The Dreamheron Diaries - স্বপ্নসারসের দিনলিপি

Friday, March 02, 2007


Near the beginning of this story set in British India, on the rugged mountain highway at Vairengte in the Lushai Hills, Deputy Commissioner Shamsul Huda Khan looks out on the vast expanse of primitive jungle, and says to his childhood friend the Hindu monk: "… The jungle is very old – it is the first sentient life nature created. When you relate to it, you tap into the first life."

Deep in the tiger forest of the Sundarbans, the ancient Thug squats before the Temple of Chhin'nomosta, swaying back and forth in the fullness of a hashish-induced stupor. The British Secret Intelligence Service is closing in on him, but is ordered to terminate the investigation. The old India hands in the Regimental Saturday Club meet in a castle outside London. Little do they know that Section Yashika of the Japanese Navy Secret Services will have its own plan. All such events occurring at different times are on fateful paths that will all converge under the full disc of a jungle moon outside Aizawl. It will the night of nights. Blood will curdle.

Beyond all this and above all this are the watchful eyes of the goddess Kali, and the serene gaze of the Buddha Amida Nyorai. And always and everywhere there is the sweet, memory-wrenching, desire-thickening scent of champa.

Near the end of the story, Lt. Col. James E. Carruthers sits in his office in London and wonders why he did what he did in Aizawl in his official capacity – things that he would never do in the steel-and-concrete civilization where he now sits. "It was the jungle," he concludes, and feels absolved.

The full story (free) at: