्तुत
-मुनीश परवेज राणा
उर्दू में लिखित भारत रत्न डॉ.ए.पी.जे. अब्दुल कलाम शीर्षक पुस्तक की प्रति डॉ. ए.पी.जे. अब्दुल कलाम को उनके निवास 10-राजा जी मार्ग पर लेखक शमशेर अहमद खान द्वारा भेंट की गई.इस अवसर पर पूर्व राष्ट्रपति महामहिम डॉ. ए.पी.जे. अब्दुल कलाम के पूर्व प्रैस सचिव तथा वर्तमान में फिल्म समारोह के अपर महानिदेशक श्री एस. एम. खान सहित डॉ. जयनारायण मिश्र, श्री महेंद्र नाथ,डॉ. अंगद सिंह, डॉ. अबरार अंसारी, मो. शरीफ अंसारी,पुस्तक के डिजाइनर श्री नरेंद्र त्यागी,पत्रकार एवं शिक्षाविद श्री मुनीश परवेज राणा,श्री अनिल कुमार शर्मा और आरिफ अहमद खान उपस्थित थे.
मूलतः उक्त पुस्तक डॉ. ए.पी.जे. अब्दुल कलाम हिंदी में वर्ष 2002 में प्रकाशित हुई थी जिसे दिनमान प्रकाशन ने प्रकाशित किया था किंतु उर्दू भाषियों को ध्यान में रखते हुए कौमी कौंसिल बराए फ़रोग़ उर्दू ज़बान के आर्थिक सहयोग से प्रकाशित की गई है. इसे मिनहाज प्रकाशन, 2-सी,प्रैस ब्लाक,सिविल लाइंस, दिल्ली-54 ने छापा है.
***
'सम-बंध' का लोकार्पण समारोह संपन्न
समलैंगिक जैसे मुद्दे को किसी निष्कर्ष या समाजिक नजरिये से नहीं तोलना चाहिये।
-श्री उपेन्द्र कुमार
सुमीता पी.केशवा के दूसरे उपन्यास 'सम-बंध' का लोकार्पण 31जनवरी 2010 को 19वें पुस्तक मेले में सुप्रसिध्द साहित्यकार उपेन्द्र कुमार के हाथों संपन्न हुआ। हिन्दयुग्म वेबसाईट के तत्वावधान में हुये इस कार्यक्रम की अध्यक्षता विख्यात चित्रकार श्री इमरोज ने की। सानिध्य रहा वरिष्ठ गीतकार पद्म श्री बालस्वरुप राही,कवि रा्मदरश मिश्र, कवियत्री सुश्री रश्मि प्रभा एवं राजस्थानी सेवा संघ के शिक्षाविद श्री विनोद टिबडेवाल का। जबकि संचालन प्रसिध्द संचालक प्रमोद तिवारी ने किया। अतिथियों का स्वागत हिन्दयुग्म के संपादक श्री शैलेश भारत वासी ने किया। आभार व्यक्त किया प्रसिध्द कवियत्री नीलम मिश्र ने। लोकार्पण करते हुए श्री उपेन्द्र कुमार ने इस बात पर जोर दिया कि समलैंगिक जैसे मुद्दे को किसी निष्कर्ष या समाजिक नजरिये से नहीं तोलना चाहिये। समलैंगिक जैसे ज्वलंत विषय पर लिखना सचमुच एक साहसिक कार्य है। यह निश्चित ही स्वागत योग्य बात है। उन्होंने कहा नाट्क अपने चरम पर तब आता है जब उसका बकायदा मंचन हो। तभी वह अपने समग्र प्रभाव में भी सामने आ पाता है। नाट्क की प्रसंशा करते हुये उन्होंने कहा कि लेखिका ने समलैंगिक संबंधों को बहुत गहराई से विश्लेषित करके उसे मानवीय स्तर पर और समुचित सहानुभूति से देखा परखा है। समलैंगिक संबंधों पर चल रही राष्ट्रीय बहस के चलते उन्होंने इस बात की खुशी जाहिर की है कि भारत के न्यायालयों ने भी अब इस ओर ध्यान दिया है और इस पर खुली चर्चा चल पढी है। उन्होंने कहा जब कभी भी ऐसे विषयों पर पुस्तक आती है, तो हमारे पूर्वाग्रह बहुत होते हैं। मुझे आशा है कि ये लोग इस किताब को अवश्य ही खुले दिमाग से पढ्ते हुए अपना सकारात्मक नजरिया अपनायेंगे। श्री इमरोज एवं श्री बाल स्वरुप राही ने लेखिका के उज्जवल भविष्य की कामना करते हुए अपना आशीर्वाद दिया। श्री विनोद टिबडेवाला ने पुस्तक मेले में हिन्दी साहित्य पर लिखी जा रही पुस्तकों के उदधाट्न को हिन्दी साहित्य की एक बडी उपलब्धि बताया । समारोह में जे. एन.यू की प्रोफ़ेसर डा.अदिति शरण,श्री सतगुरु शरण,वरिष्ठ कवियत्री पुष्पा राही, वरिष्ठ लेखक प्रेमचन्द सहजवाला,संगीता स्वरुप, वरिष्ठ लेखक श्याम सखा स्वरुप, मशहूर शायर अनिल मासूम,अमित पराशर, जैसे कई साहित्यकार मौजूद थे। दिग्विजय प्रकाशन का तथा हिन्दयुग्म की टीम का विशेष सहयोग रहा।
डेनरयाने देत जावे, घेनारयाने घेत जावे, घेनरयाने एक दिवस।
(जो देता है उसे देना चाहिए,जो लेता है उसे लेना चाहिए,एक दिन लेने वाले को देने वाले से बहुत ही गुणकारी चीज लेनी चाहिए।)
मराठी साहित्य के मशहूर साहित्यकार गोविंद विनायक करंदीकर का रविवार को लंबी बीमारी के बाद निधन हो गया। विंदा काफी लंबे समय से बीमारी की वजह से बांद्रा के भाभा अस्पताल में भर्ती थे। पर 92 साल की उम्र में भी उन्होंने जाते-जाते लोगों को सही रास्ता दिखा गए।
विंदा ने अपनी मृत्यु के बाद अपने शरीर को मेडिकल छात्रों को शोध के लिए और गरीबों के लिए शरीर के अंगों को दान दिया। साहित्य सहवास के उनके मित्रों ने बताया कि विंदा हमेशा लोगों को देने में यकीन रखते थे। विंदा करंदीकर ने अपनी जिंदगी का अधिकांश हिस्सा साहित्य सहवास में ही बिताया था।
ज्ञानपीठ पुरस्कार से सम्मानित इस साहित्यकार को याद करते हुए मशहूर रचनाकार सुभाष भेंडे कहते हैं कि हालांकि उनके मित्र उन्हें कंजूस कोंकणी कहकर चिढ़ाते थे, लेकिन हम सभी जानते हैं कि उनके जैसा दानी कोई नहीं था। विंदा को गैर-सरकारी संस्थाओं से जितनी भी नकद राशि पुरस्कार के तौर पर मिली, उन सभी को विंदा ने दान कर दिया। चाहे बात संयुक्त महाराष्ट्र आंदोलन की हो या बढ़ती कीमतों की विंदा हमेशा आम आदमी के लिए गलियों में उतरे।
गोविंद विनायक करंदीकर, विंदा कारंदीकर के नाम से मशहूर इस साहित्यकार का जन्म 23 अगस्त 1918 को महाराष्ट्र के सिंधदुर्ग जिले के खांडवल गांव में हुआ था। वे कवि के साथ-साथ निबंधकार और आलोचक भी थे। उन्होंने महान यूनानी विद्वान अरस्तू की कविताओं को मराठी में अनुवाद किया था। करंदीकर को आधुनिक मराठी कवियों में सबसे प्रयोगधर्मी कवि माना जाता है। मराठी कविताओं के अलावा करिंदकर ने 1975 में अंग्रेजी कविताओं का संग्रह विंदा पोयम्स लिखा। विंदा की मशहूर रचनाओं में स्वेदगंगा, ध्रुपद, म्रूदगंध, सश्यचे कान और परि गा परि आदि हैं।
साहित्य के क्षेत्र में उल्लेखनीय योगदान के लिए विंदा को कई पुरस्कारों से सम्मानित किया गया। मसलन केशवसुत पुरस्कार, कबीर सम्मान, द सोवियत लैंड नेहरू लिटरेरी अवार्ड और 1996 में साहित्य अकादमी फेलोशिप। 2003 में विंदा को भारतीय साहित्य का शिखर पुरस्कार ज्ञानपीठ पुरस्कार से सम्मानित किया गया।
( साभार , दैनिक भास्कर)
In the end to sum up this issue:
The ways of the world:
Genious who went unrewarded:
Nikola Tesla was another inventor who failed to get rich because of a lack of business or patent deals. The pioneering Serb inventor, born in what is now Croatia, often hailed smarter than Einstein, contributed to the birth of electricity and his Telsa coil is still used in radios, televisions and a host of other electrical devices.
But he was derided as mad scientist during his life and he lacked business acumen. He didn't focus on his finances and many of his patents were snapped by competitors, one of whom being Thomas Edison. He died penniless aged 86 in 1943.
What is there in a star that captures the imagination and commands our attention to such an extent, that it starts to lure. Is it a fixation of the mind or undisputed audacity of the heart! Excellence is a fine star quality, not the guile or deceit, so probably ‘lure’ is not a very kind world; ’mesmerise’ may be more appropriate, because it is both a twinkle in our eyes and a pang in our heart. 
"I wouldn't, Lena!"
"But, Mary,"--he glanced at a letter in his hand, and his face, which had been bright with kindness and pleasure, grew very grave,-- "there is something else for you to tell James, and all the hands. James Hitchcock died yesterday, of malignant smallpox!"
Once two farmers, named Ramu and Shamu came to Akbar seeking justice. They both were claiming that Mango tree on the edge of the farm belonged to them. Ramu claimed, the tree has always belonged to him. While Shamu said,’ No, it is his because he has watered and looked after it, since it was a small sapling.
By, on the highway,low and loud,
But he was derided as mad scientist during his life and he lacked business acumen. He didn't focus on his finances and many of his patents were snapped by competitors, one of whom being Thomas Edison. He died penniless aged 86 in 1943. 
