Bookish !

 About forty years back, I was loitering under the long canopy of Connaught Place, New Delhi . As I am a book lover so indulging in window shopping of book stores!

  I just stood in front of Golgotia book store which encased rare books which were not affordable to me , though I wanted to purchase them & wanted to keep them in my collection .Just nearby , on the pavement a vendor was keeping good assortment of pirated books in a heap costing  Rs 5/- & Rs 10/-. I just selected two books from the heap. ,which caught my fancy .The 'Roots' by Alex Hailey & Dracula by Bram Stoker.

                  I was very happy as I was to lay my hand on Roots ,very much acclaimed book  & Dracula , its Hindi version 'Pichas ki Pyas' .I had read in my school days .The passion with which Alex Hailey tried to find his roots from a African boy Kunta Kinte from 1750 to present generation of 'Alex Hailey' in 1970ies , the whole narrative & saga of effort is mouthwatering & charmed me as a great novel & I concede,  I have read it umpteen times to catch the nuances of  slavery & slave persons.

                 Years passed , decades passed but not the passion to find the lost origin . Though Alex Hailey got prestigious  Pulitzer prize in fiction genre & the author of 'Coolie Woman, the odyssey of indenture' Gaiutra Bahadur was finalist of 2014 Orwell prize is a Guynise author.  The passion to find her origin was same ! The famous quote 'The British didn't recruit "coolies" for their sugar cane fields. rather ,they made "Coolies" & this was the essence of odyssey of an indenture , who for all practical purposes was a 'coolie'.

I was interested in the indenture stories as maximum of indentures had emigrated from Bihar & eastern U.P. Their language in adopted countries are Bhojpuri or the colloquialism developed mixing it in local language . The author made a passionate search for her great-great-great grandmother who hailed from village Bhurhari pur of Manjhi police station of Saran Distt of Bihar. I had gone to Manjhi village in a 'barat' during my childhood .
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           The book is well researched & her fanatical zeal in searching the origins of her great grandmother  Sujaria  ,the indenture .    

Gaiutra Bahadur

 

 Sujaria was recruited from Faizabad U.P. nearby of Vridavan where there is galore of Vaishnavite Ashrams of widowed women & they still exist . She embarked on a coolie ship 'Clyde' in 1903 The search of her grandmother in the old register of Calcutta Port Trust & chaffing various archival material in various archives round the globe is fascinating & captivating .

The author's grandmother was four month pregnant during ship's journey & it docked in Darmera in Guyana where she was earmarked for a sugar cane plantation farm . It is in plantation indenture quarters , she gave birth to her child & saga of struggle of indenture's pathos & emotion started  there with vicissitude of time .They lived in so much penury ,they had no option left except to meditate for survival of life . Really funny !

                          The author Gaiutra Bahadur is at present Assistant professor at Rutgers University , Newark school of arts & sciences thought ,how her grand mother felt ,remained in the plantation with her son & of coming generation of hers is a saga ,so bewitching , enchanting & captivating One finds it difficult to live the book in between    

                     As an author , she keeps a tong of a surgeon in unraveling the truth of her grand mother , the original indenture . In her words ' what then was the truth , in which category of recruit did my great grand mother fall ! Who was she , displaced peasant, runaway wife , kidnap victim , Vaishnavite pilgrim or widow ? Was the burn mark on her left leg,  a scar from escaping a husband's funeral pyre ?Was she a prostitute  or did indenture save her from sex work ?Did she found herself as part of the "Fishing Fleet"( searching for husbands) . Were the coolie woman caught in the clutches of unscrupulous recruiters who tricked them ? On the contrary she was choosing to flee , were these two possibilities mutually  exclusive or could both things be true' ? 

                       The author unravels , the Sujaria's emigration pass from Walter Rodney Archives in Georgetown , Guyna . The departure date of sail ship Clyde from Calcutta port trust & globe trotting various archives , navigating various archival materials from which faces of Makundi , Mukhlal . Lachman , Ramautar ,Chhablal , Mathura Singh & many other bearing their names & their stories peeps out of misery & wretchedness . Gender disproportion was so much among male & female indenture, for a mere 'saree' woman indentures were enticed & ready  to change their life partners !

Clyde like ship

 The book has nowhere person to person interaction & written in third person as the narrative builds up . This novel is replete with anecdotes of indenture life ,turning it into captivating essay of the plight of indentures , many a time forsaking self esteem on slight of favor shown . The stealing of wives by white overseers was a common story in the sugar cane plantation .

                         One indenture litterateur Lal Behari Sharma composed many a copulets on the festival of holi ,generally told in colloquial lingo as 'Fawah' based on Ram Charit Manas had also composed certain poems showing the image of white overseers .

                     Galloping into the fields

                     On the heels of the people,

                     comes the Sahib,

                     with a whip in his hand ,

                     The white man's tall hat ,

                     Like a helmet,

                     High on the head .

Another poem of his showing the maimed feeling of indentures craving for justice , wails

                     On the island of Demerara,

                     All around there are police stations,

                     All around there are ill consequences

                     Lord, where have you guided us,

                     Lord, where have you misled us , 

                     Deceived creatures .

This odyssey also tells of the migrated family of indentures of remaining under the spell of constant fear of racial violence .The emigrants were known as Hindues suffered from the violence of blacks , marauding gang of 'dot busters '. Dot Busters means attacking women who kept small 'bindis' in the center of their forehead . This was one of the reasons , father of the author migrated to U.S.A. from Guyna living his ancestral plot of land in Guyna . The emigrants always suffered this way or that way before attaining name & fame for them in life

               But this book of migration also forces me to think , those who didn't adopt the option of emigration as indenture to far off places of the globe, are they better placed in life ? The progenies of indenture have made a name for themselves famously uttered as Indian diaspora , second to none as ethnic groups , gloat with glam quotient of luxury & prosperity .

             Where as their left of bretheren are still rotting & wallowing in the pit of misery & poverty . Their gulf between rich & poor has not diminished. I don't know who will answer these questions.

Bookish !

 I have read umpteen novels from my school days first in Hindi ,some surreptitiously ,some boldly with lofty names & afterwards in English .I liked reading fiction & if it was with historical overtones ,wah! wah! on what a bounty ,I was able to lay my hand. I always rejoiced ! In reading fiction , the historical backdrop offered were of many important cities but hardly of Patna ,where I have spent so many decades of my life .

I was knowing , Amitava Kumar is celebrity English fiction writer , but he belonged to Ara, Bihar was very pleasant surprise for me & shamelessly I concede , I developed a parochial interest also as eminent English, Indian fiction writers belonged to eastern India or southern India & Biharees are supposed to be weak in English creative writing .The iconic fiction writers in Hindi of Bihar , their pantheon is endless . 

Amitava Kumar in a book festival

His book ' A Matter of Rats' caught my attention immensely & I thought , what a title he has chosen to write over , but rats are part & parcel of our life & what a hatred for this specie ,we harbor ,dead or alive . Though , I very much enjoyed a whole treatise of poem over it spawning a  famous cliche ' The Pied Piper of Hamelin'

                  In the year 1960 , in the poetry selection of my mother's B.A. curriculum , there were many poems of eminent English poets but whenever I got a a chance, I searched the longish poem by Robert Browning 'The Pied Piper of Hamelin' & enjoyed it . 

                Rats! they fought the dogs & killed the cats ,

                And bit the babies in the cradles,

                And ate cheeses out of the vats ,

                And licked the soup  from the cook's own ladles,

                Split open the kegs of salted sprats ,

                Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,

                And even spoiled the women chats,

                By drowning their speaking ,

                With shrieking their squeaking,

                In fifty different sharps & flats  

The whole lengthy poem had many hues but act of perfidy of  Mayor of Hamelin was unusually enjoying .

The short biography of Patna starting from the great king Ajatsharu , & of emperor Ashoka , the land of Chanakya , the Indian Machiavelli ,more or less every body knows & supported by olden relics kept in the precinct of Kumrahar , which is more enjoying for Patnaites on 1st January as picnic spot along with Botanical garden of Patna , otherwise nothing more . In my school days , teachers taught me , there were numerous 'Buddhist Bihars' located in Magadh reason ,so it is known as Bihar . Nalanda & Vaishali were prime location of Buddhist India , but when Islam came to India , in the medieval period , its history was somnolent ,not at all convoluted historiography of other cities of India ,such as Lucknow , Calcutta , Delhi or Surat haves,where my Alma-mater always beckons me . 

But I am just enamored by the author , by his treatment to rats giving me an unusual dimension to  thought process .When 'Mushars' lowest caste on social ladder in Bihar catch rats & uses it as their staple food ,full of protein , why the rats as delicacy is not served in any chic restaurant of Patna . The Mushar caste can boast of an Ex Chief Minister of Bihar & at present he is one of the players of ensuing Bihar election!

       In the year 1959 , prior to Indo-Chinese war Pt Nehru was state guest of China , escorted by Chinese prime minister ,  Chu-en- Lai to various cities & in the menu  of state banquets thrown , it is well recorded,  birds intact with beaks & claws, the puppies as a whole ,well cooked by Chinese chefs were put as Chinese culinary preparations on the table making Pt Nehru & his delegation aghast with surprises . During opium war, one British medic cautioned British army , be careful of the delicacy of fried & well garnished  earthworms , which Chinese people enjoy it immensely. The wet market of the city Wuhan ,trading in Pangolin , crabs & bats are responsible of let loosing Covid-19 virus stains turning it into pandemic, then why so much abhorrence for poor rats, which is staple food for a caste specific Mushars .

It is hilarious ,at the same time thoughtful of a senior bureaucrat of Patna secretariate rattling statistics of Mushar caste & thinking of pushing rats as a protein rich food , who hoards 12 to 15 Kg of food grains in its hole dotted in crop growing field for tending its young ones . The author interviewing a Mushar says, it tastes as chicken & very testy when roasted making incisors & removing entrails ,cooked as a meat . The author saga of pursuance of rats story , its catching by Mushars in the field ,weaves a gripping story indeed .

As I was also very much interested , knowing Patna , as I live here so it is my Patna also . One story of medieval period of Patna is hilarious & tantalizing Aliwardi Khan , the Nawab of Bengal died in 1756 & was succeeded by Sirajudoulla of battle of Pallasy fame . Sirajuddoula's father  was Zain-ud-din ,governor of Patna & happened to be son-in-law of Aliwardi khan . He was his nephew also ,son of Haji Ahmed. One Afgan mercenary Mustafa Khan with his followers were used to quell the menace of Maratha freebooters ,coming in waves after waves asking 'Sadeshmukhi & Chauth'.His name was Mustafa Khan & after quelling Maratha forces by treachery & massacring them, asked from Aliwardi Khan the governorship of Patna as his reward, removing Zain-ud-din. But he didn't agree for it & in ensuing battle Mustafa Khan was killed & Zain-ud-din made a peace with his followers. During the peace-talk congregation , one Afgan jumped over Zain-ud-din, beheaded him, cutting him to pieces & started looting his premises.

Now the real story emerges . Zain-ud-din's father 70 year old , first parted his saving of 6 million rupees but pathans were asking for  more .Old  haji Ahmed was scourged  publicly , painted his face black & white  , mounted him on ass ,tied his hand behind ,paraded him in in the streets of Bankipur to Sabji Bagh,physically torturing him . His sufferings only ended , when his daughter -in-law sent a poisonous sherbat to free him from humiliation & his life .

In the book , the iconic personalities of Bihar , Mr Ravis Kumar , anchor of NDTV, about whom he tells , there is music in his reporting comparable to the descriptions given by famous Hindi author Fanishwarnath Renu & I totally agree with him I was not knowing Sankarshan Thakur is son of famous columnist Janardan Thakur , who always penned incisive columns & I made a habit of reading in by gone days as nowadays I read the columns of Rajdeep Sardesai & Barkha Dutt . He interviewed Anand Kumar of super-30 fame & narrated his story of grit & determination. He also interviewed Subodh Gupa , & his artistic pursuits . His one creation of gluing steel utensils ,& giving it a artistic shape is adorning vantage point of Eco park in Patna , where morning walkers take stroll in various postures . 

Story of Raghv & Leela is necessary to give a structural flavor to a novel , but his story of Gulzarbagh Government press  carries much of historical importance .The premises of Gulzarbagh press was factory campus for opium production. Patna & Gazipur were opium production establishment . The writer never has mentioned Magadh & Awadh were the regions which triggered the emigration of indentures from 1833 to 1907 as it was necessary for them to harvest poppy in some area of their land holding.  From the depots of Calcutta. Maximum indentures were emigrated of Biharee root & now their descendants are making names for them in Mauritius ,South Africa & various archipelago of the world as Indian diaspora.

Patna opium factory & their transporting in river Ganges to Calcutta

As a Biharee I can only take pride of their tolerant rebellion. In any era , they are ready to take physical & emotional challenge by the scruff of neck & never think to end their life . I just asked my car driver , who is marginal farmer also ' have you heard of any suicide case of farmers due to crop failure , & he  said the the suicidal story of farmers is unheard in Bihar & U.P.' During the era of indentures emigration , they adopted foreign lands crossing the sea but never resorted to suicides . During this pandemic ,the immigrant labors , preferred to walk on foot from Delhi , Chennai or Bangluru  coming to  Bihar showing their gumption & courage & I salute them !       

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

Memoirs !

 Memories are what, like innocuous stations passed ,sitting in a  speedy train or remembered like  books living in our head throughout  life & rest is like bills , we scan ,pay or discard or memories are pierced like joyous brightness of flashes ,to be treasured in the cove of heart !  It can be any thing !

Urchin with a Lattu

Though 1st time I went to school in Siwan a remote mufassil town in Bihar in 1955 but my serious schooling started in 1957 . I got direct admission in class VII as my mother was besotted from Macaulian phobia & she wanted , I should clear XI at the age of eleven years . I fulfilled her desire is a different matter but I remained a weak student in school .

                                     We had a class mate  Shaukat Hussain whom we lovingly called 'Shaukat Mian' He was adept in playing ' Lattu with long lace , which was called in colloquial lingo ' Lattu aur Latti'. During recess time ,we were bewitched by his artful jugglery of Lattu & long lace .

                                    I was student of Muzaffarpur Zila School which had prescribed uniform of Khaki half pant ,white half shirt with black shoes & white shocks . Students adhered to  khaki half pant & white half shirt but nobody cared for black shoes & white shocks . Hawaii slippers had just come in the market ,so it was craze among the boys ! Any boy who came with well starched uniform with proper polished shoes & white gleaming socks, looked conspicuous in the class  & our Shaukat Mian was antonym of this . He always came in the classroom with ill fitted pant , over sized shirt of his elder brother & shoes or slipper of different hues & colored . But who cared ?

                               He was toast of the class & the day he remained absent ,   it seemed something was amiss in the class room & I remember of him only of my class mates after elapsing so many decades . 

                            In his over sized shirt , the collar , Oh ! the shirt hid his short neck & his peculiar gait very similar to a frog made him really charming & conspicuous in the class room . When we teased him playing petty pranks  , just to listen in his heavy voice ' Lahaul Bila Kubat ' in colloquial lingo , on his vexation was melody to our ears .

                    His breaking into antics over a film dialogue or songs in teacher less class room with a jig ,

                     Reshmi Salwar Kurta Jali Ka,  

                    Kuchh Kaha Nahin Jaye Nakhre Wali Ka !

This couplet was able to break the monotony of dull ,drab classes . In class room or school premises ,he avoided jigs mixed with antics as it had the chance of inviting the wrath of head master or other senior teachers ,but he always remained abreast of latest film hits , its  dialogues delivery , its songs because it was the era of dialogue delivery & hit songs .

                  His father Karar Bhai was bhai to one & all in the vicinity of our 'muhalla' Chandwara . He was son & heir of a zamindar family ,thus master of huge chunk of urban land . But he was ego less , simpleton & helping creature Up till now , I have not met a person so simple in my life . He came to our drawing room in the absence of my father & mother ,appreciated handmade handicrafts kept at focal points in the room & my mother  always taunted me ' your friend Karar Bhai never comes in my presence ,otherwise , I would have treated him better ' & I always kept mum . His vast chunk of land was farmed under the command of his domineering mother & wife & Karar Bhai was simply a figurehead . 

Muzaffarpur Zila School  

 

One day in winter season , perhaps it was November , sky was murky & cloudy , it was biting cold , Idrish sir, vice head master of the school came outside of our classroom calling ' Shaukat , Shaukat '!

                           He looked very grave & angry . Idrish sir , was a tall fellow , age of fifty plus ,wearing white pyjama , long brown prince coat , muffler, Zinnah cap over his head .betel tainted teeth & about two days whiskers on his face was having a commanding but compassionate personality brought awe & respect in the hearts of students by  his mere  presence . 

                       In the winter season ,students had the freedom to wear pull overs , coats or any other woolen gear as per the availability in their house . Our Shukat Mia generally came in the class room wearing over sized coat , completely hiding his neck & lower tip of the coat hanging below the knee . On the fateful day Idrish sir , with holding a cane in his hand calling ,Shaukat Mia outside the class room !

                                We saw the spectacle with awe & fear , hitting the open palm of Shaukat Mia with cane , general mode of punishment . After one or two hit on the palm , Shaukat used to remove his palm like a magician & Idrish sir's cane flied in the air only. Shukat's this act infuriated Idrish sir more .

                                Now ,the real hilarious drama started . Idrish sir started to aim his hit below the knee , Shaukat bent himself  like  artist & his tip of the coat touched the floor .  The cane stroke , when flying  with no respite  made a noise of thud only , puffing some dust from the coat , happened nothing else .

Looking like Idrish sir !

This made Idrish sir more infuriated , he started to hit him with more fury & frenzy & Shaukat moved on the long corridor like a acrobat . We were looking this duel with bated breath . Ultimately our Shaukat turned victor in the duel & lastly Idrish sir tired , left him giving only harsh reprimand .

                                            Shaukat Hussain is where I don't know  , but if any of the class mate of Muzaffarpur Zila School ,I remember is of Shaukat Hussain !

 

 

 

  

Memoirs !

 I have a faculty endowed  by God ,perhaps boasting,  is power given for observation & sometimes it surprises me immensely ,how I have glaring image of particular event ,so old ,but poignantly embedded in my memory foot-prints, trifle , obliterated in the sand of time , but remembered so vividly !

Railway Train

This is the story of 1955-56 , my father was posted at Jhajharpur of the  Kosy catchment area & as I was sahib's son , given a tricycle to roam in circle compound only with the instruction to remain aloof from the fellow boys of same age to maintain elitism !

                       Perhaps ,this was the reason , I developed the pastime of observation & enjoyed it sitting on the seat of my tricycle, but for my gleeful cycling  rendezvous , I preferred the long platform of railway station . It had an old building by present standard , provided a long smooth pathway for cycling .

                   As I was frequent visitor of the railway platform , I developed a bonhomie with every rail staff ,starting from Burra babu ,the dour station master ,Chhota Babu ,humorous goods clerk & class four staffs who were performing small errands to keep the railway station clean & working . They looked after the appurtenances & paraphernalia such as alerting the waiting passengers of coming trains , weighing machines for goods , fire buckets & many other tit-bits .                 

old railway station

 

My other very quizzical marvel was small overhead water tank & a small red colored water nozzle standing like elephant trunk swinged on a hinge to the boiler tank of  standing steam rail engine & gushing water to their boiler . It was a common lingo used by one & all 'इंजीन अभी पानी पी रहा है ,सुस्ता के आगे चलेगा I '

Small overhead tank & water nozzle

But I enjoyed most ,the coming of train on the platform . I , sitting on my tricycle keeping on the edge of platform at a vantage place watching the long track in the horizon ,1st appeared the rail engine like a dot red ,blue or black  in the horizon , gradually taking the shape of a colossus giant ,bellowing jig-jag smoke in the sky ,some times thick black , some times opaque , making a shrill ear piercing whistle with a rhythmic sound shattering the platform . Jostling of waiting passengers for a vantage seat was a treat to  joyous watch as stoppage was only of few minutes .

railway track in the horizon

 

 

This was quaint but mundane affair of daily routine of railway station & repetition of it was boring some time ,but shunting of railway bogies with engine , long haul of goods train , their chugging & belching callisthenics performed in their movement, spawned romanticism . How many stories , how many dramas, how many detective stories,true & fictious are weaved around it in every language of the world is countless .

the coming railway train

One evening I was just sitting on verandah , I saw a procession of bullock cart carrying mainly rural women folk of different age group alighted from bullock cart , all relaxed seemed to be visiting village festival  in the long & picturesque circle compound  . From their gossip I came to know their purpose of coming & it was viewing of railway station & railway train ! I was thinking ,to watch a railway station is so mundane affair & these women trudged miles ,singing rural songs sitting on bullock cart, with expectations, just for seeing a railway train ! How funny!

rural women folk on bullock cart

In the whole night their gossips was in low tone , jingling of bells tied round the neck of bullocks , rasping  slang of bullock cart drivers for taming the bullocks ,glowing of fire for cooking the food , bawling of small child was weaving a real rural setup & campfire, otherwise in a disciplined circle compound .

                               In the morning ,all the women visitors in circle compound took a dip in big pond , paid obeisance & worshiped in Shiva temple ,attired themselves in perhaps in their best fineries, did their best  rural make up , got readied for visiting the railway station . A rural festival indeed !

                             I  also insisted to go to railway station in the morning to see the 'tamasha' otherwise I was supposed to go to railway station in the evening. On the platform hoard of women were marveling on every paraphernalia & appurtenances related to railway station & train . Their naivete had unbounded itself , in the mean time alert signal  of train coming was given . 

Hoard of women folk waited with bated breath of its coming . The tremors caused, the shattering sound of engine, jumping of young & not so young women from the edge of platform to middle of platform , as if train will jump on the platform, their  artless swooning sound , engine drivers in their blue dress blackened by sweat & grime looked as heroes, all made it really hilarious  & their naturalness & innocence is unforgettable for me after elapsing so many decades .                 

 

 

Memoirs !

After a longtime I am penning my memory .The galaxy of memories are unforgettable experiences of life ,some full of pathos ,some full of glee & mirth . It posits itself as paramount stations in meandering down memory lane which can't be side stepped .The present memoir's episodic hilarity gives a lesson in no uncertain terms , any change in status-quo invites turbulence & frenzy !

Washer man drying his clothes 

 We had a washer man of middle age , wiry & willowy in physique , roving eyes , jovial by nature , ready to break in gesticulation on slightest of quizzing , not caring for whiskers for days , keeping unkempt short peppered hair , always accompanying a short stick which he always kept horizontally,whenever he talked to mother. My father had one pair of full pant & two pairs of bush shirt to mitigate his official duties ,so, mother was very particular in keeping his official attire well starched & ironed . Our washer man, more or less,  daily gave his presence with requisite official attire of my father in the evening .

                     His living quarter was in mango groves which was on the other side of big pond near our designated house near big grassy field .  Water of the pond was used by him for washing & open green grassy field for drying on make shift hangers ,which is common sight near every washer man washing his clothes . The mango grove around his living quarters was full of monkeys & he kept good equations with fellow  monkeys in dealing with them who lived merrily on trees . After all human & simian race are to co-exist together !

                Suddenly he made his absence & our discomfiture grew by days . We came to know after making enquiry ,he had scuffle with monkeys ,so, doctor had advised him to take bed rest to surmount the scratches on his body & his trauma inflicted by monkeys . After one month he appeared well harassed & tired look with his wife ,who was his companion in washing & drying the clothes . Mother was inquisitive to know his spoiled equation & bonhomie with monkeys . We got fits after fits of laughter by his actual narration of the event .

Mischiveious Monkey !

On the fateful day ,in the afternoon ,the hoard of monkeys came as usual to drink water in the pond & after drinking water they had the habit of indulging in some revelry . For this ,taking one or two clothes from make shift hanger to tease washer man & this was their chief display of revelry . Washer man effort of retrieving clothes from monkeys was  always a arduous task ,but he accomplished it keeping good humor always .

For this, he always broke into antics & jigs emulating them . His jigs with his stick on both his shoulders with bent legs & many other gesture of  foolery pleased monkeys immensely & they became magnanimous enough to return his clothes . our washer man had the propensity of gesticulation in expressing himself . His keeping the stick on both his shoulders with bent legs having peculiar gate ,interspersed with narration was regaling every body present .

                       On this particular day monkeys were playful with my father's shirt lifted from the hanger . Washer man lost his cool  by seeing this audacious act from monkeys . How monkeys dared to lift  sahib's shirt from the hanger ! It was beyond the comprehension of washer man for the moment & out of fit he ran after monkeys with stick in his hand . First monkeys were perplexed by such raging rebellion & ran towards mango groves . Washer man was following them with his middle aged wife in tow .

Mango groves

  
Lo & behold ! some robust looking buxom monkeys counter attacked washer man , caught hold him , dragged him to a tree . Monkeys completely overpowered him & further dragged him to  the trunk of the tree  keeping his legs hanging in the air . During this commotion , washer's man wife started screaming & crying for help. Her breast beating with shill noise of shriek made people aware of washer man's plight & rushed to washer man's rescue .But in the mean time washer man got umpteen rashes & was thoroughly terrified . Monkeys dropped him down from the trunk with a long whimpering thud !


          When I think over the whole episode in retrospect , come to conclusion , any first sign of rebellion of any race is mercilessly trampled ! 

  

Memoirs !

Reminisces of life is a moving feast to an observant wandering through it . The culinary  items offered ,some can be discarded & some are liked suiting the taste bud ,asked  repeatedly for more & more .The passing canvas of memoirs of mindscape can  go in limbo & comatose, if thoughts are atrophied & if in perennial flow , it becomes a ready tool to pierce the loneliness ,if musing alone .

Goddess Durga on a boat 

In my village home ,the idea of boat ride in river Balan was  fabulous  . In the colloquial lingo it is  said 'झलेड खेलना !'Nearest to it in English language is joyful boat ride in a river. In Venice ,it is a city of canals where gondolas still ply & weaved many a romantic story over the escapades over gondolas ! Different joy riders on the boat in a river in Indian context has different connotation of meaning but what ever it is , it is full of gaiety or romanticism but never been nuanced with negativity & on a silvery  water with tiny waves  in moonlit night, it is heavenly .  During Durga Puja on Navami night moon was not crescent but gibbous . 

                   From my cousins & village urchins ,I came to know ,the idols of Goddess Durga & her subaltern Goddess & Gods with the monster Mahisasur will be put on four cornered big boat in the evening ,when sun was to set .It is  pedestaled on the boat with all its elegance ,fanfare ,rituals with humming of mantras by pundits. & most eye catching congregation  was of devotees with Dhol ,Cymbals ,Majeera ,Harmonium ,Tabla & other allied instruments ,all singing hymens vociferously in praise of mother Goddess Durga . Two small boats accompanying it on either side to bring elite women from the ghats on main boat for paying  obeisance to Goddess .  I listening it ,simply waited to  happen it in actuality  .   


                       The ghats in village parlance were not the ghats with steps going to river & an imposing temple over it but the ghats were known  as the easy accessible path to the river for different 'tolas' having  dip in the water & washing the cloths with allied activities .. Village social dynamics prompted elitism also . Upper cast women didn't like to join melee of crowd  for village festival avoiding hustling & rubbing with commoners so, women of different ages of upper cast preferred to pay their obeisance to mother Goddess thoroughly soaked in religious faith & fervor ,prostrating in different postures & doing 'Devi Darshan' on the boat itself .        

                   I was anxious , when sun will set,boatmen were busy that day of 'Navami' but thank God ! one boat with boatman agreed to ferry us for joy ride in the river & for 'Devi Darshan' . I was also anxious when my mother gets ready with other close relatives to ride on the boat with her 'Puja Thali' .

               Sun rays had lost their sheen & a tinge of amber was there as sun was descending to west . I always  looked towards the sky , it was azure blue ,only at some places bevy of clouds with slaty hue  were there & slowly orangish rays gleaming on the water  made the drowning sun complete over the water.  From a distance sound of cymbals ,dhol,majeera ,harmonium with cacophonous hymen was audible & gradually aura of Goddess Durga with subaltern  Goddess & God pedestled on the massive boat were also visible .

Idol of Goddess Durga in the night

When massive boat came near us & about hundred feet ,it was quite dark ,four or five pactromax  were lit & in the glow of light in the backdrop of very darkish hue on the river Balan , vociferous bhajans touching the height of crescendo , I was transfixed . In retrospect when I visualize the scene ,it was sublime , it was transcendent, it was celestial ! 

                      In my life I have seen umpteen idols of  Goddess Durga in different cities ,with different decorations of 'pandals', in umpteen postures of idols, but I was bewitched by that 'Devi Darshan'

Memoirs !

Memoirs are how much candid, how much true, how much captivating, how much sensitive & how much hilarious . Yes , it is all blended together forcing to float & float around in the state of dejavu or in surreal world or both . During writing memoirs it is confusing but irresistible !

Banyan tree on the bank of river

 In the night about 12'0'clock we reached on the bank of river 'Balan' on bullock cart negotiating treacherous flash flood,accepted or rather sheltered on the big,long nariah tiled verandah of Chetto Singh, an influential landlord of the village . My father was worthy son of his village ,so commanded respect wherever he went .In the inky night & swollen Balan river a loud voice of his retainer in colloquial lingo reverberated !

                         डिप्टी साहेब ई पार, परिवार के साथ छथीन !
                         नाव ,  लई कय चैल आवो ! 
After sometime a middle size boat came with a boatman with shortened bamboo as a rudder . Me ,mother & father boarded the boat with few luggage . I was feeling drained & drowsy, did as I was told .

In the dead of night Babathan ,our ghat on the river bank , standing there, massive banyan tree with all its majestical elan .The silhoutte of its leaves & branches in the calm inky night looked ,somebody own is waiting for us to welcome home. We reached in the courtyard of our village home ,the oozing warmth of my uncle (elder brother of my father) & his wife my ' manjhli ma' greeted  us  standing with warm smile . They offered some eatables to us ,but my mother had packed enough in her long tiffin box of many containers . I was harassed & snoozing from a long time so, slid immediately into deep slumber .

    In the morning , I was on my own , making recce in Babathan observing what has changed . Babathan was unique in our village . It's massiveness,its aerial roots at different places from its branches,its main  labyrinthian roots jutting out from lower trunk in undulated form embedded in earth ,it's round shady leaves, its shadiness , it's benignant disposition , all making it most friendly tree . The peepul ,tamarind mango & other trees of same shady ilk are not as friendly as banyan . Its protruding roots were making makeshift seat to village folks whoever liked it . Village urchins of my age telling trifles in hushed tone giggling,lolling around or indulging in antics was their favorite pastime for the leisurely time pass .                             

           I had great charm for Babathan in dry weather season when river Balan shrank herself to her bed meandering in sand dunes , when looked into wider horizon providing eye feast of a real rarified field .It made a natural slope of a dusty track by village folks particularly  more by women fetching water from the river  or doing household chores  . 
 
 I with fellow boys always looked for empty track to enjoy the manageable side slope & running on it getting natural momentum of speed giggling. Many times I slid on the sloppy track dirtying my shirt ,but who cared as it propelled me under the realm of joyful ecstasy - unforgettable !This time river Balan was swollen to its brim so this privilege of running on sloppy track was not available to me .But standing under banyan tree , I saw two or three boats plying in the  swollen river with fisher man catching fishes in their net & silvery shinning of fishes in  morning sun  was treat to vision.  .  

            I was not interested in my father's short sojourn in village warming the bonhomie with co-villagers big or small or other errands which came in his mind & largely confined myself near my mother . She was surrounded by village women seated on a mat & my mother seated on a old wooden chair giving a look of 'darbar'.   They watched my mother quizzically. When trifles ,tit-bits turned in to gossip laced with sob story of their husbands sozzled by county made intoxicants not earning much or problem of marriage of their young daughters,it couldn't be predicted of its beginning . But it was more of curiosity as my mother lived in town & she was a hakim's wife . Navami of puja festival was to be celebrated .                     

     I was suggested by many of my cousins to enjoy Goddess Durga puja village festivals at Mansoor Ganj , Samsa or Kadrabad but I avoided trudging those far off places distancing itself not less then two or three miles on dusty road .Somebody suggested why not make a revered obeisance to the idol of Goddes Durga enjoying the boat ride also as  idol of Goddess  Durga rides on big singular four cornered boat from Samsa to Mansoorganj gives  'darshan' in every ghat avoiding hustling of devotees & onlookers without any fuss . Everybody accepted the suggestion wholeheartedly !  

    For  the boat ride & 'darshan' in the evening boat was arranged !


Continued..........