by Debashis Dey
The moon came out and washed the compound with its soft silver light. Tall wooden torches were lit on all corners. The musicians started playing the drums and the flames danced to the beat. The women stood up, held hands, and formed a circle around the compound. They sang in chorus, primitive songs carried over thousands of years. The men danced in the middle.
Pravin, Diwakar and Nisha, the bride and the grooms, sat near the western wall below the shades. Pravin and Diwakar sat in a white jacket and woolen trousers while Nisha wore a shawl with three borders over a light gray blanket, which her mother-in-law had wrapped around her in keeping with the tradition. They knew that very soon they would also have to join the dance. Earlier, the bride’s parents had blessed them with gold. While Nisha got a necklace and a pair of earrings, both Pravin and Diwkakar got gold-plated watches, which they wore with much pride.
Nisha looked around. Her brother sat next to her and kept on looking at his sister, chatting occasionally. She felt happy to see her parents enjoying the celebration. She saw her mother and cousin’s sisters dancing with the group while her father drank merrily with the elders. She searched for Ria, and saw her in one corner of the compound playing with her two boys, Pritam and Deepak. The elder Pritam was ten years old; the younger Deepak was eight. Both were like two bundles of mischief but she was assured that Ria would be able to manage them. The women came in a queue and adorned the three of them with garlands made of almonds and walnuts.
Soon the cymbals joined the drums, shattering the silence of the valley. The percussion stopped abruptly and someone took the flute and played a primitive song. The tune floated up with the silence of the night and touched the peaks, which cradled the valley and its people.
- THE END -
About the author
Debashis Dey gave up a high-powered career in Media to live among tribal nomads in the Himalayas.
Born in Calcutta, Debashis Dey worked for media and television in Mumbai for twenty years. After chasing the rat race through senior corporate positions, he realized he couldn’t take another day. He sold his apartment and car, gave away his possessions, and moved to the Himalayas to live in a remote village populated by tribal nomads.
He has been writing poetry and short stories since his college days and also contributes to The American Chronicle. This is his first novel. Murmur of the Lonely Brook, reflects his immersion into an ancient culture that continues to follow age-old rituals, customs, and traditions. A major portion of the proceeds from this book will be used to build a health facility for the downtrodden women of the region.
Author’s Website
Table of Contents
Preface
Acknowledgements
Authors Note
Quote
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Epilogue
About the Author