I was born in a village called Birhara in Northern India. It is the same village, which is the locale of my novel, Tales From Birehra. I have changed the spelling to fictionalize it, or maybe that is how they pronounced it in those days. The exact date of my birth was not known since people in Birhara did not keep track of dates. After my family moved from India to Pakistan in 1950, my father took me to a school for admission. I was given a test, and the teacher found me fit for Grade 5.
When the teacher asked for the date of my birth, my father told him that he had no idea. All he could recollect was that I was born one day before the Hindu festival of Holi.
"Hmm!" said the teacher while combing his beard with his fingers. "Let us figure out the date of birth of your son."
He got up and reached for a book in the bookshelf behind him. After turning pages back and forth, he stopped.
"Aha, " he exclaimed. "The celebration of Holi starts on the night of full moon in Hindi month of Phalguna, which falls around March."
Now let me digress a bit here for the benefit of those who are not familiar with the festival of Holi. It starts with a bonfire at night and continues on the next day with partying, dancing, merry-making, sprinkling powdered colours in the air and drenching one another in colours with water guns. It is the celebration of the arrival of spring.
Like everything else, Hindus have a story about Holi too. It signifies the victory of good over evil. The story goes this way:
Once upon a time, there was a demon king named Hiranyakashipu. (Don’t worry if you cannot pronounce or remember the name; it is not essential.) He was granted immortality with five powers:
- He could not be killed by animals or humans.
- He could not be killed inside or outside a building.
- He could not be killed in the day or at night.
- He could not be killed on land, water or in the air.
- He could not be killed by a projectile or a handheld weapon.
Once the demon king was immortal, he became evil and commanded everyone in his kingdom to worship him. He killed everyone who disobeyed him. Eventually, when there was much chaos and bloodshed in the land, his son, Prahlad, who was a good man, decided to kill his father. Just then, the Hindu god Vishnu appeared to help Prahlad. He took the form of Narasimha, an avatar of Lord Vishnu, which is half-human and half-lion, so he was neither an animal nor a human. He met the demon king on a doorstep at dusk, which was neither inside a building nor outside; it was neither day nor night; Prahlad picked up his father and put him in his lap so that he was neither on land or water nor was he in the air. The Lord Vishnu killed the king with his lion claw, which was neither a projectile nor a handheld weapon.
The demon king was dead. Good prevailed over evil, and everyone lived happily ever after.
I have suddenly realized that we were talking about something else. I have noticed that, as I am getting older, my mind wanders a lot. It visits unchartered territories and enters unfamiliar alleys and winding tunnels.
Oh yes, we were talking about the date on which I was born. The teacher had figured out that I was born in March.
"Now tell me what year it was," asked the teacher.
"To tell you the truth, I do not know," my father replied.
"Still, let us try," he got excited. "Can you remember any event that year?"
"Well, I used to get a newspaper from the city every day."
"Aha! Now we are getting somewhere," he waved his Sherlock-Holmes fist in the air.
"I remember that I had read about the famine in Bengal," said my father.
"There you go," said the teacher triumphantly. "The Bengal famine was in 1943 because the British were emptying the market and shipping all the food to the war front."
He got up and picked an old book from the bookshelf. It was all crumpled, and the paper had turned brown and brittle.
"I dabble a little bit in astrology," he said. "This book contains astrological charts and calendars for the last one hundred years."
My father watched him with interest as he stopped flipping pages.
"Here, in 1943, the new moon in Phalguna was on the 22nd day of March. So, your son was born on Sunday, March 21, 1943." He said triumphantly and closed the book as he passed the verdict.
That is how the exact date of my birth was established.
Even though, the elders in the family have confirmed that it is accurate within plus or minus six months, I believe that it is dead on. The proof is that I check my horoscope every day in the newspaper, and I have found it to be miraculously accurate. What could be better proof than that!
According to astrology, my zodiac sign is Aries, and I am supposed to be creative, fiery, independent and stylish - and humble too!
- Penny Fancy