Masquerade

Masquerade

A Short Story by Siva Gopal Ojha

It was two forty five in the morning. Adinath was in sound sleep. Somebody was knocking very heavily at his door.-“Get up babu, I am Sarbeswar.” Sarbeswar addressed Adinath as babu, not only because he belonged to the educated class but also because he was a good customer of Sarbeswar. Otherwise Sarbeswar does not address each and every one of the educated class as babu. Adinath came out of the warmth of his bed in a jiffy and remembered everything. Sarbeswar was the rickshaw puller of his village. He was asked to report at three in the morning so that Adinath could avail the Viswabharati Passenger connecting train at four o’clock in the junction station. It would reasonably take about an hour to cover the six kilometer distance by manual cycle rickshaw.

Sarbeswar had come fifteen minutes earlier so that he could wake up Adinath in time. If he came at three, it would probably be late and his babu would drop his plan for the day and Sarbeswar would lose a good fare. The man, Adinath, was so fond of his home that he would drop going to his place of work in the city for the day at the slightest of pretexts and would smilingly throw the blame on Sarbeswar for not reporting in time. He would be happy to stay back at home for another day.

But Sarbeswar would lose the handsome fare. Adinath would give at least a fifty rupees currency note in place of the normal fare of twenty rupees. Another five rupees would be given for the morning cup of tea. For lack of change Sarbeswar would pocket another ten rupee note, all of them crisp and fresh from the new note press of Salboni. Sarbeswar liked the smell of fresh new notes. His babu, Adinath gets salary in the city. Such new notes are available in the city only. Here, in this laterite belt, only soiled notes are in circulation. Sarbeswar can gauge the status of a person from the freshness of the note he presents to Sarbeswar as fare.

With so much at stake, Sarbeswar could not care the less and came fifteen minutes earlier. With the availability of trekker type jeeps as an alternative, demand for cycle rickshaws have come down recently. Who would pay twenty rupees if the same distance can be covered in half the time for five rupees only? The number of rickshaw pullers has also come down. Nobody wants to work so hard these days. People have become lazy. These automobiles have made them like that. They are neither prepared to walk nor avail a rickshaw.

It is only people like Adinath who still patronize rickshaws because they want to travel independently in a leisurely fashion, in somewhat royal style. Babu was telling the other day that he had been riding Sarbeswar’s rickshaw for the last forty years. Sarbeswar started this work at the age of twenty. So he must be above three score years of age now. Sarbeswar can count in multiples of twenty only. He was reminisce ting thus while waiting for Adinath in the courtyard.

Adinath was ready in no time and started the journey. This was routine for him. In case he had to reach office early he availed the four o’clock train. Otherwise the nine o’clock local was alright. Mondays started late in the office since many people reached the city late after the week end siesta.

The sky was not cloudy, still it was pitching dark. Only the faint light from the stars helped them to negotiate the road. Mercury had appeared in the eastern horizon emitting bright white light borrowed from the Sun, which were still some degrees below the horizon. The cold weather was very refreshing. Adinath felt very happy. He was always happy to breathe in his laterite country.

Sarbeswar was cycling fast to get warmth this December morning. He was so much accustomed to cycling on this road that he did not need any light to show him the way as if his eyes glowed in darkness. There was no traffic on this road at that time. This was only a narrow branch road connecting the junction town with its hinterland extending beyond the boundaries of West Bengal, well inside Jharkhand, the newly carved state out of Bihar.

A caravan of a good many bullock carts comes from Jharkhand through this road carrying logs of wood at this time every Monday. They enter the saw mills of the junction before day-break. They are afraid to travel in broad day light because felling of trees in this laterite country is not permissible without special permit from the forest department of the concerned state. The police of both the states would have to stop the caravan in the areas under their respective jurisdiction if they travel in broad day light with their illegal cargo.

It was another matter in the night. Police could comfortably feign ignorance if the business is carried out under the cover of darkness. The carcasses of the trees enter the saw mills surreptitiously to be converted into pieces of planks and plies and then to become objects of trade and commerce. After cutting and sizing them, they are shipped to different consumer points spread across far and near.

Adinath could not see such a caravan this morning on his way to the junction. But he could see two policemen with big torches and old rifles hung from their shoulders in canvas slings. Adinath was out an out an optimist for he thought that these policemen were out in the night to protect innocent citizens like him. Sarbeswar corrected him saying- “Do you think that these police men are on guard for you and me? They are waiting for the caravan that comes every Monday morning from Jharkhand. They will collect their dues from the poachers and vanish into thin air.”
“How the poachers reach this far? Are they not obstructed by police on the other side?” Adinath asked.
“The guards on the other side collect their dues before hand.” Sarbeswar replied and continued-“If by any chance, they miss out, they come to this side riding brand new motor bikes and complete their formalities. Similarly the guards from this side cross over to the other side in case business demands so. They go in jeeps. There is perfect harmony between the two sides. Actually there is no border in between the two states. It is only in name.” Sarbeswar grinned laying bare his worn out teeth. He was a tall man with strong bones. It was surprising that even at sixty; this man was still capable to withstand so much physical strain. Adinath learnt from him in what light an uneducated rickshaw puller holds the keepers of law. Given an opportunity this very man could become a policeman and then behaved similarly, thought Adinath. That is how life is.

“But they never trouble me, babu. They know I am a poor rickshaw puller and allow me to move freely any time any where. I have to go places with my rickshaw and I never fall sick. Is there any thing wrong with my health?” –enquired Sarbeswar.

“On the contrary you enjoy perfect health. You are always on the move and work so much that the viruses don’t dare move nearby lest they are also compelled to work like you.” Adinath tried to make the matter light. He can talk with this man during the brief journey up to the junction. Once he boards the train, he has to remain silent for four to five hours at a stretch, till he reaches his office in the city. Sarbeswar realizes that Adinath is in good spirits and changes the subject to extract some benefit.

“Babu, I want to request you for some help. I have to marry off my daughter this March. She is the same girl for whom you brought so many books from the city last year.”
“She was in class six only and you want her to be married so soon? Why?” asked Adinath.
“You do not know the environment in which our children grow up babu. The agents of girl trafficking are always on the look out for adolescent girls. They try to lure them away to Mumbai or even to Arab countries. They fetch good price. That is why I want to marry her off. She is already fifteen, you know.” Explained Sarbeswar.

“O.K. let me see what I can do for you. You meet me next time I come home.”
“A Marwari babu of the junction has given a pitcher of bell metal to be gifted with the girl. It must be costing about five hundred rupees. He loves me very much and travels by my rickshaw, like you, babu.” Sarbeswar wittily conveyed the range of his expectation. If a lesser known person of the distant junction could donate equivalent to five hundred, how much should Adinath contribute?

After all he belongs to the same village and the association with him is life long. Though there is no simple arithmetic to arrive at the solution, Adinath imagined that an amount around one thousand rupees would be appropriate. He again appreciated the intelligence of Sarbeswar. In fact all the people belonging to this laterite milieu were exceptionally intelligent. They had to be, in order to survive in this laterite world. The juice of life is difficult to extract here. The thick layer of laterite on the ground insulates life from the vitality on which it is sustainable.

No more dialogue was possible as the rickshaw reached the station. Adinath lost further interest to talk to Sarbeswar as the situation drastically changed. Adinath hurriedly rushed to the booking counter with Sarbeswar in tow. He was just in time to purchase a ticket to the city and the train arrived. Sarbeswar was paid as per his expectations and left smilingly. Adinath had burnt his bridges now. He had to proceed to the city.

No going back was possible now. Otherwise, so many times he had gone back from the station also. Actually he did not like to leave this place at all. But the wheels of civilization are now centred on the big cities. The cities in their turn draw blood from the countryside, bleeding them white. Adinath was such a drop of blood. Adinath boarded a compartment of the train with a heavy heart. But there was a surprise inside.

Normally the train comes nearly empty up to this junction and gets filled up here. But today it was full to the brim. Adinath could enter the compartment only with much difficulty. There was no seat available. Even standing was difficult with so many passengers inside. The DMU coach had many hooks suspended from the bars to provide support to the standing passengers. Adinath grabbed one such support to remain steady. The train started to move with a customary whistle and a mild jerk. But why it was so much crowded? There was darkness inside. Occasionally the lights were coming only to go away the next moment. The light was playing hide and seek.

The light was not available for sufficient duration to see every thing properly. The persistence of vision being small it seemed darkness all over the place. With the eyes getting used to the darkness and with the help of small flashes, it was revealed that the benches were full of young tribal girls and boys. The floor was also occupied by them. They were dozing and falling one above the other in the early morning ambience. It was still very cold and they had covered themselves with blankets, hand made quilts, rags, coarse shawls made of synthetic fibres or whatever was available to them.

Most of them were girls and aged within twenty five or so. The bunkers were full with their luggage, aluminium utensils, bed spreads carefully knitted with palmyra leaves and rolled up, bamboo poles on both side of which loads can be carried with the human shoulder acting as a fulcrum, and so many articles of daily necessity which these people would need at their place of temporary residence or wherever they were going.

In spite of so many people inside the compartment there was hardly any noise whether sitting on the benches or squatting on the floor, all of them were sleeping peacefully. They looked so beautiful with their eyes closed. Adinath thought that by mistake he had entered the workshop of some famous sculptor, where rows of statues in different postures were stacked.

The idols were carved out of stone and each one of them represented some god or goddess. They had been covered to protect them. The ornaments were yet to be added. The eyes would be drawn last. The work would be completed when the eyes are opened. That is how images of gods and goddesses are made.

Whenever the lights went off, someone among them was flashing a torch light to see whether everything was all right. A young man was playing a strange tune on an instrument sitting on the floor. The instrument looked like a crude version of the violin. Adinath was completely absorbed in the tune and the beauty of the young tribal boys and girls, synchronized by alternate light and darkness, as if he was watching a live son-et-luminaire.

He forgot the trouble of standing with one hand clutching at the steel ring, the other holding his bags. He forgot that he was a person above fifty years of age, going to the city in search of fodder. His regular routine of going to the city seemed so irrelevant compared to what was in front of him that he felt a little out of place. But this journey of half an hour, up to the next station, provided him with immense joy also.

By the time he was nearing the next station and was getting ready to leave the compartment to avail the Vishwa Bharati Fast Passenger, he realized that these tribal boys and girls hailed from the interior of the Chhotanagpur plateau. They were going to the golden rice fields in the plains of Burdwan. As workers they were indispensable for cultivation of rice that would be harvested in the summer months.

The train loads of young labourers were so beautiful that Adinath could not take his eyes off them. They were disciplined and cute at the same time. Perhaps one could not find such disciplined lot among this age group anywhere in the world. There were no shouting, commotion or even murmur coming out of the lot. They remained very contented. Their simplicity created a shield around them which was difficult to impregnate with any impurity. Adinath realized that innocence was not only godly but very powerful also.

Perhaps they were still in a hang over after their recently concluded festival of Bandhna, in which the boys and girls formed couples and sang colourful songs with the accompaniment of tribal drums and flute. Country wine from mahua added both colour and spirit to the festival. The boy playing the tune was perhaps remembering the festivities. His partner, whom he left behind in the remote village on the slope of some hill, might be in a similar state of mind.

Many sal and mahua trees were standing guard there protecting her. Smoke billowing from the household fireplaces creating a curtain, camouflaged the village in the mornings and evenings. It still retained its originality for the greed of civilization was yet to invade it. But most of its inhabitants had to leave it in search of food. Whether the laterite earth could not feed its entire offspring or the agents of modern civilization lured them into the outside world is not clear. Adinath imagined all this.

The tune he was playing was very faint. The music was not clearly audible because of the monotonous and harsh sound of the train. Adinath was surprised to observe that the sound of the instrument was accompanied by a song also. The young man was singing with a very soft voice indeed. Adinath repented that he did not know the language in which the song was composed. He should have learnt the language of these tribal boys and girls because they were his nearest neighbours.

Adinath felt isolated and out of place among them. Whatever it is, even without following the language, Adinath could relish the music. He could only imagine that the words must be expressing the beauty of the sky, of stars, of moon, of the still air of the night. The dew that stopped condensing on the grass briefly to allow the boy smell and find the buds that were yet to flower in his lover girl. The tender lips of his companion that remained untouched, still beckoned him from across the valley.

The dew drops and the drops of tears touched each other in heavenly companionship. Did the song mention all these or something else? Adinath could only guess. He repented again his lack of the Santhali language, which is so beautiful that its music took him nearer to god. Even if the language of the song remained a mystery he could follow the rest of the story. It was not that only the carcasses of trees come to quench the thirst of development every Monday morning. Thousands of young boys and girls also join the main stream to raise crops and feed the insatiable hunger of civilization.

The current civilization ensures better and higher standards of living for those who can afford them relegating love, compassion, warmth and all that make life all the more desirable to remote and unattainable positions. Adinath could recognize the poachers of the poachers by their uniform. But the rogues who masquerade as honest men and harness the godly innocence of these tribal boys and girls to convert them into their own type can not be recognized. Could they not leave these men in peace in their laterite world, where they had been leading unpolluted life for ages?

The poachers continue to uproot the trees and the tribals alike. Will nature forgive them? The ominous signs are for all to see. Floods ravage the laterite world every now and then. Droughts visit the land regularly. Crops wither. Insecticides eliminate the jackal, vulture and the fishes from the rice fields. How far away is the turn of Adinath or Sarbeswar?