Gabar Singh

 

This Diwali, my sister and three brothers with their spouses, all above sixty, decided to celebrate the festival in the village. All my stories, anecdotes and adventures had an effect on them so they were curious to renew the contact with the village after a long time. Only problem was, they are not used to dealing with the cooking and washing dishes. Although cooking was something they could manage but washing dishes in cold weather was strictly NO. So, I had to search for a 'help' to do the chores.

 People have this tendency to overstate, exaggerate, so, when I approached Gabar Singh (not Gabbar Singh) from “Saur”, a village about 2 km away, they cautioned about his proclivity for liquor. He is actually a calm, stoic person not prone to exhibiting emotions.  Even when I joked about the 50K reward on his head, he calmly, unprovokedly pointed out, his name is Gabar Singh. All through the 10 days he cooked and washed dishes for us, he kept to himself not indulging in small talk, would disappear from the kitchen after cooking, remerge quietly at dinner time. My brothers had brought a few bottles of whiskey and a bottle of Bacardi rum therefore in addition to his monetary compensation I had kept this bottle of rum for him as a bonus. (villagers prefer rum over whiskey, the stronger the better)

Not that he paid any heed to our conversations, in fact he was quite attentive to all the things that were going on, just that he liked to keep a low profile. Once, while discussing murders in villages (only a couple in a hundred years, so big stories), I was not able to remember Bachchi Kaka’s name, he immediately helped with the name even though he was working in the kitchen while we were discussing the subject in the inner verandah. When, on the final day we paid him the compensation, I expected him to show some emotion on the presentation of the rum bottle, but even then, he remained stoic.

However, on the final day of our sojourn, while returning to Delhi, Meenakshi, my sister had asked him to give a few kgs of vegie Arbi (Pindaloo in our lingo) from his village “baaghiichaa”. As discussed, we found him there at the edge of his village waiting for us with a bagful of Arbi. We noticed a trace of conspicuous smile on his face, He would touch our feet again and again as is village custom (everyone junior touches the feet of seniors, I hate it), then I noticed he was smelling alcohol early at 10:30 AM.

The Dawn

 By Kali Hawa

 

I heard a Bird
In its rhythmic chatter
Unstitching the silence.
This morning, I saw dew
Still incomplete
Its silver spilling over
To usher the dawn.

 

 

Rai Sahib

  Hazaribagh used to be a laidback idyllic town full of slender but high rising Saal trees, green most of the year. Since the terrain in Jharkhand area is not plains therefore the landscape is an undulating symphony of geography. Sparsely populated, churning out little industrial output; it was like old days Dehradun or Poona, ideal for pensioners to settle down. Roads were lined both sides with green trees. The British built this town with care. Hazaribagh was only an hour’s drive from Ramgarh through the jungle of motley trees in the most beautiful rising and falling valley. Even then, as a naïve young Kali Hawa, I used to be mesmerized by the beauty of the nature although the distraction was sitting in a rickety transport cramped full of people. 

Rai Sahib had his ancestral house in Hazaribagh. It was an old-fashioned house with a very large lawn surrounded by a high boundary wall. Lots of Saals and other tropical trees within the boundary. A distinguished family of judges and bureaucrats, Rai Sahib was the youngest among the brothers and also the least ranking in family. His wife was a chic, sophisticated but timid unhappy woman. Rai sahib was not a bully on the contrary, he had a disarming amiable nature and treated wife with due respect and civil manners, when not drunk. Even when he was drunk, he became unmanageable but never a bully or cad hurling abuses and descending to uncouth behavior. It was the exasperation and helplessness, the reason for her unhappiness.

Rai sahib was my boss, He was Dy. Manager, a position on the middle of a small company, where he was neither part of the management nor a full member of young engineer’s group which had joined the recently nationalized private firm. The firm was part of SAIL group engaged in manufacture of firebricks used in Steel Plants. The management was made up of ill-educated fellows who rose through ranks, very insecure and always suspicious but got lucky when the company was nationalized. Now they were suspicious of fresh engineers therefore kept a large distance, made us wait long before letting us in their office to assert their authority, a malicious display of insecure inferiority complex. I hope you get the general drift. Rai Shaib was also new to the firm, apparently, he was booted/transferred out of Bokaro Steel plant where he worked before messing up our lives; obviously due to his drunkenness. It must have been a very difficult job for Bokaro Steel plant to ease him out of the firm, given the fact that he came from a highly connected family and Bokaro had a very militant officer’s association and those were peak days socialism.

Initially Rai Sahib swung between the company of management (they were aware of his influential family therefore respectful to him) and us engineers. Since he had amiable nature and easy accessibility, he was quickly co-opted as our own. We used to have a drinking binge once every month sometimes in a fortnight in our mess. Some of the characters in our group were hard drinkers who could never be satisfied until dropped dead and carried to their rooms. It used to be funny as we will have our cook, a Bengali bloke, cook elaborate meal for us but we hardly touched the food. We always promised ourselves, no more hard drinking, we will eat the damn food this time but as the evening progressed this guy Ajit Bijapurkar(a Marathi guy who spoke flawless Bangla being a resident of this part and nearby Bengal for ages) would borrow a bike and another guy Umakant Basing (an Assamese) on pillion speed away to nearby market hub at Ranchi Road station, knock at some known seedy joint at 11 PM in the evening, get some whiskey at high premium and return. I also went pillion riding on a couple of occasions.

So, we invited Rai Sahib to one of those binge parties, unaware of his alcoholic affliction. It was a bad idea to invite Rai Sahib to our party. It opened the floodgates. Rai Sahib was provided bachelor’s accommodation in the Guest House adjacent to our rooms (quarters as a Bihari would call), every Saturday or on the eve of holidays he would leave for Hazaribagh and come back on Monday. Once he became pally with us, he would get hold of one of us, remove from under his belt the ‘addhaa’ or ‘pavvaa’ tucked in there. He would not care if it was afternoon or the middle of the morning, get hold of a glass pour little whiskey in it and drink the rest from the bottle himself. Soon we began to avoid him but being a boss and fine gentleman otherwise, it was difficult to avoid him. Anyway, the guy was smart enough to find out when our party is (which invariable was on Saturday or a holiday eve, began to skip visit to home at Hazaribagh where his harassed wife lived. I don’t remember if he had any children, if he had they perhaps lived at some boarding school or at one of his brothers was taking care of them. I don’t remember seeing them at Hazaribagh.

It was Diwali perhaps or may be Puja (Durga Puja, just Puja in those parts) which is a big deal in Bihar just like Bengal, and brings in a connected 3-4 days of holidays. He forced upon us an invitation to visit him at Hazaribagh, stay put overnight. We dutifully arrived at his residence in the evening hoping to be firm and in control in deference to his wife whom we had  already met on a few occasions in the past. A la carte was laid out on the table, Mrs. Rai happy to see us but apprehensive of her husband turning the occasion into a disaster.

To cut a long story short, our firm resolve could not withstand the hurricane that was Rai sahib. In the end we slumped where ever we could find a place without touching the food. Next morning, very embarrassed and sorry for our behavior we fled from that home without taking breakfast for which a composed Mrs. Rai beseeched us.

I think within a couple of years, Rai Sahib left our company too, to join some contractor. I too moved away from Ramgarh.

Adventures of Little Babu; Episode : 0

 Sometimes someone suffers but nobody is responsible. Take for example a tsunami that kills lakhs of people, puts millions of lives in misery but nobody is responsible. Similarly for a four-year-old who has not evolved mentally to truly discern fairness or wrong and other subtle causality, things happened without proper cause so did not leave him perplexed. 

Little Babu was terrified of darkness and closed spaces, he was only four years old and his world consisted of talking to himself, running around naked or in shorts and shirt, eating, tasting mud twigs. leaves; generally, live by the moment. The age was at a critical point of transition, to run around naked or learn to be ashamed of nudity, to eat by himself or helped by mother in eating, learn and be thrilled at succeeding in wearing clothes all by himself and other processes of learning. The transition included overcoming claustrophobia and go to a dark constricted lavatory away from the house across the street or succumb to temptation of defecating in open on the small nalla passing by behind it. He knew the rules but those rules were so far malleable. As already explained little Babu lived in a fantasy world, if he got thrashing, he wouldn’t know if it was justified or deserved, for him things just happened for breaking rules which were not clearly defined. 

His father used to be a socially well-respected person and in his own estimation an upright fellow who adhered to all the accepted social norms and took pride in his dealings with society in a civilized manner. And there was this commandant who also believed in keeping his command in order, in neat and orderly way. The commandant, probably a Sikh, had this habit of riding horseback to inspect his domain, to see that his subjects adhered to neatness and accepted social behavior. One day while on his usual horseback round he saw a queer spectacle, a little boy was shitting on the drain behind the assigned lavatory in the broad afternoon. Incensed, he enquired, whose child was at fault. His angst probably was, when the Army has provided descent accommodation and other amenities why should anyone allow this to happen?

 Word quickly reached his father, who was in his office. This was unforgivable act by his child, a blot on his reputation and a huge setback to his image in the society. He carried a cane with a brass tip and brass blob on the handle, in double quick time he reached home with the cane. Meanwhile little Babu unawares of the upheaval, that he had shattered the balance of the afternoon, still naked below waist, in his fantasy world, talking to himself and generally busy in his own world, heard a volley of invectives and then his conscious world became numb as his father’s cane rained down on his body with the ferocity of a man in extreme anger. Every rasping strike left mark on his tender skin and a scar on his subconscious mind. His mind in an emergency maneuver hurriedly allocated space for long term memory and lodged the incident for permanent recall. In the amygdala the emotion that rose was not hurt, not anger but terror. 

So, little Babu hated his father? No, his father remained his role model for a long time until he himself became old. He was terrified of his father and all the older people for a long time.

Adventures of Little Babu VI

Madan (Secunderabad)

Little Babu walked to school which was about 3 km from home if they went in through the fort (usurped and turned into a command hospital by the Army) and if around the fort probably another half a kilometer. Going round the fort happened occasionally when some big shot was in hospital, so the instructions were given to sentries at the gate to debar kids as they make a lot of noise passing through the wards where this big guy was recuperating. The walk to school was fun but walk to home from school was distasteful and tiresome. The road kids followed did not have much traffic only occasional trucks both civilian as well as military in trade mark olive green. This apart marching columns of “rangroots” under training also passed by evoking no interest in us. We had been thoroughly drilled home instructions to be always on the side of the road whether there is traffic or not.

Puran Sing, a Garhwali and a reluctant Garhwali orderly, was the orderly assigned to Sub Major B R Sharma. His job was to do some domestic chores like polish father’s boots, polish Brass items like belt buckles with a liquid called Brasso and generally fool around. Puran Singh, initially refused to be the orderly so he was court martialed for few days before he acquiesced to be the assigned orderly. One duty of Puran Singh was to ferry us from school in fathers BSA bicycle in two rounds. In the first round he would take Kaka and Kiran being the younger brats and in second round he would take Bhaskar and little Babu. It riled Puran Sing no end that in the second round he would not find us in the assigned place so he would cycle through the road in search of us, sometimes he would not find us at all as we had already reached home and this would really make him mad. We never followed his instruction to stay put at the school, until he returns to get us home, but this was tall order, I mean who would sit there all by themselves in an empty school while he returns from his first round.

Madan, was a nephew of our Tamil (back then every bloke from south was ‘madrasi’, even Vibha would be a ‘madrasi’ not Kannadiga) neighbour. He was probably an orphaned child, called our neighbour, not next door but a door apart neighbour as Mama. Clearly Madan was tolerated as an afterthought in his home not equal but an extra. Madan had no choice, he accepted this as fait-accompli and enjoyed life in all its glory. This neighbour of ours had a radio in his house, a snob item in those times, which blared out Vividh Bharati Hindi songs in the afternoon. Madan also sang with gusto,

जिया हो जिया हो जिया कुछ बोल दो
दिल का पर्दा खोल दो
जब प्यार किसी से होता है .......

But instead singing

दिल का पर्दा खोल दो

He would always sing, no matter how much you drill in the correct words,

दिल का परदाल खोल दो

Once while returning from School past the slope between the Nurse’s hostel, not far from home; some four five of us, talking loudly as kids do, the road was empty, the subject of steering clear of the road came for discussion. Madan bragged that this is bullshit, nothing happens if you walked on the tarred portion of the road and to show off his daring he began walking at the edge of tarred road. Just then a truck passed by in slow speed and as luck would have it swerved just a little for God knows what reason such that it’s rear tyre’s mudguard knocked at the head of Madan, sending him somersaulting in air and landing on the green grass. Behind the truck was a “rangroot” marching column. These marching fellows saw the hit, immediately they broke free from the formation, some climbed the rear of truck, a few pulled open the door of driver’s cabin. As the truck came to halt, they dragged the driver out, gave him thorough thrashing.

Luckily Madan didn’t suffer much injury although he must have enjoyed his somersault through the air and lesson not to walk on the tarmac.

Adventures of Little Babu V

The residential campus was divided in to two parts, the division marked by random vegetation, cluster of trees as well as a temple bang in the middle. There was our side and there was the other intimidating officer’s side and temple as the sentinel between them. The armed forces have tight hierarchical order, a kind of caste system where officers looked upon JCOs as nobodies and JCOs looked at NCOs as nobodies. Temple, not of classy construction was mostly visited by residents of his side.  Temple itself was bland a hall and a small “garbh grah” which hosted the deities perhaps Ram, Sita and Lakshman trio. The purohit had two sons one Devi Dutt and the other Gokulanand, they were Prabhakar and Shubhakar’s age. For some strange reason Gokulanand reminded him of Tulsidas with his long bushy aerial (चुटिया)

Near the temple was an abandoned small pond it’s walls had green moss not too deep, filled with clear water, lots of frogs in it and yet bigger boys swam in it while little Babu stayed at the edge. The kids were prohibited to use this pond, it was dangerous and a sepoy was posted there to prevent children using it. But the boys would nevertheless jump in it as and when they felt. Fed up, one day this sepoy came to the pond saw boys in it, picked up all clothes and took them to his superior and complained about boys not listening to him. Now the bigger boys were swimming with their kaccha-chaddhi on, little Babu barely 6-7 years old was stark naked. He was the only one who walked stark naked home some 2-3 hundred meters from the pond, not embarrassed but worried that he will get a scolding for losing his clothes. 

Now and then, this fellow Devi Dutt, Prabhakar Shubhakar and others would organize 24 hours nonstop Ramayan path. They will go round collect milk, chaaypatti and sugar and some cash for the prasad. A diwan in the hall would be decorated with four banana trees to make a mandap where larger version of Tulsidas Ramyana would be placed and relay recital would begin. Little Babu was too young to be included in the list of reciters but Bhaskar was given a few chances. But it was not the reading of Ramayana that was the high point for him, the night out and drinking tea through the night was the adventure of the occasion. There at night, sleeping on dari with lights on and among the insects and feeling miserable/sleepy was the real adventure.

इति कानपुर प्रकरण

Adventures of Little Babu IV

The world of little Babu was not composed of myriad complex emotions. All that came later with maturity, life at that age was simple and very basic; fear, awe, happiness and a sense of guilt and a couple more like strong possessive sense. It always filled little Babu with wonder when in the morning he saw thousands of birds, some in formation, some solitary and some crisscrossing the sky; all flying away from the rising sun. This would go on for perhaps half an hour or may be an hour. This relentless flying filled the sky with birds in V formation now sharpening like an arrow and now blunting into wavy form raising a cacophony with their chatter. The same routine was followed in the evening only this time they will be flying away from the setting sun. Curious questions arose in his ahead about these birds but as already told before, it was not little Babu’s wont to seek answers from others rather cook up an explanation himself.

The thorny Ber tree was where they played “Jhaad Bander” even though the tree was thorny they had become adept at climbing up on branches and jumping from there to throw away the short stick from the circle below.  Once Shubhakar casually mentioned that he saw a ghost circling the tree at night, little Babu, incredibly gullible that he was, absorbed the information as the gospel. Thence on his summer nights, sleeping outdoors, became worrisome so much so that one night he actually believed he saw a dark silhouette circling the tree and upon turning towards him disappeared. 

One after noon there was some buzz about a mad man being brought over to MI room. (MI – Medical Investigation, kind of dispensary for minor treatment). MI room was not too far from his house although tucked away among a cluster of trees near the boundary wall. MI room was the place where he got his shots for Small Pox, Cholera etc. therefore it was not a likable place. The gang was raring to go and have a look at this mad man, his own masochistic streak egged him to get into trouble. So, they all trudged along gingerly hiding behind trees. One thing about which everyone was certain that this mad man was extremely violent person. 

When the gang neared the MI room, a small but long shed like building with sloping roof, hiding behind the foliage and tree trunks little Babu saw a very fair complexioned, slender man wearing only white pajama, chained to a metal cot outside the MI room. The man was not very strong but the raw energy and violence emanating from him was debilitating. He was growling with low guttural sound like a wild animal and then suddenly charged with humongous energy raise his chest high like a bow and bring it down with raw power so that cot itself would jump in air. The sheer power of that spectacle rattled one of them to shriek in terror exposing their presence there. Immediately a few members of the staff chased the kids away. But the image of that man in just the pajama exuding inhuman power got permanently etched in a deep recess of little Babu’s memory.                                     

Adventures of Little Babu III

In Kanpur little Babu briefly lived in a house near the gate of campus later moved over to a bigger house on the other side with a large Ber Tree in front of the house. Here there was a large Gular tree in front of the house. In season it bore tasteless fruits similar to Timla in Shri Badolgaon. Whereas a good Timla fruit will have honey like sap inside, Gular fruit was dry, salty and tasteless nevertheless he along with other kids ate a lot of them after which his mouth will become dry, dull and lose any sense of taste. There were other trees nearby; lots of birds making nests in those trees in particular crows. Now crows are nasty birds, you cannot take “punga” with them. 

In the center away from the dwellings there was a cemented ground with semicircular pavilion where army band came for practice. Next to it was probably junior officer’s mess. Little Babu with other kids would run to that cemented ground and watch with fascination bands practicing. If it was Brass Band, it appealed to him on the other hand if it was Pipe Band, he hated the wailing refrain of the Pipe Band. If the children made ruckus, the supervisor would chase them away. 

One evening after watching the Band practice he detached from the gang and drifted away. Wandering aimlessly, he settled down under a leafy but not very tall tree. As the evening light dimmed, he began his languorous walk home. All of a sudden, a crow started hovering over him and then attacked him with his talons. Little Babu ran furiously towards home in the mean timer crow managed to hit him on his head a couple of times. It was a nightmare, a bewildering senseless attack. The funny thing is little fellows do not have a sense of reasoning, sense of causality therefore no victimhood lament. Surely somebody must have done something to that crow’s nest and it must have mistaken little Babu for the culprit.

Adventures of Little Babu II

 The world of little Babu was an inverted pyramid and he at the bottom of it. He felt like Gulliver in the country of Giants. An introvert, happy within himself, little Babu found everyone else in personality, dominance as well as in physical body was at a higher level than himself but it were the grownup men who were the real giants towering over him, going to gobble him up anytime. He avoided the grownup with the exception of his mother with whom he felt at ease and even strong. In nutshell he felt very vulnerable in his tiny world. 

In school he was nobody and just an appendage at everywhere else. There was this fat girl who was vivacious, exuberant and to top it all, good in studies. She and a tiny little girl, also good in studies, sat at the top of class; little Babu sat on any leftover seat at the back which suited him, made him less visible. He really was a loser in todays’ parlance. This fat girl was his next-door neighbour and she had taken a liking for him. She would now and then grab him, hold him in tight embrace which probably felt good to little babu, but his natural response was to immediately wriggle out of her grip and when he did she would laugh hysterically. So, one day she sought him out in class, dragged him over to the front seat to the annoyance of her bench mate, the tiny girl. Unable to protest little Babu felt helpless, very uncomfortable and doomed like a goat led to the slaughter house. 

Quite predictably the teacher saw the unusual and in course of time threw a question at him. Little Babu went blank, the question did not register at all. Overwhelmed, he began crying. There at the head of class, forlorn, weak, helpless and unable to defend himself he stood there crying the only option a little guy has. 

Adventures of Little Babu

As I have already told you little Babu was incredibly naïve and gullible. About seven eight years old, he had this masochistic streak to seek adventure and then curse himself for getting into trouble. When alone bizarre thoughts passed through his mind. One thing was certain, he rarely proactively sought explanation for things which he couldn’t understand or make sense of, rather confabulated or drew conclusions of his own about them. 

Once in the afternoon when most others were having siesta, he wandered off in the walled campus where his family lived in Kanpur. At the back of house there were stray trees some bushes and a winding footpath which led to the boundary wall of the cantonment behind which a road ran parallel to the boundary and beyond that a small flying club sprawled out as far as he could see. Mostly a few little planes lay in the far away open hanger or outside it, a contraption of clothe like a large pipe strung to a pole fluttered to indicate direction of the wind. The wall was too high for him to climb but a fallen tree made a nice bridge for him to climb up on the wall and sit there contemplating vastness of life and universe. Although he had walked out here alone but he was not comfortable, there was lurking fear at the back of his mind. He had heard of “lakadbagha” (hyena) snatching away children in Bithoor, a distant locality in Kanpur dehat. As explained earlier little Babu did not seek out, what a “lakadbagha” was rather drew a mental inference. He decided that “lakadbagha” was a man who has a piece of scented wood that would make little children faint and thus he would put them in a sack and take them away. So, when he saw a haggard bearded man carrying a sack on his shoulder walking towards him on the road, he froze in debilitating terror. Like an immobile rabbit on the road staring at the headlight of approaching car, he sat there as the man walked inch by inch past him. When the man was gone, he came to life. Without wasting a single moment sped off to home.       

Ramchandran Sahib

My first job was in Ramgarh, a subsidiary of SAIL manufacturing firebricks. It was an old defunct factory privately owned, stripped of assets by the owners eventually nationalized by the government to run by SAIL. It was located in a place called Ranchi Road because it was the nearest rail head about 40 km from Ranchi. Ramgarh was only some 5 Km away towards Ranchi, a cantonment town housing the Sikh Regiment. It used to be a beautiful wooded place. Back then sparsely populated, idyllic, lush with slender but high rising Saal trees, green most of the year and when yellow briefly in Fall, the place seemed like on fire. There were seven-eight little bungalows near the factory premises where entrenched officers lived. A little away from the noise and bustle of the factory, amidst the woods, was a large Guest House where, we the young engineers, were provided accommodation.  This far in time it looks so endearing and romantic but while I was there it was humdrum home nothing more. Since it was firebricks plant therefore it raised copious dust of powdered silica sand, China clay and other motley fireclays used for making high temperature resistant bricks. A new dust catching plant was installed but it not very effective. Workers were used to living in dust while we sat in our cabins only occasionally wading out to check on machines. I was part of a new batch of seven- eight raw engineers who had joined the company. 

The climate here was moderate with frequent showers between hot summer days. This was tribal country although most permanent workers and staff were outsiders but most of the manual work was done by tribal women called Rezaa engaged through labour contractors. These women were strong, muscular and promiscuous.     

Ramchandran Sahib

Inscrutable Ramchandran was a fifty plus frail angry middle-aged man. Wore glasses over sunken eyes in his small head with thin grey hairs. He did not possess any educational degree but tons of experience in Kilns. He was the Kiln man, a no-nonsense specialist, even top brass was deferential, to him. The fellow was always busy. Ramchandran was a bachelor; after work hours kept to himself. Since he was a bachelor therefore lived among us but kept his distance. He would mostly remain in his room only come out for dinner and then back to his room.    

In his absence a couple us, in particular Umakant Basing, who was adept in the art of pantomime, would mock him. U K Basing would make Ramchandran, Gabar Singh and in his typical south Indian style regale us with Sholay dialogues. On one occasion Ramchandran Sahib (we used to call him Ramchandran sahib) caught me in the Sholay parody act, I thought all hell will break but he merely looked hard at me and then a little trace of smile broke out in his face. Thereafter I thought he had a soft corner for me because everyday in the evening he would take a peg of Old Monk rum in his always shut room before getting down to mess for dinner. One day he called me aside and whispered, ‘Sharmaji, aap ko jab rum mangega, mere room men knock karengaa”.(Whenever you need rum, knock at my door) Not much was known about him or his family. He seemed be a man on his own. Many old fellows, who knew him from his past companies, told that he was always like that. 

So, life moved on. A couple of years passed by when one day suddenly there was some buzz about Ramchandran. While returning from the factory to Guest House after work, we saw a plump Rezaa( a tribal woman), may be in late thirties, sitting under a large tree outside the Guest house. We came to know that she had stationed there for past few hours, not talking to anyone. Later whispered gossip came to us that she is Ramchandran’s wife. Late at night after dinner we didn’t see her at her station under the tree, apparently Ramchandran had taken her to his room (he had a room for himself whereas two of us engineers shared a room). Next morning the woman was gone. Nobody had the courage to talk about it with Ramachandran. A few months later Ramchandran too left the company. 

Who knows, may be his location exposed to that woman meant she will be a frequent visitor, so he left. But that’s what gossiping folks would think, may be something else was the reason. 

    

The Baggage

It was a warm summer afternoon. Most of the village folks were having siesta, a few stray animals among them a robust vagabond bull and his side kick were listlessly grazing over dry pasture. As usual Kali Hawa was mulling over intractable problems of cosmos sitting under the Semal tree. A very dull day, not even a little breeze to allay boredom of the inert afternoon.

Just as Kali Hawa decided to wind up session at the Semal shade, he saw a well-built man heaving and puffing past his perch. Astonished, rishivar asked,

 Why are you carrying that strange man on your shoulder?

Surprised, he said, what are talking, there is no one I am carrying?

Then why are you heaving, dragging your feet along the path?

I am just tired?

Don’t you see the man you are carrying?

No.

You are carrying a ‘Vetaal’ on your shoulder?

Now that you mention, I do feel burden on my shoulder but I see nobody.

Hey, wait a minute I have spoken shouldn’t ‘Vetaal’ leave me alone and hang from that forsaken tree?

No, since you don’t see Vetraal, Vetaal doesn’t hear you either therefore he is hanging on there, making your life miserable.

How did Vetaal got on my shoulder.

Why don’t you understand, Vetaal is the baggage dumped on you by the traditions you inherited from your society, parents, and religion. You have to cast them off to get rid of Vetaal. You will feel very light.    

A Train Journey

 I booked ticket for home on an irregular train not the usual Rajdhani, nevertheless Rajdhani which takes a longer route through Itarsi to Bombay. My usual train takes me straight to Panvel, a stone’s throw distance from home but there were no berths available on it. This train terminates at VT Station from where I can catch a home bound local without climbing stairs, therefore the preference. This train is not as clean as the other Rajdhani trains and passengers are on a flux, coming and going at odd times. 

The train was not crowded, there was this trader kind of a middle-aged pugnacious fellow, a young lady with gorgeous mehndi done on her palms, looked very young but obviously married, kept talking on the phone mostly video calls and two self-absorbed young fellows on the aisle seats. This trader guy was also constantly on phone talking business, soon he slumped on the entire berth, leaving no space for others. He also parked a handbag on the small eating table in the middle of two lower berths, leaving no space to put your water bottle etc. Before, the train could commence journey another young girl arrived, she decided not to bother this rascal slumped on the entire lower berth, put her stuff on the top berth and promptly climbed and settled down there permanently. Having nothing to do, I pointed finger to the young lady by my side, “Very beautifully done.”

At first, she couldn’t understand, when I said the ‘mehndi’ she first took offence, thinking I am some kind of a molester, but later relented. Said, she had done it herself. Well, I complemented her on doing a fine job, when this trader guy also concurred with me, the lady relaxed. Soon, snacks arrived and I got opportunity to get at the trader fellow for which I was itching to engage (what riled me was his insensitivity to the young girl now stationed on upper berth). I said gruffly, would you put this handbag in some other place, showing my snack tray to him. 

Man, briefly waited for a moment, but eventually, took away the handbag from the table, one small victory for me. 

Then arrived the caterer supervisor asking, what kind of meal the passenger’s wanted. It is funny that when booking tickets, we mention our preference for meal, veg or non-veg, on website but they probably use that info for gross number of veg and non-veg meals. They always come to individual passenger to ask for their preference, so I said, ‘veg’. He asked, “Breakfast?”, I said, “Cutlets”. 

He said dismissively, ‘Sir, only poha, upma or omelet.’

I remembered the last time also I was conned into taking ‘poha’, so I really exploded, ‘What do you mean, I always take cutlets, who are you to change the menu?’

The man cowed down, left immediately. This show of aggression from me created an aura of bully for me. Everyone began to talk to me respectfully including the pugnacious trader. Luckily this guy disembarked at Gwalior station only tow hours later at about 8:30 PM, before dinner was served. One pest gone another set arrived. At Gwalior a family of a young couple with too kids arrived, one toddler and the other infant, barely a year apart in age. The lady next to me was itching to get her seat down though, said, ‘Uncle when you want to sleep, tell me’. Meanwhile there was much ruckus on the other berth across, the toddler was one hell of an active character knocking things all the time crying and demanding stuff from hapless young mother. Her husband oblivious to all the commotion sat like Buddha at the other end of the berth. After a ate my dinner, I went to wash hands, when I returned the young companion on my side had already downed the center berth. I too made bed and went to sleep, time was 9:30 PM. But no peace the ruckus continued unabated for a while. Lights were switched off and slowly peace dawned. 

These days the train attendants set the compartments at a lowest temperature setting because some jerk always comes to them complaining that AC isn’t cool enough. I find it very uncomfortable, probably most passengers are inconvenienced but they do not go out to complain. In the past, on a couple of occasions, I have sought out the attendant and forced him to lower the blower speed but now I carry a thick full sleeve T-Shirt which I put on over my regular T-Shirt. This compartment was also going cool full blast so I slept soundly until 4 AM, thereafter slept fitfully till morning tea arrived. The caterer guy saw me awake, promptly brought tea. I was still in bed at 7:45 simply because everybody else was also in bed, the caterer came to me and whispered, Sir, aap kahaan tak jayenge? 

‘Bombay’

Sir aap ka breakfast zara late ho jayega, Nasik men cutlets milenge.

Now, I realized why this guy was asking me where I will get off. By then I too was mollified so said cheerfully,

‘Forget cutlets, omelets le aao.’

He went away happily. 

At about 8:00 everyone was up, middle berths began to disappear and the obnoxious kid woke up, began raising hell. The young bride had her hands full tending to the 3-6 months old infant as well as the hyperactive toddler. Her husband, the stoic Buddha, earphone in year, remained rooted to his end of the berth oblivious to the ordeal being suffered by his wife. The young lady on sitting on my side with great mehndi in her palms, picked up the infant to the great relief of the young hapless wife. There was steel tumbler on the table between the berths half full with water, this kid knocked it down letting the water sill on the floor. I was getting restless with all this ruckus going around there, when the girl next to me said, ‘aap apna bag utha lo, giila ho raha hai.’

I realized that my shoulder bag was sitting right below the table where this kid had dropped the tumbler. I looked at him angrily with chilling stare without saying a word and picked up my bag, it was wet on base side. …..

At Nasik, this woman nudged her husband to get some milk for the kids. The Buddha, without saying a word, promptly got down to platform brought back two small bottles of scented milk. This made me thinking, this guy isn’t bad or indifferent or misogynic, he is just a creature of his environment, of the tradition and ethos of his society. In order to probe further I said, ‘Why don’t you take care of one the child, don’t you see how harassed your wife is?’  

Before he could say anything, his wife jumped in his defense, ’wo bahut help karte hain’

Now who is at fault? Difficult to say. Life is complex, you can judge yourself only, nobody else.   

Memoirs of Ramgarh

Hazaribagh used to be a laidback idyllic town full of slender but high rising Saal trees, green most of the year. Since the terrain in Jharkhand area is not plains therefore the landscape is an undulating symphony of geography. Sparsely populated, churning out little industrial output; it was like old days Dehradun or Poona, ideal for pensioners to settle down. Roads were lined both sides with green trees. The British built this town with care. Hazaribagh was only an hour’s drive through the jungle of motley trees in the most beautiful rising and falling valley. Even then, as a naïve young Kali Hawa, I used to be mesmerized by the beauty of the nature although the distraction was sitting in a rickety transport cramped full of people.     

Rai Sahib had his ancestral house in Hazaribagh. It was an old-fashioned house with a very large lawn surrounded by a high boundary wall. Lots of Saals and other tropical trees within the boundary. A distinguished family of judges and bureaucrats, Rai Sahib was the youngest among the brothers and also the least ranking in family. His wife was a chic, sophisticated but timid unhappy woman. Rai sahib was not a bully on the contrary, he had a disarming amiable nature and treated wife with due respect and civil manners, when not drunk. Even when he was drunk, he became unmanageable but never a bully or cad hurling abuses and descending to uncouth behavior. It was the exasperation and helplessness, the reason for her unhappiness.

Rai sahib was my boss, He was Dy. Manager, a position on the middle of a small company, where he was neither part of the management nor a full member of young engineer’s group which had joined the recently nationalized private firm. The firm was part of SAIL group engaged in manufacture of firebricks used in Steel Plants. The management was made up of ill-educated fellows who rose through ranks, very insecure and always suspicious but got lucky when the company was nationalized. Now they were suspicious of fresh engineers therefore kept a large distance, made us wait long before letting us in their office to assert their authority, a malicious display of insecure inferiority complex. I hope you get the general drift. Rai Shaib was also new to the firm, apparently, he was booted/transferred out of Bokaro Steel plant where he worked before messing up our lives; obviously due to his drunkenness. It must have been a very difficult job for Bokaro Steel plant to ease him out of the firm, given the fact that he came from a highly connected family and Bokaro had a very militant officer’s association and those were peak days socialism.

Initially Rai Sahib swung between the company of management (they were aware of his influential family therefore respectful to him) and us engineers. Since he had amiable nature and easy accessibility, he was quickly co-opted as our own. We used to have a drinking binge once every month sometimes in a fortnight in our mess. Some of the characters in our group were hard drinkers who could never be satisfied until dropped dead and carried to their rooms. It used to be funny as we will have our cook, a Bengali bloke, cook elaborate meal for us but we hardly touched the food. We always promised ourselves, no more hard drinking, we will eat the damn food this time but as the evening progressed this guy Ajit Bijapurkar(a Marathi guy who spoke flawless Bangla being a resident of this part and nearby Bengal for ages) would borrow a bike and another guy Umakant Basing (an Assamese) on pillion speed away to nearby market hub at Ranchi Road station, knock at some known seedy joint at 11 PM in the evening, get some whiskey at high premium and return. I also went pillion riding on a couple of occasions.      

So, we invited Rai Sahib to one of those binge parties, unaware of his alcoholic affliction. It was a bad idea to invite Rai Sahib to our party. It opened the floodgates. Rai Sahib was provided bachelor’s accommodation in the Guest House adjacent to our rooms (quarters as a Bihari would call), every Saturday or on the eve of holidays he would leave for Hazaribagh and come back on Monday. Once he became pally with us, he would get hold of one of us, remove from under his belt the ‘addhaa’ or ‘pavvaa’ tucked in there. He would not care if it was afternoon or the middle of the morning, get hold of a glass pour little whiskey in it and drink the rest from the bottle himself. Soon we began to avoid him but being a boss and fine gentleman otherwise, it was difficult to avoid him. Anyway, the guy was smart enough to find out when our party is (which invariable was on Saturday or a holiday eve, began to skip visit to home at Hazaribagh where his harassed wife lived. I don’t remember if he had any children, if he had they perhaps lived at some boarding school or at one of his brothers was taking care of them. I don’t remember seeing them at Hazaribagh.

It was Diwali perhaps or may be Puja (Durga Puja, just Puja in those parts) which is a big deal in Bihar just like Bengal, and brings in a connected 3-4 days of holidays. He forced upon us an invitation to visit him at Hazaribagh, stay put overnight. We dutifully arrived at his residence in the evening hoping to be firm and in control in deference to his wife whom we had  already met on a few occasions in the past. A la carte was laid out on the table, Mrs. Rai happy to see us but apprehensive of her husband turning the occasion into a disaster.

To cut a long story short, our firm resolve could not withstand the hurricane that was Rai sahib. In the end we slumped where ever we could find a place without touching the food. Next morning, very embarrassed and sorry for our behavior we fled from that home without taking breakfast for which a composed Mrs. Rai beseeched us.

I think within a couple of years, Rai Sahib left our company too, to join some contractor. I too moved away from Ramgarh. 

Is Hinduism Becoming A Religion?

Religion collectively is always a political grouping and its spirituality is an individual’s faith – Kali Hawa

I remember in sixties and seventies, that is when I became conscious of political and mundane world around me, Hinduism seemed like a big sponge, joined together with tiny strands; homogeneous in ways discolored at places in other ways but having no central core. It was indifferent, self-absorbed and tolerant to others who did not interfere in its system, inclusive in belief but isolationist in relation to castes and traditions. The binding was common festivals and pilgrim centers otherwise everyone listened to or cared about her/his own local guru/deity and traditions.  Back then any calander picture of deity was as important as the idol in temple. Mythology from Puranas and handed down traditions gave theological underpinning to spiritual quest whereas esoteric Vedantic doctrines were pursued by serious seers who had detached from the family life and the mundane world. It was not a political grouping purely a caste/region/ethnicity-based groupings held together by all-encompassing mythological umbrella of traditions. Since it offered no political leverage, it was ignored by all political parties whereas other religions which were political grouping were actively wooed.  

Early on there were a few political groups trying to usurp Hindu plank, thereby, trying to preempt political capital out of massive Hindu majority. But the masses were largely unimpressed and indifferent even though all political groups including the dominant Congress party, were hobnobbing with religious minorities. One reason probably was the track record of these radicalized outfits duringc the pre-independence period and the second was self-absorbed Hindu indifference and the confidence and sense of security that comes with massive majority. Some religiously avowed minority political outfits did get traction, the Akali in Punjab and Muslim League (IUML) in Kerala.  But religiously aligned Hindu groups remained on the fringe barring RSS which kept a low profile, had dedicated cadre but not the critical mass to make any dent. Hindu multitude viewed them with comic curiosity particularly for their funny uniform but they were growing quietly albeit at a pace as not to cause any alarm at political circles. It was like GM bosses dismissing Tesla engineers as ‘a bunch of engineers playing with laptop batteries.’ All this while the general discourse was still about socialism and secularism; meanwhile Congress broke in to parts engendering several political outfits all married to ‘samajwadi’ ideology one way or the other. In the Eighties after persistent failure of enterprises and inherent inefficiencies, socialism ideology began to decline, open market economy which was viewed disdainfully by the political class gradually began to find acceptance.   

Eighties were watershed years. A paradigm shift in politics and economy. Dhirubhai Ambani transformed the stock market, millions from working middleclass joined the stock markets until now preserve of a miniscule business community, booming technology and market changing from supply dictated to demand driven with the opening of Japanese based collaborations in bikes like TVS Suzuki, Hero-Honda and Yamha, Bajaj-Kawasaky etc. brought in defining change in the life style. Consumer items which were always unavailable or having long wait lists suddenly became available on demand. Final push came from telecom revolution brought in by Sam Pitroda. This was renaissance period in post-independence Indian. Not just business, politics too changed color dramatically due the ennui set in by years of tired /lackluster and unimaginative rule of Congress party. Several Regional parties rose in different parts of India and the beginning of the rise of OBC as a powerful pressure group. Politics of exclusivity and polarization began to solidify.

Mandal movement and its counter Ram Mandir movement are two defining milestones in India’s post-Independence politics. This was also the time when for the first time Hindu votes began to gel into vote banks in some pockets of India viz. Rajasthan, Gujarat, Delhi, Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh, similarly OBC vote bank’s consolidation began in UP and Bihar. During this time seeds of a core, a center of gravity began to emerge in the spongy Hindu mass. While the political face of RSS, BJP, was gaining strength, still keeping low profile yet exerting enormous influence through its umbrella organization like Bajrang dal, VHP and ABVP, RSS began to acquire critical mass quietly and the center of gravity of Hinduism. The idea of a non-formal power center has basis in perception. The core of a religion is its political seat in the garb of theology and threads holding it in the center of gravity are small but vociferous bands as enforcers. An individual reacts to situation on the basis of perception, a society reacts on basis of collective perception of its individual members. The perception of masses that RSS is the de facto central core of Hindu doctrine and has the ability to enforce its doctrine got accelerated push after Modi began in 2014. A religion has a core, whether a central doctrine or a seat that interprets and enforces the doctrine. In that sense Hindus were not adherent of a religion rather members of a humongous mass held together loosely by a set of books/traditions vaguely and at times in contradiction to each other. Now there is a seat in a position to dictate terms and rules of conduct. Hindus are therefore fast slipping into a regular religion.   

Why Performance Is Subsidiary in Winning Elections

By Kali Hawa

It is believed that caste factor plays important role in elections, perhaps it does but caste dynamics remains in flux; there is no guaranteed loyalty.  What however is true though, selling a dream to unsuspecting masses. We have seen slogans winning elections in India over and over again. It was Indira Gandhi who first realized importance of a slogan, an endearing catch phrase that connects with the people. “Garibi Hatao’ sounded cliché to me even when I was just an adolescent and yet it connected with masses. In addition some very demonstrative acts, even if very destructive, brings out a decisive character attribute of the leader such as nationalization of private banks and abolition ‘privy purse’ by Mrs Gandhi. Madam won election hands down. Mrs. Gandhi was without doubt a decisive leader; she was skilled in political maneuvering, expert in foreign policy and held nerve in trying situation as in ‘Bangladesh War’ but she was total disaster in economics and a vindictive dictator. The problem with such leaders is that they are disconnected from reality simply because nobody has the nerve to bring bad news to them i.e nobody can tell the king that he is naked.  

In contrast Atal Bihari Vajpai was accessible, open to discuss ideas, consulted specialists and also a smart pragmatist therefore produced visibly striking performance in all areas be it foreign policy or economic front or bringing social stability to the country. In spite of being the darling of the media and producing catchy slogan, ‘Shining India’, which unfortunately did not connect with masses, lost election. Whereas Manmohan Singh, an accidental PM, lacking image of a decisive leader, low profile and the bogyman of media , steered the country admirably in trying economic crisis. The performance of Manmohan Singh government was even better than Mr Vajpai’s government given that, he had no political standing, no charisma and a hotchpotch irresponsible collection of colleagues. Lost lection to Mr. Modi, on slogan ‘Gujarat Model’ sold successfully to the nation by BJP. Mr. Modi acquired image of a decisive leader without saying a word on ‘Gujarat Riots’ as a person who is willing to inflict retribution, one way or the other, to an idea carefully cultivated that majority was being ignored. In truth there was no ‘appeasement’ of minority in terms of tangible economic sops, although there was surely appeasement of clergy of the minority by giving them more dogmatic leverage. Manmohan famously said, ‘History will be kind to me’; I have no doubt about that.

During his reign of seven years Mr Modi has inflicted serious damage to the country; be it the disastrous demonetizations or botched implementation of GST or unplanned, whimsical lock down in wake of Corona pandemic. He showed some leadership in initial stage of pandemic  but developed cold feet when real crisis emerged, fixing  responsibility on states while still latching on to most controls. There has been no serious development in the country ever since Me. Modi took control of the country and yet such is his aura that he has acquired ‘divinity’. Nothing sticks to Mr. Modi, blame rebounds on his detractors. He will remain in saddle for many more years; it doesn’t matter if there is no tangible development or still more damage and injury inflicted on public.

When To Be Flexible And When To Hold Ground

By Kali Hawa

Once again under Semal tree I closed my eyes, got in ‘padmasan’ posture and started meditation thinking is it one off thing or this Semal tree is really charmed! In any case one swallow does not make summer neither does, I guess, two. It occurred to me that sometimes I am brusque which, even though unintended, offends people around me.

I am not a foodie, I do not savor food nevertheless I enjoy food. I am a frugal eater, it was not always so. I made some sacrifice to get here. Initially I had to suppress urge to eat and withstand starvation, the reason for doing it was to remain fit but more than that I hated bulge in my tummy. Gradually it became habit and then normal routine. I gave up lunch and now I am satisfied with two light meals a day this does not make me feel weak or deprived through the day. Coming to the point; when I eat, which is one less than most people, I go into a trance. Food appears to me as celebration of life therefore those are nirvana moments;, during meal I do not want any distraction if there is something I need I will sleep walk to get it therefore If someone asks me, ‘Do I need anything’, I usually become brusque because the distraction breaks my trance and this offends the person who is trying to be nice to me. I know this and I am aware of it and yet I am unwilling to be flexible on this account. This is something about my lifestyle which cannot be compromised.   

There are other times when I am brusque and rude but those moments are NOT part of essential lifestyle therefore regrettable. One should be flexible most of the time, owning up flaws in one’s character whereas rigid and when it comes to core character.

 

Prisoners of Children

By Kali Hawa

It was early morning; the Sun had just come up shining over the Semal Tree. I was strolling near the Semal tree, soaking in the earthy aroma of pleasant morning when a thought occurred to me. This Semal tree fascinates me, why not sit under it and mediate. May be Buddha like awakening awaits me, so, on instinct, I sat down on the ‘Chabutra’ in ‘padmason’ pose, closed my eyes.  

Several thoughts passed through my mind. What derives the world; is it self-interest, our ego, peer pressure, emotional pressure etc. Then a strange notion occurred to me, as elder citizens we are prisoners of our children. Early in life we made our parents responsible for us, rear us and provide best they could afford to make a success of our lives. May be there was an underlying idea that in their later lives we could become anchor for them which is largely true ( barring a few exceptions which are trumpeted vociferously and wrongly to make us insecure) but mostly it was the done thing, it was the way of life. Most of us are conformists; we like to go through the motion unless there is imminent reason to do otherwise.  As senior citizens we have a limited life remaining and all those who are adequately provided for must make the best of it and yet we are governed by our children. We are not much use to them and yet they have this strange notion that we are required and be preserved. All I can see is that the only inputs we provide are about the traditional rituals such as marriages, funerals etc. all other advices are promptly rejected and rightly so.

I say do your thing, there is little wine left in the bottle you can either save it, later to be thrown away or drink it.       

The Drone

 by Kali Hawa

 It was afternoon in Badolgaon; a little boy was playing outside his house. Now and then his mother would call him to get inside the house as the sun was beating down mercilessly. Even though the Sun was warm, the air was cool under the shadow of Timla tree; a light breeze made matters more pleasant.  As usual villagers take siesta during this time so he was all alone out in open stretch of barren land save that Timla tree. Boy was not in mood to sleep so he was playing all by himself, digging holes in ground or breaking twigs, collecting small boulders all the while ignoring calls of his mother. Soon his mother gave up. A while later he heard an airplane whizz past above him making that familiar sound. He looked up at the sky but couldn’t see anything, the plane had disappeared. But he was surprised when he heard a thud; a carton had dropped from the sky not too far away from him. He pounced on the object to claim ownership. In a jiffy he tore open the cardboard box. Inside was a nicely packed drone, thermocol packing saved it from any damage. Furiously he assembled the device and launched it up. The camera on the drone began to relay images of the village on his cell phone.  When the drone passed over the Semal tree near the temple he was surprised to see an old man sitting under it. He brought down the drone to have a clearer view. Even more surprised when he found the old man was a Chinese. 

Boy had been to temple many times but always accompanied by some responsible person, just now nobody was around; entire village was having siesta. But the boy decided to find out who was that Chinese old man sitting under Semal tree. So he brought down the drone, carefully packed it in its box and hid the box in a thick bush. After a lot of dithering he managed to muster enough courage, began walking towards the Semal tree. At the tree he found the old man equally surprised at seeing him. The man appeared in a state of shock. The boy coyly asked,

Who are you, Sir?

I am Li Jei. Who are you? Where is this place?

This is Badolgaon, boy said.

Badolgaon! Where is it?

In India, Sir?

Why are you calling me Sir? I am just a little boy.

No Sir, you are an old man.

The old man became angry, said,’ I am a little boy, nine years old. My name is Li Jei and I live in Wuhan.

Boy pointed to him to look at his arms which were wrinkled like an old fellow. When the old man looked at his arms, he jumped in shock then began to cry like a little boy. When he calmed down the boy asked him what happened to him?

The old man narrated this story....

An hour ago I was playing in the yard in front of my house in Wuhan. It was a hot summer afternoon, my mother kept calling me to get inside but I ignored her. There was hardly any traffic on the road which passed by the side of my house. I was busy playing by myself making a mud house in the yard. Then I heard a crash, a small truck had turned sideways spilling out a lot of cardboard boxes. I ran to the site of crash. It appeared that an old man was driving the truck carrying its cargo to some depot when suddenly a dog appeared in front of it. The kind old man wanted to save the dog so he made a sharp swirl, causing the truck to turn sideways. As the old man climbed out of the cabin, he didn’t seem hurt. Seeing me he said, ‘Hello boy, what is your name?’

‘I am Li Jei, Sir.’

‘Li, could you keep a watch over these boxes while I go and get a crane?

‘Yes Sir.’

So the old man went away to fetch a crane. I quickly stole a box and hid it behind a bush in my back yard. After some fifteen minutes the old man came back with a crane which lifted the truck to upright position. I helped the old man with the loading of boxes back into the truck. When all boxes were loaded, the old man said, ‘Li you are good boy. My boss is very tough on me; if one box is missing he will sack me. I have a family to look after therefore I cannot afford to lose the job.’

Then he gave me one ringet and went away. When he was gone I quickly retrieved the box from the bush and opened it. There was a shining drone inside. I was very pleased with my steal so assembled it and launched it up. As the drone went up I saw the images it relayed on my cell phone. Strangely it relayed the scene of truck crash again and again even though there was nothing on the road. And then I lost consciousness. Now I am an old man sitting here in Badolgaon.

The boy said, ‘Don’t worry, Li Jei, come with me.’ So the old man followed the boy to his house. The boy took out the drone box he had hid in the bush and said, ‘Return this box to the old man and you will be OK.’

As soon as Li Jei got the drone box he disappeared. Boy, even though dismayed at losing his prized drone was nevertheless happy at doing a good turn. He went back to house. His mother said, I have been calling you so many times but you would not listen. Today is your birthday therefore there is a present for you and showed him a cardboard box wrapped in shiny paper. When he opened it, there was an identical drone inside. 

 

Sadhu And the Monkeys

 There is a large Semal tree by the side of a less travelled road and a dilapidated temple across it. The ruined temple is home to two monkeys. Nobody comes to temple so they lead peaceful lives, drawing sustenance from the jungle all around the place.  Occasionally ascetics pass through that road to get to higher mountains, take rest under the Semal tree, drink water from a nearby dyke. The water in the dyke is dazzlingly clear and simmers in sharp sunlight, should be exhilarating to parched souls. On the whole it is a good place for short rest before moving forward to appointed destination.  Not too far away is a sparsely inhabited hamlet of simple folks, just in case one needs help one can fall back on it’s reassuring presence.  Villagers rarely venture this side of the jungle; probably some mythical curse deters them to come to this side.  

Peaceful life of monkeys was interrupted by a Sadhu who decided to settle down under the Semal tree for considerable time.  It was not liked by the monkeys but Sadhu ignored them. Given their mischievous nature, monkeys began to pester Sadhu. Initially Sadhu thought that the monkeys will tire out of their pranks so showed lots of patience in ignoring them. One day one of the more adventurous of the two monkeys, climbed up the Semal tree, sat right over the Sadhu and started dropping crumbs and half eaten fruits and nuts. Seeing no effect on Sadhu, the monkey dropped poo over ascetic then quickly descended, sat right in front of the Sadhu to mock him.  This apparently was the last straw on camel’s back. In a stern rebuke he yelled, ‘Freeze!’

It was spring time, Semal tree was in full bloom, laden with fat crimson flowers most delicious item for the monkeys. This was the best time for monkeys to have plentiful stuff to eat and make merry. Jungle had lost its fearsome character instead a kind of serene tranquility pervaded the atmosphere. It was hard for anyone to lose cool in such time and yet such was the menace of the monkeys that mild mannered Sadhu lost cool. The rebuke of Sadhu had telling effect. Immediately the marked monkey felt his foot firmly glued to ground. No amount of effort would make him to get his feet break free from the grip of the ground.  First he began to shout in panic, made wild threatening gesture at the Sadhu but all was in vain. Sadhu had no impact whatsoever by the antics of the monkey, meanwhile his mate, who was watching the entire thing from sidelines got in his act. He was angry, very angry.

In mad frenzy he began to hurl whatever he got hold of, boulders, twigs fruits, nut etc. Sadhu kept his cool and dodged all projectiles. But the effect of all the hurling on other monkey was bad. Every item the other monkey hurled on Sadhu, an inch of this monkey’s body began to turn into stone from down below. He looked at his mate beseechingly to calm down. After a while when all of his legs were turned into stone, his mate gave up in exasperation and walked away in despair. When he came back he saw an unusual sight.  Sadhu was feeding ripe Timla (a kind of pear shaped fruit found in Garhwal which has honey like syrup inside when ripe) fruits to his mate. His anger began to subside; he was puzzled by the behavior of Sadhu, became thoughtful. At last he went to the jungle picked prized fruits and offered them to Sadhu, who looked at him kindly offered half of them to his mate. Later when Sadhu went to dyke to drink water, monkey broke a small branch from a Neem tree, used it as broom to sweep the area clean. He collected soft leaves and made cushion for sadhu where he used to sit for meditation. Every day, he saw that his mate was regaining his body inch by inch which had turned into stone. In a few days his mate was complete free from the curse of Sadhu. 

Sadhu stayed on for few more days then left for higher mountains