seed #354
1.
It was a pleasant Sunday.
Exactly how Mr.Sudhakar Banerjee would have preferred. Full of sunshine and the playful breeze. It had rained for 5 days in Kolkata on the trot. Thus his joy knew no bounds. For a living, Mr.Banerjee worked in a bank, but only on Sundays did he truly feel alive. A short, bald, and pot-bellied man who loved listening to Rabindrasangeet and eating fruits, absolutely any fruit. He was what you would call a fruitaholic; He had even been to rehab to get rid of his compulsive habit of eating fruits. Only to learn about more fruits from fellow fruit addicts and escape one night after bribing the guard with 50 rs and the possibility of a fortune, telling tales of talking tomatoes from the mythical orchards of Guava Acharya. These orchards of ethereal fruits were located across all possible universes, the true fruits of labor.
Banerjee never shared his age with anyone, amongst other things. In fact, he shared nothing with anyone. His mother had told him not to share his name; his grandmother has asked him never to share his age; his wife has asked him never to share his salary; his father wasn’t concerned about any of that; he told him only to not share his hammock. Although if you ask his age today, he wouldn’t be a day older than 50 and not a day younger than 49. He lived in a big house in North Kolkata with a big veranda made of ancient Italian marbles which would reflect the sunlight like cut glass but only dimmer for all the moss on the floor; with his wife and a 10-year-old son, who didn’t like anything more than napping on Mr. Banerjee’s quilted hammock, the only heirloom precious to the family, placed exactly in the center of the verandah. Mr. Banerjee had been doubtful about his son being his own son but only until the day he came to know that his son patiently awaited his father’s death so he could comfortably snore in this cozy hammock in summer afternoons. He understood that he was the chip of the old block for sure, infact this ran in the family and was the true test of being a Banerjee, legend has it that his father used to do fasts to get his father killed by some accident so that he could take charge of the hammock and his father would actually stand on one leg for days, his father had actually killed his father, and more tales of sacrifice had happened over the coveted property that we may cover in some other story. Mr. Banerjee, upon seeing his son walking in his footsteps, had a sound sleep on that hammock.
2.
On this beautiful Sunday afternoon, Mr. Banerjee had the whole house to himself. His wife and son were visiting his mother-in-law’s house after a long time, which was something that he had wished with closed eyes every time he would see a shooting star in the sky, or blowing a broken eyelash into the air. Having the entire house to himself on such a bright day was all he could ask for, him and his hammock, with no prying eyes, with no rustling footsteps, no domestic movement, no son patiently awaiting his death, none of that at all. To make things all the more fun, his friend Mr. Dassani had gifted him the most amazing cherries, which were procured especially for Mr. Banerjee from the orchard tycoon Guava Acharya’s new orchard in Mansukhgunj, the place which had “the only original shop selling Mr Dassani approved rasgullas.” Mansukhgunj was a place where you cannot reach by any means; either you are there or you are not.
You see, love is a very strange thing, so naturally, one can never be too careful about Mr. Dassani, especially his gifts. Mr. Dassani never gifted anyone anything, Mr. Banerjee also never gifted anyone anything, it is regardless of saying they never received any gifts either, but one day for some reason Banerjee had gifted Mr. Dassani something out of love, none of these details he could remember, all he could remember was on that day Mr. Dassani was complaining of global warming and how it was going to melt the world like an ice cream cone, but his rasgulla shop is safe, the reason he told Banerjee was unable to remember, Mr. Dassani was the only one he knew who had been to Mansukhgunj on a weekend getaway and returned as a changed man singing strange songs and telling stories that would not end, ones he heard from the gypsie there. Mr. Banerjee had no interest in stories but cherries he did, probably not as much as he had an interest in the sour grapes of Gauvacharya, but much more than stories by gypsies that he could hardly understand, and he had a feeling no one else also didn’t. He could not understand why a smart man like Mr. Dassani liked the stories of gypsie. After lunch, Mr. Banerjee lay on his hammock with the cold cherries out of the fridge sitting on his belly, as he saw his belly rise and fall with the cherries, a glorious sight that made him proud of both the belly and the cherries. Having the whole house to himself on such a beautiful day, enjoying the sweetest of cherries after a heavy lunch, seeing the cadenza of his belly, Mr. Banerjee drifted into a calm sleep. He began dreaming of a beautiful day of autumn in the far-off orchard of Guava Acharya in Mansukhgunj, as described by Mr. Dassani where the breeze was scented with cherries, in the orchard all kinds of beautiful fruits hung ripe and green from trees also some floated, some flew, some took flight, some landed, some exploded like confetti in mid-air, some drizzled like rain from the sky. It must be known, dear readers, if Mr. Dassani has to be believed, then visiting Mansukhgunj in dreams is as good as visiting Mansukhgunj in reality.
3.
Mr. Sudhakar Banerjee is enjoying the scented breeze and the beautiful scenery in front of him, searching the sour grapes of Guavacharya, reveling in the ripeness of all the beautiful fruits around, not knowing of the fate that awaits him, when all of a sudden the breeze turns into violent gusts and everything becomes dust and gravel. Mr. Banerjee barely held on to the nearest tree and discovered it to be the cherry tree having the same cherries that Mr. Dassani had gifted him, as everything becomes dust and gravel. Banerjee was somehow clinging, though he was scared for his life. Banerjees are simple people. But he knew the prophecy that only the true seeker could have the sour grapes of Guavacharya. He realized he was not even so fond of the cherries in the first place, now that he had them, he wanted the sour grapes of which he had heard so much of from Mr.Dassani; it was a testing time, but the most dreadful thing of Banerjee’s life is about to happen now. The luscious cherries swaying like mad turned into ferocious monsters with rickety hairy limbs and cross lips which spewed fire, burning down everything in sight, including the beautiful fruit trees of the orchard. They would have turned Mr. Banerjee to ashes as well, but thanks to his short height, he escaped the fiery avalanche of these ghastly cherry giants. As Mr. Banerjee ran for his life, he turned around to see through the dust storm that they were perhaps five in number. Mr. Banerjee’s maths was never good. He had become a banker for his ability to stick his butt to the chair for 12 hours and not question authority. His eyes were also short-sighted; they were 5 in number, he thought out of which one wore a straw hat, that was ridiculous, a monster wearing a straw hat, he had his obvious doubts, for fear makes one delusional. Also, nothing can be trusted in Mansukhgunj. Mr. Banerjee, petrified, ran ahead through the violent gusts and reached the end of the flat earth; one step forward, and he would fall into a fathomless abyss. Once again, he looked back and found four cherry monsters charging towards him. Mr. Banerjee involuntarily looked for the fifth one (the one with the hat) in a rush, but he was nowhere to be found. Since his maths was bad and his eyes myopic, the straw hat made him certain the 5th one was an error. A careless mistake similar to that made him fail maths through high school. While he was thinking about how he will be escaping, he was also thinking about how does it matter whether there are 5 or 4 monsters. and even why such irrelevant things have become relevant such as straw hats, at times of crisis. No way of escaping the four monsters that were belching fire with tremendous anger. Mr. Banerjee ducked and saved himself from the deadly flames, but his leg slipped, and he fell off the flat earth. You see, Mr. Banerjee might have ended up on the wrong side of the forbidden forest of Mansukhgunj. The side where it was rumored that the earth ends in a flattened relief.
3.
Mr. Banerjee is falling.
He is falling into darkness…falling…still falling…still falling…and still falling and…and …and thuddddddddd!
Mr. Banerjee found himself drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. He had fallen from the hammock. He collected himself and understood that it was only a dream. Hahaha, only a dream. How stupid of him to be afraid of monsters. Just a dream gone wrong, that is the stuff with dreams; they never seem like a dream; Mr. Dassani says life as we know it is a dream too. Hence it seems real. Anything seeming real is just not real. Oh damn, Mr. Dassani really plays with the head, but he will never be able to change his mind about Gourav Sanguly and his infamous shenanigans in the dressing room. Banerjee collected himself and was starting to feel better as his eyes fell on the tray of cherries; he did not like the sight of these. He got up to keep them in the freezer.
He kept the cherries back in the freezer and put a couple of black grapes in his mouth. No wonder why cherries were never his first choice. In a world where grapes existed, what worth did cherries have? And it really did not matter if the grapes were not sour; sweet grapes were just as good for him. He sat on the couch, switched on the television, and watched the news for a while, hesitantly went to the fridge, and drank water. He checked the time on his wristwatch. It was past 6 p.m., which meant it was time for his evening shower. Without delay, he entered his bathroom, looking forward to a cold shower after such a distressful dream.
He stood underneath the shower as jets of cold water sprayed on him. Everything seemed to be getting great again; Mr. Sudhakar Banerjee whistled his favorite shower Rabindra Sangeet tune merrily, shampooing his way to happiness and also mild baldness. He was having the most memorable shower, for it fell infinitely more relaxing after the ghastly experience and much needed, till his eyes fell on the bathroom mirror. His blood froze as he saw, not believing what he saw as a straw hat above his head. At that precise moment, he knew who it belonged to; the cherry monsters from his dream, the 5th one, the one whom he thought to be an optical fallacy, and if he would be in order, he would finally remember that the hat on its head looked uncannily similar to the one that he had gifted Mr. Dassani on the day he was talking of global warming melting the world melting like ice cream and how only the Mansukhgunj will not be melting for it was out of the world, and hence his rasgulla shop will be safe, yes it was a hat he had gifted made of special straws from the bamboo shoots of masai mara forest. Sudhakar Banerjee loses his footing, and he slipped on the floor. and… !
He is falling into darkness…falling…still falling…still falling…and still falling and…and …and thuddddddddd!
He had fallen from the hammock. He collected himself and understood that it was only a dream…
Magaj INC 