The Decoy Fake Golden Deer beguiles Raam far astray into the forest, and on being shot at, cries out: "Ha! Laxman!", revealing himself as a vengeful dying demon.
Raam is full of misgivings which are boosted by Laxman joining him on his way back to their Kuteer (Cottage). And they prove right when they can't find Sita anywhere.
Their long and weary search for Sita begns and they are given a clue by the Eagle Jataayu on his fighting deathbed waiting to tell them that Raavan filched her away Southwards.
They meet Monkey-King Sugriv and seek his help in finding Sita. Sugriv agrees to help if Raam kills his brother Vaali, which Raam does.
Recovering his throne and wives, Sugriv forgets all about Raam.
And then come the Rains, the Fertile Season for monkeys.
After rains cease, Raam reminds Sugriv of his promise amid threats of making him join his brother Vaali up there...
Sugriv feels sorry, relents, and deputes 4 of his worthies to go forth in the four directions in search of Sita.
And chooses Hanuman, the most powerful of all, to go South.
Hanuman returns in a few days and finds Raam desolately sitting on a stone bench forlorn, waiting and waiting and waiting....
Hanuman approaches Raam, and without ado says:
"Saw Sita Alive I....".
Raam descends from his stone bench, embraces Hanuman who falls at His feet and never looks back in his devotion to Raam...
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1977, November 16
I board the Howrah-Madras Mail at KGP on a perfectly clear Autumnal Night on my way to Gudur to attend the marriage of my sister S on 27th; a 26-hour journey.....
My other sister V is supposed to join me at Vijayawada on my way at 9 PM on 17th.
V is an alumnus of the Phy Dept of IIT KGP (DIIT:1974-75) and now a Lecturer in the Womens Junior College at Bapatla near Vijayawada; and so closest to me among the six.
My train stops 3 Stations before Vijayawada next evening abruptly at Nidadavole.
We are told that a cyclone is brewing in the Bay of Bengal and we will be given the green signal after it crosses the Coast.
The train plods to the next station Eluru next morning and stays put there for the rest of the day...
News trickles to us that the cyclone turned killer and crossed the Coast at Bapatla where my sister was staying in a Cottage close to her College...
The Cottage was covered with a thatched roof...
As the train enters Vijayawada Station, we are told that the entire Section between Vijayawada and Ongole centering on Bapatla is blown to smithereens...
And that the killer cyclone took 20,000 lives on its way that eerie night....
Next morning, the 4th starving day, the train halts at Bapatla but there is no Railway Station to speak of and the entire town razed to ground apparently...
Not a single tree stands upright...
I get down thinking that I will break my journey and look for my sister V, swimming across the waterlogged Station; but on second thoughts continue my slow journey to Gudur, throw my baggage at home, and at once take the first bug-ridden evening train limping backwards to Vijayawada....
It is midnight when it reaches the non-existent Bapatla Station....
It is raining hard, and me and a Hindu Photographer are the only souls sitting on the cement bench and getting fully drenched in the steady rain...
.....Apart from the Station Master with his hurricane lantern and an umbrella overhead....
The Hindu chap tells me (huddling his costly equipment) that a Church in Bapatla collapsed killing more than 300 children seeking shelter there that ghostly night; and he is looking forward to some scoop shots...(which I find later in center-spread)...
At dawn the rain stops and I slowly wade my way through knee-deep water skirting skinned cattle carcasses...
Only to find the roof of that Cottage blown off and walls collapsed in a heap of rubble....
I stand there transfixed...
An Old Woman comes out from her collapsed neighboring hut, recovering her luggage, and recognizes me...
And all but embraces me for my sibling devotion and says:
"Safe Your Sister is at Her Friend's Concrete House"
it is then my turn to fall at her feet...
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The last 350 Blog-Posts read in any random order could be titled:
"Autobioguly of an Unknown KGPian".
I guess that is how real autobiographies ought to read...at random...at ease... rather than a strict linear Womb-to-Tomb page-marked chronological order...
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