OLYMPIC GAME OF ''UNIFIED -DEATH'

Hearie.. Hearie , all -if awake
Those who have ear ,may hear, for God's sake
At last, it is our final global Atomic Stage
More Nations now determined to build self -image
of in- built strngth of killing -art
What ! if children are starving somewhere -but
now we' are preparing for Unified-Death
Atomic Bombs qand missiles are final strength
standing tall to frighten the foe
let billions starve but let us grow
strong and tall ; it's Atomic Age
thiusands of 'Bombs', - ready on Global Stage
Hearie ! Hearie ; who want to know
All get ready for final Olympic show
The Unified Death On 'Singularity'- frame
for our final OLYMPIC Killing Game !(written in Benbagi in 1960s; now translated)

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Born in between two world-War flames
in remotest colonial rural base
conditioned -natural like tropical intestinal worms
grew up though famine and uncertain future-stage

My child-hood was, I know,- a bundle of joy
un-burdened like that of modern child
yet knew the famines , while growing up
and matuerd fast in age of 'Atom-bomb'
My whole youth shivered through cold-war games
all 'uncertain - principles' grinning round
Yet I survived all those killing forms
and saw the wide World of Modern shape
in Universe of ' Einstein -Dirac -Time'
flew jet-flights for more than decade long
and -as many years,- my USA life
with my children, immigrating here

Now waiting flight, beyond Time and Space
with some 'pass-port' of another type.

The Final Act.

Climb down from the stage ; all foot lights -deeming down
return to Green-rom ;all paints of face and frame
the mask or make-up tricks or synthetic cheek or chin
wash them off and become clean
Drop off or change all garments of dream
And ,if you can, retun again in bold naked faitth
beyond the 'foot-light' brim , -where now
the spectators in tired terminal phase
so egar to leave the Stage.
At last -in natural revealing shape
take up your given poise-and
declare on clear terms :
'No, I am not the actor,ever, in real life
and beyond all directing script
am here and now -the real natural Man.(Translated from original Bengali poem)

"jatra" - in Our Village -XVI

My early village life and joy of living would have been incomplete without 'jatra' that I so much enjoyed during 'Puja and Autumn break.The'Natto-Company' of BRIsal was a famous "Jatra-dal" of Bengal, of 1930s & 40s. They were professional troupes performing mostly, on stories from Ramayana'and Mahabharata' and was so popular that even Muslims of our and neughbouring villages would come to enjoy the play , more paricularly,the battle scenes.It used to start near mid- night and would end in the morning.Villagers would come with 'Mashals'(fire-flames) of drieed coconut leaves. My memory, particulary, surrounds a special incidence. That was playing of this jatra by our village -groups.The orginiser being the most well -off and spending most, kept the main role of Rama for himself and the role of Ravana was given to a man who was not only poor but a subject of the hero himself.
Three or four days before the Jatra, these two impotant persons had a big quarrel on the issue of a coconut -tree and the the wouuld -be Rama(Suren jethu) thrashed Nran kaku,(the would Ravan)heavily. Naran kaku bore the insult and thrashing silently and waited for the final day of Jatra. When the jatra was on full speed with heat of battle,the promter told Naran kaku to fall down , as was in the script. Buthe Ravana flatly refused and went on fighting. We were all excited and
over-joyed by this new twist and saw the prompter rush to him and urging him to fall.Even Suren Jethu in royal dress of Rama urged him to obey the script. But that was the last straw and Naran kaku disobeying the whole script gave his own version by saying; "Two days back you-(Shala),had beatten me enough and to day, taking the revenge,I shall write the Ramayana in a new way " and saying this he threw the bow and arrow down and grabbed the slim Suren jetthu(RAMA) and pulled him down. That was ,perhaps the best 'Osker' winning play'I first saw and can never fotget!

FLOATING CLOUDS OF THOUGHTS !

And like Roller coster flight ! Don't know how to span it out. Just the event of 'COLORADO - STUNT' ,a few days back, by a compact well-off family with three children, put me off the gear and mind and forced me thinking off my line .I am in U S A now , the land of Washinton and centre of the World where Democracy has the greatest span with freedom of speech; where Lincohn established the freedom of slaves with iron hands ..... but the news, that a married couple,farely well-off,planning crookedly and involving their three children planned and excuted ,consciously to fool the World and the Nation for a 'Reality -Show' and succeeded : thus revealing the metamorphosis of a grat Nation to wards revealing Degeneration at its root ! ..... At the same time,in my hand, is the book on Paul Dirac , where Stephen Hawing says about Dirac that if he patented his theory on Quantum mechanics , he would have been one of the ruchest man of the World . But he did not. Was he a fool ? ..He was not ; for due to his genius, his quantum tech, you are glued to your computer or T.V shows... When he was given Nobel prize in 1933,he refused openly to avoid name and fame , until Rutherford convinced him that he would have to be more famous and rich if he denied it.Such is the field of Science of 'Diracs & Einsteins'. While with their techniques crooked and hipocrats are fooling the World for name and fame ,creating filth and false-hood al-around!

IN TIME'S LABORATORY

This is, as if, a new life for me
No longer sorrow appear sorrowful to me
or happy-time as happiness
These days, if I get something worth
hardly leap up with delight or joy
nor if it slipps off hand, do I feel the loss
Il-luck seems no misfortune to me
My mental state is - like the sore of a leper
the wound is there but - no pain !
Meseems I have crossed over to haven of fulfilment
and achieved the fruit!
It seems, Time ,after playing it's game with me
regretting the waste of time
shall discard me -and there after
I shall rise again to be re-born.
(translated from Bengali by Umanath Bhattacharya)

THIS MOBILE ROBOTIC BIOLOGY

Dreams of blossom ,-induce to water the garden green
Dreaming of 'Life' , the Sun , the sky and the heart
recreate the art of out- growing 'magic-life'
and stimulate us all, with stiring inspiration!
,
This living , this ever- evolving conscious urge
this inbuilt desires in child-hood growth
If only, I could know,by whose 'Light-house' beaconing act
direct us,--this robotic pre -destined surge !

We, the ever-hoping 'machines' of living game
on this 'Divine Stage', the en-lightened conscious thrive !

( written in 1950s in Bengali; published in CACTUS (1969);translated on 23/Oct./'09 while in U.S.A)

MY CHIL HOOD ; PROBLEMS WITH TWO GODS -XV

That after the rai and before the autumn and I was on my fishing sport. In those days and in remote village we had to make our own fishing rod with bamboo branches , stiching thread and the had to be made secretly by stealing stitching sewing needle from my mothers box and going in the kichen in afternoon when others were in resting sleep after hard work. On a kerosine lamp I use to hold the needle pinned on a bamboo twig and bend it when it was red hot, with another iron rod or stick. Anyway that was no hard job for a village boy of any standard.
The story starts on the day when fishing alone for a long time on the canalside about two furlong from hour house. At last I got it on my hook and to my joy it was a big prawn with its red tentacles showing above the surface, By that time I was quite skilled in fishing but with prawn it was a harder game. Now the very sight of it stuck to my hook made me feel the winner of every thing desired in life. I went on praying loudly to my god, not to deprive me of this prize and I promized to serve god best, But as it was half way above the water, suddenly , it got released and fell bav=ck in water. I was so shocked and suddenly burst out crying and cursing god in all adjectives in my stock and denied his exis tence. I came back home crying and lay in my bed,.... suddenly i started thinking if the prawn had also had its god , it must have also prayed also hard for its life. Well then one of them had to win. After that I do not remember when I fell asleep and how it was settled between gods !

MY CHILD HOOD & Hunting sport - XIV

In my last musical joy of rain in our villge , I missed mentioning about the joyous participation of croaking frogs and chirping birds without which the nature's play would remain inomplete and even to day in USA ,my memory would be proved snappy.
Soon after the rain was over my next plan would start with the fishing sport before I would be gripped hard by malaria which already started breeding fast and swarming as evening approached .Almost by this time ,as I eas growing, my next game was practising skill of aiming with wooden branch with rubber sling and aiming at any thing of my choice . By this time, I was really quite skilled and was sometimes almost successful. It so happened one day that while spending almost an hour in the jungle and returning , failing another day, I found sparrow on near by mango tree and took the last try and oh,to my joy - it dropped down , fluttering and dead . My joy of success knew no bound and I started dancing with loud joy of success , held the bird by its limp wing and started towards home when I Saw my mother returning home with water pitcher filled up. I jumped to her to give a proof of my skill and showed her my success.
My mother put down the picher ,stood by my side and suddenly with clenched fist gave a very heavy blow on my spine that spent backward instantly with the pain I cried.

BHARAT VARSHA - 1974

Al-round unto horizon/stretches the baren land/spread like a widiowed -young or drought scattered every where/ what a picture of sterile infertility-and yet/ olden peeling off trees -enthroned in hope of return/ while some uprooted trees-tries to crawl to get up and grab
Time itself is dead on termite-spread of every -sphere
the desert grows with famine-grip/ the deprived green suffers from starving infancy/ and overhead, the furios Sun stares in rage
The foxes are free and hayena dances in festive mood /while, no seed hold -promise of any form/ the sky in desp in sepir/ Even then the deprived earth dreams fertile dreams with surviving seeds//
The drought - the drought - the drought / yet the barren womb does wait in grief/ Prasites have golden time , as not/ helpless as self -dependent ones/Amidst the despair state / and new born sun ,in rising hope, and starving grassy green/drems of 'stalwart' parents - growth
The mirage answers loughing loud/ The mother Earth - cries out - deep , in vain !(the poem was written in 1970s ,in Bengali ;published in "SAMAY BADO BYANGO RASIK" in 1985 from CAlcutta); NOw translated on 22nd ,Oct. '09 by the poet)

RAI N and RAIN and RAIN in BENGAL -XIII

It is difficult to for get and more difficult to write about rainy season of Bengal
When it signals its arrival every one older worry about life but we or i , at least.
More holi-day time , more leisure more drenching and playing with cloud and hiding escapes. when it rains , inrainy seaon , it would ratn ,maybe , for three to five or even a week at a stressed. My joy would multiply when would on my way to school school I would slip and fall or some time manage to fall on the slippery muddy path and could prove to my mother that it was very slippery rroad. Our primary school ( path-shala) was not very far from our house and if it was raining still my mother would change my clothes and then, herself force me to the school. The day when it was raining heavy and i was lucky and was allowed to stay , I would climb to the first floor balcoly , stealing some sweet or gaining some coconut strip from my mother , sit on the balcony open wide to the wild garden and sky and listen to the pattering sound al-around on treeleaves along with the music of rain fall near and beyond. Along with, the added joy would be the musical sharp notes of rain drops falling on the Tin-roof as if the the whole Nature playing the song of joy and even our house and roof joining the orchestral fastivity of drenching rain.

"HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY ! " -xii

Yes, somewhen during 1950s or 60s , I saw that picture (wish could read the book - as no film making can match the original writing) and I still remember the picture in this 2009 .But mine was not a valley but a vallage that was greeneer than green with rivers,canals and ponds knitting the village all round and in-between like Nature's knitting hobby.Even on the back-side of our home, beyond paddy-land , was a broad District Board road , wide , by any standard of the-then rural set-up.
Now ,in retrospect, I feel so lucky and,- grateful to the all mighty All-Divine that he decided such a place for my child-hood growth ;the vergin soil un-spoilt by modern machinary-_touch. Yes, ther was not even a bi-cycle , to distract me but there was everything imaginable for a child like me and Nature sprayed them all within and beyond my reach ,to feel myself the happiest child with least restriction of modern rule and vigillant-strictures.
There were so many trees to climb,seasonal fruits to pluck and eat, so many ponds and canal to swim and all type of fish to catch , birds to chase and clouds to scan that malaria , small fall and injuries or diarrhaea never bothered me much.
'

MY CHILD HOOD -XI

Our village,Shehangal,in Diistrict Barisal of Dhaka Division of the -then Bengal is still vivid like a reflection IN
A MIRROR IN MY MEMORY , EVEN NOW IN 2009 , writing it , while in U.S.A.
Our village had five families of non-muslim(Hindus) and more than ninety to 100 families of muuslims and we, upto early 1940s did not learn or know the word 'communalism' or religious division in our society (and to that I will come later).
Our cast type is kayastha (non -brahmin and surname is BASU (Bose). We had three blocks of houses in line,in our family homes (Basus) seperated by 1 to 30 feet
gap. and the owners were all Cousin brothers (including my father).
We had a good broad canal in front, bordering our next villege, with tidal water flowing (high and eb tide). A very big govt-built Pond (Pukur) -1000 ft x 150ft. (or more).meant for drinking only was in on the front side.
We had our other smaller ponds on back-side of our house for each family( for washing ) unit of our block. Other four blocks of non-muslim families in the village were on same line from south to north. They were Guhas , then basus (ours), Ghosh , Guhas and sarkars (with one basu family there) All these homes were bordering our next village named ZULUHAR where the high scool named SAPTA-GRAM-SAMMILANI SCHOOL were there (meaning the school for seven villeges).

'THAT ' DEATH Of A BEGGAR

My GOD ! don't know how to console thee
Your creation ashamed, with impotent frustration
is pasted flat on the hardened face of the dead beggar
lying on the road at the end of our lane
His prostrated most-naked body ,like a log of rotten wood !
Was not he born , in human way, by thy sanction , Lord !
yet what thou achieved by dropping off his tail.
Throughout life supporting a starving body and soul
getting thrashed by human society and thy indifferent seasons
now he has returned back what he received as false gift ,his life !
His wide-opened opaque eyes shuttig sharp doors ,on your illusive world
your seasonal games -the rain the storm , the spring
getting kicked from his winning death
is poised in final triumph and thy sad defeat
There lies his uncompropising stiffened body and hardened toes
humble down all your creative- dreams , - in shame !
(Written in 1960s in Bengali and was published in CACTUS (1969);now, translated by the poet on 17 oct '09)

PILGRIMAGE TO HELL

Show me the way to 'HELL'-please
if you can
Most stairs to Heaven -are
suffering from .
T.B of tarmite-teeth.

Got more tired of seeing Al-round
masked and made-up gods of spectrum-robes
so many priests of mosques, temples and churches
stabbing the Divine in so many ways
assure men from the terrace-ground.

That's why I urge you , my friend
show me the way to Hell
to know it more; and compare.
(My poem written in 1960s ,in Bengali; published in CActus[1969);translated on 15/oct /09)by the poet.

MY CHILD HOOD - X

In between my games and trist with Nature , I had other tropical appointments wih malaria and diarrhaea . In those days of living and growing in Rural Bengal and not suffering from malaria would be almost an anti-sicial attitude and every one accepted it almost like a natural social phenomenon. I have yet the full memory of D-GUPTA'S Mixture and quinine tabs that used to come from outside(Calcutta) and I knew when and how to take either. I even knew the regularity of the fever with chill would come every third day or fourth day and also I knew when inbetween I would be without fever and be ready to be with my marbles ,tops or other games ,mostly, with nature like fishing or climbing small trees specially during the time of grren mangoes with slicing shell in my pocket and enough salt. My clever time , as I thought then, when any time a few oranges was brought from the market and by good luck, my malaria visited me. Sometimes during fever with chill I would pretend delirium to draw attention of my mother who was ever busy in the kitchen or otherwise with four five unruley children. when my delirium was unusual and foolishly out side the pattern, my mother would leave the kitchen, come by my side hiding an orange and after feeling my fore-head for the range of temperature and then place the orange by my side and leave. And at once my delirium would stop even before she reached the kitchen I would ,then and though think ,iI was quite clever.

MY CHILHOOD - IX

Not that I did not try to up-come otherwise. Back in our village I even paid two anas (one-eight-th of a rupee) so dear tome, to subscribe for membership of the village football team and was put, as final- fate, up as a goal keeper before .Even the half time the ball ruthlessly hit my belly and i stopped breathing on the spot. Within a few minutes ,though, I regained my breath, after help but was declared unfit for manly game and was ordered by the cqaptain to rest out side the field and then go home. Thus iI lost both my membership and my precious two annas wealth and I came back home weeping more for the loss of my wealth than my dimissal on the very first day of my sporting venture.
My physical fitness for out-door game ended there and my moneytary loss stayed with me for quite some time. ...I resumed my interest in independent sport of fishing or playing tops or marble games. In marble practice I gained some skill quite soon and a few more boys ,sick like me ,joined me .
The children of modern days with electric or even electronic toys won't even be able to guess how happy and full you feel when a few marbles dance in your pocket making noise or a top and the rope occupy your eager hands!

MY CHILD HOOD - VIII

By then I was between seven and eight( perhaps) when I was on the river bank and the memory is still so vivid in my mind. My consciousness was now growing and getting invoved in my memory and life.
Back to our own village , sick and thinly built while growing fast and with lonelinesss around me though there was no darth of children around including my two elder brothers and my cousin brothers next door, I was not much Welcome to join any game with them beccause I was too weak to join any game with my pot- bellied shape with ever running nose.But that could not affect me much for my being happy as the rural set up for my being one with them and play happily with clouds ,birds. and gardens with ponds ,big and small, were all waiting around .
By this time I learnt swimming .In that rural Bengal, with ponds ,canals and rivers sprayed allround no child was expected to live for long unless he or she learnt swimming in shortest time .And whe nlearnt ,he gets another gift of natue , the swimmig space as another good play-mate. So my lonely disposition as I remember now , did not affect my child -hood happiness and joy as I had all natural playmates around me ever ready to invite me. Yes, I was perhaps the happiest child of the primitive world by Nature's choice!

OUR RIVER ; MY MOTHER VII

My child - hood memory of our river
ooocan - wide ; holding my mother's hand
on the otherside the sky kissing the horizon thin
on our side ; coconut and mango-tops
shaking their head and leaves, -like un-ruley child
on nid-blue sky, the renouncing cloud , on all white rpbe
while the mid-river boats with happy-sail singing loud
and on our side, the play-ful waves teasing the dancing boats
and I waiting in joyous trance - transfixed
holding my mother's hand !
-----
The poem was the later product of reminiscence of my child-hood joy (written later in early fifties). In 1947 , our mother- land was divided into two , by cruel hands of post-war political play declaring and labelling us -'refugees.
and forcing on us the condition of seeking shelter on the other part and we had to migrate to calcutta of West Bengal!.

My matenal- Uncle's house VI

My mother own village(Sonakur) was about five miles from our village , a river side village and the beauty of that river-side and the joy of my running to that river bank to see steamer passing through, the boatmen's calls, waves ever dancing wild is imprinted on my mind like colour prints of later day-photography.
Any way I am now to tell my forth trist with death wthin two years after the last one told. There was some festive ocassion and my Mejda(elder brother) was asked to cut and collect some banana leaves for the occassion and I joined my brother agaist his will to help him. My mejada was two and half years older than me , very sportive and goodhearted. We entered the guarden and my mejda had a curve 'Dao'(about a pound heavy with sharp edge and tip). I was then a jam-packed -fool and when he aimed to chop the banana stem ,just then ,I ran close to him and that sharp tip of the cutter, with full force landed on the top of my head and sofar I was told,the tip of the cutter got fixrd on my head . The subsequent events I don't remember except that vermillion (mercury) was one of the best emergency treatment and it was packed in the wound and I was not dead nor unconcious,(the tip of that cutter cuould not reach my brain matter-don't know why)!

MY CHILD - HOOD STORIES V

Even in good games there are half -times or recess allowed . And even in Greek tragedies there are assured 'reliefs' for the sake of play.
So. after those three escapes, let me relax a beat and in lighter vein.........
I am now eighty plus and have earned the right to relax or run to any 'escape' and
as such am a U.S.A -citizen and am relaxing in my son's three-floored house and only two persons to live there, allowing my son to live in chicago with his family and in his another house... That is fun !-for a man, like me, who never saw a train until he was fifteen.
Yes ! what is life ! And I had so much of it in so many ways and so much types that my children or any of modern era should envy me or feel jelous . I feel , as if in my one single life, I have experienced and passed through all phases of evolutiona and changes of civillisation ,from a the remostest colonial village life unto the -'Statue of Liberty'.
Unto the age of seven to eight or nine years , all those near -death situations that told so far, was as I heard mostly from my ggrand mother and affirmed by my mother . Only the few prints of my joy with Chita-Gur buble up like broken memories. Hence on-wards , events shall have participattion of my memories.

MY CHILD - HOOD IV

So neither a dug -out grave nor drowning in a remote village in a big water reservoir (Govt. Pukur) was willing to offer a an 'Exit goor' for me . so I had to continue my living as a biological being. This statement is because of the fact all these happenings were, as I heard after-ward and not as I rememeber. T think I was seven or eight years old when I wa doing my next natural 'self killing' because the act was neither with my ignorage nor with my intelligence.
My father used to do a boarding -house business in Delhi and we i.e my mother and thre other brothers and a sister were living in the village called Shehangal in the distrct of Barisal of Dhaka division of Bengal i.e about 900 miles from Delhi and with our cousin sisters ,Uncle and aunt (then a joint family). My Uncle was a primary scool,teacher and loved me very much ,as his own son ,having no son of his own. He used to somke Hukka (a sort of smoking tobaco through a water pot) and used make tobaco-balls mixing churned tobaco with fermented molases (CHITE-GUR).That was the day when he bought a good amount (one seer or 2 lbs -apprx) from the haatkhola (markrt), kept it uder the cot (khat). Suffering from malaria too often and hoarding all types of worms (krimi)and being ever hungry for anything sweet( I was a all-time sick and thin),I missed not this chance and at night got to the mollases pot ate that thick sweet-bitter almost in full. The result was any body's guess anf for the next month the whole family and my Uncle (elder brother of my father) fought the final game with Yama-raja (king of Death) and snached me back from the grip of DEATH.

VIEWING BACKWARDS III

08 oct o9: On this space-tome of evening and 'sunset' , i am trying to remember my life in my childhood, sittinng in my sons's house in delaware in U.S.A.Seems a bit strange Is it nostalgia ? No! It seems to me strange because I was not live so long a life.... I was expected to be dead three or four times before I was ten.
My grand mother told me tha when i was only seven months old my uncle (elder brothe of my father) dug a grave on the canal side of our remote village of the- then- Bengal and waiting and waiting smoking a hukka , for me to breath my last. I was suffering from some severe disease sice birth and my skin was peeling off. I was brought back even when death got tired of waiting for me longer.Maybe it was some sort of post-pertem complication or some un-diagnosed deficiency in me.There was no doctor within five miles radius and giving birth and accepting death was accepted as a natural game of Nature in those very remote rural set up in 1920s.
The second chance offered to me by Death to escape from fife was 'drowning' in the big pond of our home, when i was about five or six year old.This also i learnt from my grand mother. After getting drowned and sometimes after my body floated up for the final sinking and that was the slice of time when my elder bother noticed my body , shouted loud and grand mother came running ,jumped in, saved me by rescuing me and put me on her head,with my belly down-fcing and started revolving and snached be back from death without my chance to expressmy choice.So i was alive again !

MY CHILD HOOD play -II

In my child hood - on memory lane
through the mirror-like surface of the pond
I used to view my face , alone
with playing -mood and lonliness
all around.

Who was then for me ,or -
what was there for me !
Only my playmate
the shades of mango-grove
On calm wter-surface the cut-piece sky
all the time and year round
the cloud floating in joy
and scanning it's face
was the lone play-mate
that rural child-hood time !(traslated by myself from my Bangali poem)

THE REACH

Proceed however far you may
your destination awaits
ever beyond.
This going forward
is the key to success -and
end in itself.

Keep your goal
beyond your search
and - let your quest
exceed your goal.
(poem in bengali by phani Basu ;
translated by Umanath bhattachrya )

MY life & my experiences -- part - 1

I had so much desire to write about my life and my experiences. But ..but Mark Twain stood like a wall between me and my dream and desire , since his ovservations that 'Autobiographers are the greatest 'li'ars' who suprress selectively, some 'truths' from their life and high-light only brighter side and paint it more ' And I believe that.... In my case, too , I know I have so many things to hide because the world will whip me more than appreciating my daring to open myself up and try to be free.AND I am no Reusso nor Gandhi nor have their aura of influencing others.
Yet even it would be so much joyous and enlarging for my self because : I had some unique experiences and a few 'revelation' that perhaps very few had !
My child hood, in the first half of 20th Century (1930s) in a rural set up of the then Bengal where not even a cycle could be seen in the whole of the village and I did not see a Train until I was fifteen-plus and left my District 9barisal) for the first time for Calcutta in 1947, after political partition. I was mostly bare above my loin, with deep passion for fishing and abundance of mosquitoes feasting on my body while my only aspiration and dream in life was to catch fish. Other-times climbing mango-tree for green mango with a slicing snai-shell and playing marble were all that I needed to be happy.
From that 'bright, begining, that was a bundle of joy and happiness ,inspite of 'Malaria as my all time companion , upto the present living in U.S.A and, from experince of famine life of 1950s - to surfing on 'String'-theory of Cosmology and spiritual, Unitary appreciation and expansion within, with natural-'reliefs' in between , is really a treasure- hunt storey of success for me. (contd)