the winter's mist

my day often starts with many mysteries, where do my specs, which were sitting right next to the bed in night, disappear, and how they travel to other side of the bed, floor, ahoe rack, the coffee jar etc?
why do my keys, ID card, socks bag, all these essential evil Nick-knacks play the hide and seek drama every day, even though i keep reminding them that i own them, even though i threaten them with dire consequences once i find them?

these are interesting mysteries, yes, and a solution would be of much use to me i must admit. i, however, will speak of another mystery here, keeping aside my vested interest.

this story is of a death in winters, and how it helped a superhero reach god.without much ado, or rather with as much as already has happened, lets begin with the story.

one chilly winter's morning, wading through the thick fog, which covered the road, the ghats, and the ganga like a solid wall, Nandu stumbled onto something on his way back from the early morning bath to the Hanuman temple. he swore loudly, as much for the chagrin and premonition of having to take another bath, as to keep himself warm.
the old hands on the road knew this voice well, through his childhood to silver years, they had heard Dr NandKishor a.k.a. Nandu every winter morning.

this time though, his premonition was proved right, and he knew his time had come.
this object blocking his path was a human corpse as soon as he touched it he knew.

the corpse had been there for quite a while now, another statistics added to the casualties due to cold, and another maybe added if he had to go back and bathe again Dr. Nandu considered.
he peered through the mist- the body was covered with a patent leather shroud, cold as ice.it was a sign, Dr. nandu instantly recognized..he gave one good look to the corpse and walked away towards the temple. old hands on the road, if they could have seen his face, could have recognized the determination, and a sense of purposeful excitement, but as we remember, it was a winter's misty morning, with a wall of fog that devoured everything within itself..
it was morning which makes you reflect, lets one to be alone with oneself..often this leads to discoveries and incidents both beautiful and morbid as we shall see..

Another day of wait, another night or foreboding and anticipation, Lajo woke up early as usual, and did not find Sukhu by her side. her two kids were snuggled up to her. in early days, she would stay awake and not move for hours for fear of waking up these kids, now she had learnt the art of sneaking away-like a shadow, disappearing in the for that surrounded,and protected her hut. Lajo was a believer. she believed in the goddess that would protect her and give her power to live,in fog that protected her hut from all evils, made it invisible to powers that be, in Sukhu, who fathered her kids, who will come to be a legend one day, in her master who would find solace in her, release his burden of divinity to become human, in the moist-alive,mortal earth-away from his barren consort up-above-so-high.
she knew she was mortal, and that Sukhu will not come to her one morning.mother earth took away her sons by many pretexts- sometimes it was heat, or cold, or hooch, or work, or malnutrition,disease, alcohol, women, or their masters, they all would take away men from household of Lajo and her like-she knew well.Lajo rallied against fate, against mother earth, her benefactors were her goddess, and master, who would protect her hut from evil eyes, He would make it invisible, yes, there was no sin that she carried on her shoulders, when she was with her master, he would take it all away.
Lajo trusted The master, and his servant,-the fog..

It had been an year since Aladdnin had come out of his house..he was contemplating, as always, on thing that he could have done differently.He had often dreamed of life away from slavery of Zaman. He had often dreamed of Fatima and their first encounter at midnight.
He constantly thought and schemed and plotted for his release, his release into the life on lonely river.
shah of blah