Unknown Hope...

Zahid Ahmed

Copyright © 2013 Zahid Ahmed.

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First published in 2013 by lulu.com publishing

2
 Guddu

Late monsoon days had not made the most convenient way
for extremely cold winters yet. The morning was very much
dewy initially. As the spell proceeded, it turned out quiet
morning like other undisturbed days. And the illusive fog
had almost been diminished by this time. The position of the
sun was at early stage, later it would become variable and
unreliable. The sheesham trees on both the sides of the long
stretched narrow road had silent boughs and sleepy
canopies. The boles looked shrivelled into ineffectual sun
rays. The far off mountains as always looked hazy and
white, and often glistened when the sun shuffled over the
sheets of swarming grey and heavy clouds. The rays, bunch
of golden beams, whenever poured down like sudden
waterfalls, patches of brightness and vividness had caused
immense joy on the earth.

He was out for a while. Had a hope, and longing to see how
life runs in sheesham trees when they got actuated by tender
zephyr. It had murmured a new day’s enigma into him. The
morning soft breeze was extremely slow in pace, crossing
him like cavalier ripples. Being in ignorance but brazen too,
lustily. Deliberately. He returned inside.

“This ceramic mug is given by your father.”

“They call it Chini-mugga because it comes from Cheen.”

“When will father come to meet us.” he asked, and at this
Nana sensed embarrassingly that this little boy might get
nostalgic or at least ruin his morning mood and might delay
him reaching the factory.

3
“They both would come soon.”

“When, next week or month?” he asked quite innocently.

And expected an immediate reply.

“May be at this Eid; as they promised last time.”

He kept his emptying ceramic mug with a thud. So big that

it was tough to hold comfortably. He squatted down
comfortably, in semi-meditative posture. It reduced the
distance between Chini-mugga and his jaw. Hands
coordination had bettered. Nani poured two small cups into
his Chini-mugga. The black simmering tea brimmed up till
the roundness. It was sheer hot; the steam was rising up in
rapid gusts of vapours. His eyes broadened, he thrust his
face over it, twisted his face like a mouse and felt the hot
pleasing steam, rising up through his jaw and face. Nani was
seated opposite him, she was sitting quietly. He was certain
he had to devour the entire tea with ghee smeared rotis.
Nana rolled up another roti and dipped soundlessly, and
stirred into his indigenous mugga, and ate in haste morsels.
He finished. Stood up and went outside. It wasn't raining
then. He sat on the charpoy, which was laid in the courtyard
beneath the sheesham tree. He began smoking beedi like a
veteran smoker in a vacant disposition.

Nani and he were seated inside the thatch roofed hut. Nani
could not get up until he finished tea. Her deep gaze fixed
on him and he was untidily sipping and devouring. Stained
his magenta kurta, drops from mouth trickled down on his
legs around the locked ankles.

“Guddu, would you like to eat more rotis? If so, let me

know I will prepare some more tea.”

4
“No....Nani, I am done. My belly is full.”

“Where is Nana?”

“Go and check in the courtyard.” she said.

“Shabaash come here my tiger!”

“What would you like to eat in the evening?”

“Nana........gosht.”

“Ok, I will get along with me while returning from the

factory.”

“What will you do the entire day?”

“I will take Bhuri to grazing nearby.”

“That’s fine; promise me you will return in time for lunch.

Most of the time you do not return on time and your poor
Nani do not eat till the time you come back.”

“Try to play with other hutment boys nearby home; don't go

too far ok...”

“Hmm....ok...Nana.”

“Now go and get my kurta from your Nani.”

He ran inside and without spending a minute came out lively
with a swaying kurta in one hand. He motored around the
charpoy thrice before fiercely putting it on the rope strung
charpoy. Nana smiled and uttered nothing. He rolled up his
a bundle of beedi and safely dropped the match box into one
of the side pockets of his kurta. Suddenly, the cold wind
5
began blowing, there was low silence all around, and the
buzzing and humming had put rustling among the fresh
green leaves. Deep in its shallowness, he thought it might go
forever. His long hair got ruffled. He rubbed his face
vigorously, and Nana saw instantly generated redness on his
cheeks. It was quite common for both of them.

The sheesham trees came into life; rustling augmented and

brought wondrous feeling along with a chill peace. A heavy
sound of siren overwhelmed the pleasentability; the siren
remained in high pitch approximately for three minutes,
then muffled down invariably. The pleasentability bloomed
and resumed its sonorous effective morning. He moved off
for the day.
Guddu stood at one of the corners of the charpoy;
profoundly watching him going away. He relaxedly crossed
the narrow road, and a minute later an empty brown Tonga
speedily rattled towards Adda - where all sorts of vehicles
halted for various reasons and destinations.

It had been a few days; he had not seen the grunting trucks
passing through the narrow road. A strange fascination
swept his mind, whenever he saw trucks and black vehicles.
A curiosity would rise within him to know about heavy and
intriguing vehicles. He had lovely captivation towards all
sorts of vehicles, especially if they were in motion. He
would remain spellbound by imperial sizes, and heavy
fixtures like fuel tank, silencer smirched with soot, and
heavy tyres. He would count the tyres of an inert truck if
found in nearby vicinage. He was very much addicted to
happily inhale the diesel stink that gushingly came out of the
silencer, mixed with absolute black smoke. Often, he had
thrust his mouth on the silencer to suck diesel smell of its
burnt out fuel and gathered soot and black carbon. And
many people had caught him red handed. Once he had slept
6
between the tyres of a truck, underneath a silence, with
some of the stray dogs. Nana got complaint about that,
which made him to grunt menacingly at him. He would say
nothing, but in a bubble of revolt he would stomp his legs
on the ground and insist about himself being guiltless.

Usually, Nana wasn't that polite man for him. He would

either grunt or scold him upon finding him stubborn about
silly things. When Nana was out, for work or some other
reason, he was the king and Nani as usual submissive. He
was the pole star of her eyes. She always wanted him to play
around the hutment or in the courtyard with Bhuri or with
stray dogs' puppies. That facilitated her to call him for
occasional meals and lunch. But he was far smarter than her
lachrymose and caring prudence. He would deliberately
gulp about half a litre black tea with ghee smeared rotis so
that he could go far off places in childhood wilderness
unconstrained of hunger and exhaustion.

He was afraid of Nana and both were aware of his orthodox

terror. A few days ago he had expertly scolded Nani on a
trivial cooking issue. If salt and condiments went out of his
taste and niche then he would dominatingly scream and
grudge at her and, at times it had had also happened that he
had thrown away the empty plates and steel glass towards
her side just to vent out his old age frustration. And in
those startling moments Guddu tend to become the most
revengeful boy on the earth. He would neither react
emotionally nor utter a single word. His eyes would gain
deep sharp disposition as he would try to control his
frustration and angst by excessive frowning. He would hide
in the hut, if they were shouting and squabbling outside.
And if they were inside then he would come out. He had
always patronized Nani because she had always remained
soft spoken to him since he knew and seeing her. Nana's
7
occasional petulance had always perturbed him to the
deepest chord of his heart, and at perilous time he would
think about his parents, especially about father, who was
known as a soft spoken man in hutment series. Ironically, to
his last memory he had not seen both of them for years. His
subconscious did not have any images of his parents. And
he did not know how he could get their portraits. As he
shared a lucrative mystery with God, every day he
impertinently hoped that they would pay a visit to him a
little late if not so soon.

And that time would be the toughest time for him to leave
his granny to go along with his parents. He wouldn't
recognise them openly. They would need to insist upon
being his parents. His till now memories and waggishness
were associated with these two old people in the world. He
did not want to leave them at any cost, but at the same time
wished to stay with his parents too.

He was light, cosy and full of heart. Although, both the road
sides were adorned with myriad and long sheesham trees.
But he believed the sheesham tree with a heavy trunk and
myriad boughs stood exactly at his courtyard's border was
the ever flourishing one. It had been independently swinging
and singing with the bends and twists of the breeze with
harmonious rustling under the nubilous sky.

It could not rain right away and he was happy upon his just
born prediction. An innocent, unconstrained smile, like
shallow ripples of river had been continuously surfacing
between his slender pink lips, and giving reasons to enjoy
fleshy cheeks and brown eyes. He wasn't a chubby boy. A
fair slender boy, who sports long hair, he had seen in the
English filmy posters that a filmy hero had to sport long and
lustrous hair. He hugely imitated English actors and always
8
tried to carry the same grace and disposition that kept him
lively and extra cheerful. His mannerism was silent, erratic
and purely indigenous. But his overall semblance did not
indicate single nationality. He had not bathed today as he
was feeling a little cold and ably convinced grandparents
with the same plausible excuse. Just like other boys of his
age he too was an ablutophobic.

“Nani, where do clouds live?”

“They live in the sky.”

“Then, why don’t they remain at their home? Why do they

throw water on us?”

“Son....because we humans need water for drinking.” Nani

had always been fed up and exhausted while answering his
pesky doubts and questions. Soon, she resumed her
household chores. He was cut off and felt alone.

During the entire rain, he had asked a plenty of doubts and

questions about clouds, and hoped for an answer that would
gratify him and at the same time tried to seek a confirmation
that rain would never occur to his place. Continuous rain
had never brought warmth to his heart. He would get
confined in the hut, reluctantly accompanying old Nani.
Throughout the day, when it rained, Nani would cook sweet
rice and the black tea to keep him fondled and delighted. In
between, she would persuade him to sleep after lunch to
pass his day, but he hadn’t fulfilled her wish till now. With
batted breathe and intact hopefulness he tried to assure
himself that rain might stop anytime and he could go out at
least for a long stroll along the charry road. So that, he could
play with a long stick, to flick out the rain water out of the

9
road sumps and puddles. Rain shackled him with unwanted
confinement.

However, it was not going to rain today. Bhuri was splayed

out in the barn hut. The hut where humans did not sleep or
relax, it was meant for animals. When Bhuri had not arrived,
a muddy bitch with six puppies had made it her kennel. In
the entire hutment only Guddu was able to befriend with
that brazen bitch and her puppies. As the time passed,
puppies grew older, remained no more innocent puppies and
their mother left them to survive independently. Now, none
of the dogs had been found roaming or living around the
hutment. They might have won a good amount of territory
past the railway line. Guddu, quite a long time searched
them, and hoped that if not the entire gang he would be able
to find at least a single dog. He went to Adda, the railway
station, and even sometimes to the factory zone, where
monkeys terrorized a lot, but couldn’t find any of his dogs.
He gave upon the dogs; and calmly accepted that he was
being betrayed by dogs. With passage of time he developed
a belief that dog species could not be trusted. They were the
same vile wolves. Despite that deception Nana assured him
dogs were the most loyal animals in the world. He would
angrily shun his ideology and beliefs.

Nani had no knowledge about vagrant wild animals and

courageous humans who tamed or domesticated them. She
would always speak about goats, cows and buffalos- the
benign category.

She was incessantly bleating, and her mignon voice was

emanating from the barn hut. It had been day enough. Now,
he should take her out to grazing and fresh air. Since a few
days hay had not been replaced; consequently, turned pale

10
and reeking foul smell, quite unpleasant, causing a lot of
trouble and uneasiness to the senses.

“Nani throw away the old hay. I am taking her out to

grazing nearby.”

“Ok, what about your bath.”

“I'll take afterwards.”

Hurriedly he untied the rope, and with a strange rapidity she

rushed out of the long confinement. For animals more than
relaxation and hibernation phase, the night reckoned as a
cage of darkness, a long obsession, a hollow confinement.
Therefore, she bleated the entire night, and her meek
sounding voice got absorbed and lost in the foggy deep
silence. And not a single toot emanated from the station
side. The single railway track, epitomized morbidness and
death, lay deserted at nights.

Bhuri seemed astray, though still in the courtyard, the white

soiled courtyard. The rope had been hanging and twirling
along with her, slightly disturbing her walk, and in between
it seemed as she was hobbled completely and might tumble
down.

The courtyard was devoid of grass, even during the rainy

season tufts and wisps of grass couldn’t grow because of
human presence. And if grown at some places, Nana being
superfinickly uprooted chary of long snakes for the sake and
safety of the family.
Bhuri had been noisily exhaling puffs of air through her
nostrils while trying to nibble nothing. Her attempts went
futile. She was hungry, searching green and fresh grass.
Guddu held the rope from back and pulled towards him with
11
a jerk and said, “Let’s go for a huge pastureland, which lay
on that side of the road.”

Bhuri being his submissive follower had been pacing along

with him. Guddu was casual, his hands holding the rope,
and the nape of Bhuri was parallel and both were striding
out at equal pace. Guddu was a darling to Bhuri and vice-
versa. But, still he was holding the rope lest she could go
astray or got involved in the vagrant jerks if she got
disturbed by very fast rattled truck. Guddu couldn't risk her
life to a casual road accident. Bhuri was the biggest pass
time object to him. Her presence was an anodyne to his
hidden loneliness.

Despite a son of a well-known father he had been living in

the hutment for a long time. Meanwhile, he did not know
what childhood meant for? What sort of schooling and
activities he should have been indulged in? He lived every
day. Every night slept cosily. But, his heart, seldom says
something else! Demanded what had not been introduced to
him. He did not know where exactly he belonged to? A
subtle waiting instinct perturbed him. Therefore, he
wandered a lot, visited uneven places, where on the other
side, boys of his age were found in schools or at
playgrounds.

He had not come enough to get hold of memories, neither

had he met many people whom he knew. He did not have
brooding behaviourism but pondering countenance.
Inevitably, childhood instinct with farrago of doubts, fears,
wishes and hopes had always swayed his mood and kept
him engrossed and engaged in some or other sorts of
planning and demeanours. He lived in some kind of never-
never land where people didn't have to accept
responsibilities for their actions.
12
After walking about half a mile, the main charry road went
straight. In summers bullock-carts, buses and personal jeeps
and cars, and trucks rumbled on; not that frequent way as it
were in big cities. The hutment line had just ended. He took
a stance, and stood beside a gray sarkari hand-pump. Its
raised circular boundary had shallow and stagnant puddles
of water at different places within its rounded vicinity.

Bhuri sensed water and felt thirsty; the rope from his hands
began loosening up. He gave up the rope completely. Bhuri
with gusts of strong smelling puffs began drinking water
from the stagnant puddles. Ripples were less frequent and
very tiny to be noticed by wind. The sun rays had been
occasionally twinkling and zingling, niggled with clouds,
passed through the cold breeze to made route among the
dense dangling boughs of sheesham trees, which stood
randomly, and were interspersed far beyond his sight. The
soil around the sarkari hand-pump was muddy and the grass
reeked grumpiness and looked slippery by nature. Guddu
utterly hated grumpiness. Consequently, grumpiness would
compel him to wash hands and limbs, and he was dreary
afraid of chill water. Mostly, hand-pumps of his region drew
out chill water, much chillier than the day's average
temperature.

Stagnant pools of water had been muddied as Bhuri shook

her nose and mouth desperately. The deposited red mud and
conserved layers of soil around made it turbid, no more
potable for animals. However, crows drank the same water
from there. Guddu, watching this inhuman scene, jumped on
the cold long iron handlebar of the hand-pump and with full
power hung upon it, and by force, by his weight, the handle
buckled, cranked, it came down and after a second or so, a
fall of beautiful water poured out of it. Essentially fresh and
pure water! He uplifted the handle bar, feeling the thrust on
13
his shoulders. It had been raised to the enough height to
bring down. He had been performing this frolic activity
continuously, the rounded vicinity became full of foamy
streams, pool had been revived, mud soiled away. And
Bhuri had galore of water. She was satiated; her wide eyes
sparkled as she got exposed to the bunch of vivid sunlight.
Then, she turned away from the rounded cemented pool, and
then in a moment Guddu left the clunky hand-pump, and got
prepared to go across the road. He had a sharp gaze,
measured a long distance. No vehicle in the sight from both
the sides. Absolutely barren and shady. They had plenty of
time to stroll across the road. Often stray dogs got bitten and
beaten by speeding away trucks. One day it was a horrible
view, in the middle of the road a black dog with an open
belly, crushed up limbs, and almost disappeared tail was
scattered in pieces, the mouth was open and the blood filled
intestines were littered around the road. The vultures and
crows were hovering around and in available chances were
eking out their share.
But, that was common for dogs; it did not matter when a
dog die on the road.

Thence, the road to the railway station was elevated,

straight, narrow and full of tiny puddles. It had not been
repaired or reconstructed for years, the dilapidated condition
indicated even before his arrival at this place. However, he
knew not when he had arrived here. And the old people
never told him too.

He left Bhuri outside the huge entrance. She began nibbling.

And there, many other goats and buffaloes were pasturing,
the land was teeming with swaying grass and flourishing in
blue wild flowers. And equally dense enough for clandestine
activities. There, Bhuri was safe with other benign grazing
animals and to his surety it was not dogs’ dominant zone. It
14
was the perfect pastureland in the entire Mazhola.
Significantly lush green and thick, and surprisingly it
remained in the same flourishing quality throughout the
year. Guddu would often come here to while away the day
with Bhuri.

He did not heed at the ticket window. It was open. Many

passengers were waiting on the platform. Upon his left a
sarkari hand-pump was getting used by throng of
passengers. The dimensions of the pump were the same; he
had used and seen some time back. A few yards ahead from
that pump stood a huge white cemented board, on two legs.
It was painted in shining colours, combination of white and
black. Against the white background, ‘Mazhola’ in Hindi
had been inscribed on it. That board marked the starting
point of the station, and the platform. Beyond that juncture,
just behind it, a land of different green denseness fell,
almost inaccessible except to the coal trains.

That could not be considered a grazing or perfect

pastureland. It was a renowned quagmire place. Tall wild
grass and other sorts of wild species fostered there. Walking
through the coal laden railway track was the only option to
pass it, to reach to a safer land. It had been heard that every
year half a dozen animals got trapped there and never
returned. It was such a haunted bog to tread over.

Guddu did not know from what end train would come in?
Most of the passengers were seated on the rasped floor of
the platform. And some were dozing off on the broad
elevated cemented edges of the iron poles. The iron poles
supported the platform shade. It was lofty enough to remain
undisturbed by hands. It was made of heavy black jute
material. And had ripples like crest and trough architecture.
It was said that the station was very old in Mazhola's
15
railway history. It was built by the early Britishers. Since
then no changes in modern conveniences had taken place.

The entire platform shade-roof was hung on the two iron

poles. It wasn't a junction or huge platform. Guddu sat on
one of the vacated iron pole's edge. And pretended he was a
passenger, desperately waiting for a late running train. In
between, he would stand on the extreme edge of the
platform, below some feet laid two railway tracks. Richly
filled with shrivelled coal pebbles, the track was dirty and
damp by previous night’s rain. His heart was pounding and
beating anxiously to see a train. Every time he would come
with new and fresh anxiety. He felt little uneasy about
Bhuri, in a gush he ran fast and came out of the station.
There, Bhuri had been leisurely grazing, lurked no danger of
dogs’ attack or abduction by any plunderer. His eyes got
closed as he heaved a sigh of relief and reverence for God.

He came back to the same pole, now it was full. A few

women in traditional Hindu garb were conversing loudly.
Seeing him standing alone in front of them, one of the kind
women called him and indicated to sit beside her. He shook
head in refusal. He was pacing up and down watching the
mixed crowd on the platform. The moments would be
precious to catch the sight of an arriving train. A filthy
hawker passed by carrying a wooden tray hung to his neck
and belly, selling paan, beedis, matchboxes and cigarettes.
He was the lone vendor present in the entire station. No tea
stall, no food counter. It was a mild and quiescent station,
not glamorous and glorious like big junctions.

He did not have courage to ask about direction and time of

an arriving train. He had to wait for some more time.
People, children and animals had been freely crossing the
railway tracks to go on another side of the station. From the
16
extreme edge of the platform, for both the ends, the sight
provided clear and straight judgement. He could easily see a
train was coming almost a mile before. He began walking in
one direction, where station master's cabin ended and one
more cabin adjacent to it. The shade ended there. The
platform continued even after those cabins. He had been
advanced to the open platform. Its width had been narrowed
from the main platform, long and at a stretch. That side was
deserted, two stray dogs had been splayed out legs and
sitting quite lazily. Guddu fixed his gaze and tried to
recognize whether they belonged to his barn or were
strangers. Dogs did not heed at him, it meant they were
strangers. He walked ahead, again the juncture of white and
black background, had the same words in the same language
and the font. That juncture marked the end of this side of the
platform. The empty platform zone, from the outer side it
was fenced by strong criss-cross iron strips. Somewhat
identical material used by railways. The fence was painted
in white paint.

Patience ran out, he became obsessed to see a train. That yet

had to come on the station other than his subconscious. It
had not arrived yet, and ironically from what end it would
appear into sight? For the last two days he could not come to
the station as he was going away with him, to Adda to fetch
some ration and other house hold items. And in the evening
it rained heavily for both of the days; hence, the last two
days were empty and boring for him. His childhood instinct
and sight was got bereaved of the fanciful sight that awed
him most. Despite being absent, he heard the toots, the
heavy toots, cranky pushing and pulling of the pistons, and
the gradual rattle, which slowly faded when train chugged
out of this sub-urban place. Then, on an impulse, he would
compel himself to run towards the station to see the leaving

17
train. But that never happened because of that old man’s
strictness.

From his hut, the station's white painted fence was

obscurely visible but never provided a clear picture because
of in between brick homes and dense canopies of sheesham
trees. The sound would reach to his hut and even beyond,
unrefined, in purest form. However, he could only see the
clump of thick black smoke that emitted with force, with
advancement, in series of gusts.

He stood a few yards away outside the station master's

cabin. With great depth of apprehension trying to see what
was inside the cabin. Other than a dark brown table he could
not see other antiqued accessories. And upon that table two
lanterns had been laid, one with red glass, and another was
green.

A heavy toot began stirring in the air. It was a huge sign of

arrival and presence. And it had not stopped yet. It was
howling a mile before. It was excessively continuous,
engaging, pleasing and morbid at the same time. His senses
filled with gripping fervour. His eyes sparkled, burning in
strange rage. When the heavy train occupied the entire
station, invariably, they had to resist sets of tremor for a
while, at those moments there would be shaking of immense
thumping and quivering, and things would hallucinate,
radiate strong feelings of extraordinariness and fragility. A
strange dizziness stirred him. His conscious caused strange
obsession into him, into his insight, might be mix of both-
phobia and excitement. It was stunningly fearsome as it
overcame the platform track. He needed courage to
withstand the passing waves along with the facade of the
black coal engine. The train had come from Tankapur end, a
slow approaching heavy, black and morbid figure. Wisps
18
and whirrs of steam were vagrantly descending and
ascending all over the structure. And had a huge flash light
just on the top of the roundness, beside a tiny British flag.

He stepped back in fear, though the distance was quite

enough. It would take a few seconds to fill that distance.
And the morbid engine overwhelmingly jostled everything
aside and went ahead. He stood holding the grip of the iron
pole tightly. Red peaceful bogies and sudden hubbub of
passengers relieved him, and he was back to the normalcy.
He was still being afraid of falling onto the track,
underneath a moving and whistling train. His wild
imagination could not leave him. A coal train's engine was a
source of different sounds at a single time. The engine part
had been passing him and the shaded platform, and the
sizzling and chuffing sound was lowered.

A man from the engine's cabin threw a circular ring, and

quickly took the new one from the station master's hand
while train was moving. The engine part had crossed the
shaded platform. And went ahead, halted at the end of the
open platform. And rest of the platform track was occupied
by red bogies. Hardly a few passengers got down. And the
waiting passengers got on the different bogies, as they found
space. Arrival of the train had shattered the silence and
ambience of the station. The passengers moved in and
moved out, settled and some got out and began walking out
of the entrance.

His gaze was not fixed on the getting off passengers because
he was partially aware that his parents would come by
different train. That train would come from the opposite
end. Not from Tanakpur end. He assured himself that his
parents could not be the passengers of this train. Though he
was not so excited and hopeful about their coming still there
19
was an unknown hope and anxiousness that says that one
day either parents or his father alone would get off one of
the trains. He had heard from the hutment folk that his father
was a big shot and his mother a beautiful lady, who had
gained a queenly status just after marrying his father.

Sizzling of steaming was irregular, at the same time

unstoppable too. The black engine, which fuelled on coal
and water, was not off. It was stood almost out of the
station's territory, holding the chain of bogies like a
responsible monstrous brother. A push back occurred among
the bogies, indicated a movement, iron wheels rattled
heavily, followed by strong toot that lasted almost for a
minute. The presence was felt everywhere, even to the
farthermost hidden star that might shone to-night.

Guddu's eyes would like to turn lachrymose as the train

began rattling along with the continuous strokes of chuffing.
And inevitable it was, the train did not halt there for long
time, bogies one by one crossed him and the pole beside he
was stood tightly and tethered. He began counting, but could
not as he didn't know how many bogies had gone ahead him
and that shade supporting pole. Bogies moved fast, at this
speed nobody could get in or got off! It was dangerous
speed. He frightened more, shrank more than usual and
strode a few steps aback, towards the cabins. All the bogies
had been out of the platform, from his parallel sight, upon
the last bogie, upon the black background a huge white
cross X was marked, indicating the end of the series.
He became light and relieved and carefree. Then, he came
ostensibly ahead and stood at the extreme edge of the
platform quite fearlessly, as nothing had frightened him
some minutes ago. And futilely stared straight at the
mountains and at the skies around them. The skies were
mingled in the bluish spirals. He suspected about the
20
haziness of the far off stood mountains. They might be in
Tanakpur, he thought. He jumped off the platform, and soon
was in the middle of the track. He leapt, and staggeringly
crossed the track, and began walking on the track, to the
adjacent lying track, which was rarely used by trains. It
wasn’t a permanent track, and Guddu was sure after some
distance it merged into the final track. He was walking
towards Tanakpur side. He came out of the station
environment. While walking he stared back, to see if a train
was coming or not. It was a lonely track. He wildly peed in
the middle of the second track, picked up a stick and
resumed walking while carefreely hitting the burnt coal
pebbles. The track curved slightly and it was leading into
the final track. He had crossed the mysterious bog zone, and
was way ahead in his own rumination. Wild vegetation had
been started, except the lone track there wasn’t any other
passage or tracts of land. The sharp and wild grass had
wildly begun covering the track from both the sides. With
the stick he fearlessly began beating the hovering tall and
wild grass, to make his walking obstacle free. He looked
back, descried out that he had covered a lot distance. He was
feeling under the green and hovering cave of tall sharp
grass. As he came more inside, the wind, that was passing
through the track as a safe route converted soft soughing
into queer bombination. He wished to go back to the station.
He sensed it quite adventurous and risky to explore the track
further, without anybody’s company. While returning he
found a piece of white cloth which was hung in the swaying
grass. He jumped thrice, did not reach, then he throw the
stick fiercely. Collected the both. It was a handkerchief, had
numerous blood stains. It reeked nothing other than wild
imagination and guess. Was little moist. He threw it away in
disgust. As the day was cool and cloudy, he did not perspire.
He was back, towards the station. All of a sudden the sky
roared, and sprinkled fat drops, tapping hard against the
21
littered around stone and burnt coal. He sensed a frightening
portent for the heavy down pour. He began running, left the
stick, behind him. He was half drenched by the time he
could get under the shade of the platform.

His face turned towards Nyoria Hussainpur end. He thought

the train might have been reached quite far. The rattling and
chuffing had fallen to the faintest tick. A new beginning
woke up in his heart. He would come again to see the
evening train that might come from different end, from his
expected end, as that end was his favourite. He knew he was
hopeful that he was a condign child to deserve the parental
love too. And grandparent’s affection and love was
bestowed upon him by almighty God.

Rain had returned to the deformities of the sky. The sun

became bright now. The rest of the day he lay on the velvety
rich grass and keenly watched his goat – Bhuri. Bhuri was
his darling and vice-versa. Both would sense each other and
look for each other when not seen or met for a long spell in
the day. A fascinating bonding had been grown up between
them. She had been lovingly nibbling with a captivating
earnestness. Other goatherds and cowherds had been
decreased. A few of the boys had gone inside the station
with food, bundled in a dirty piece of clothing. He watched
them profoundly and thought of Nani, she might have
waited for him during lunch hours. He was sure that she
would be still waiting and asking neighbours about his
location.
It seemed to him as the day wore on. He decided to move
off towards the cluster of huts. Nana would reach home just
after the Maghreeb Namaaz. If he found him out or late than
him, he would surely scold him in a heavy tone. And Guddu
was particularly afraid of his heavy voice.

22
He did not know what time exactly it was then? He was
comfortably looking straight at the sky, at the slanting sun,
on normal days it settled towards the railway station's
direction. Behind the far off stood mountains. The sun had
been out for a few hours and the rain clouds did not maze or
obscure it so frequently. The Maghreeb evening might fall
anytime. He caught hold of the rope, and began leading
Bhuri. At the end of the narrow road, the chaat vendor's
house was open; two women had been washing clothes and
utensils at their private hand-pump. And beside the hand-
pump, a few yards away a black dog was lying drowsily
against the leeside of the brick wall. Guddu became
courageous and alert too, he came close to Bhuri, still
holding the rope tightly. The chaat-thela was not there, and
he apprehended the vendor would return in the late evening
from Adda. Mostly chaat vendor set out for the market road
just after the last spell of the day. Therefore, he became sure
that evening was not so far away. He hoped reaching home
before Nana.

When he was near the courtyard he let the rope go and Bhuri
jerked into the courtyard. One charpoy was laid out in the
middle. Upon hearing Bhuri's hoot and unnecessary bleat,
she came out of the hut. Guddu stopped straight at the hand-
pump. He stroked two to three hands with a gust of force
and filled his throat with chilled sweet water. He washed
bedraggled toes and ankles, and hands till the elbows. He
washed face too. A dishevelled appearance transformed into
a decent look.
His eyes were little haggard, and shrinking in starvation
although he did not urge her to gave him something to eat.
He thought, and then preferred to wait till dinner. He sat on
the inside charpoy, and then lay down, limbs and hands
were wide spread. Nani began clanking soil painted earthen
utensils and raked the fire in no minutes time in chulha. She
23
had warmed masoor daal. Soon she put some cold rice and
sizzling masoor daal upon the cliff of rice and handed to
him. He gained sitting position and ate gladly. He did not
speak to her. Nani had given up scolding him for this food
habit nuisance. Every day he would follow the same routine
and artfully skip lunch. He had been growing more vagrant
than expected at his age. Nani was worried about his
vagrancy and lost status, but could not afford to complain
Nana, as she knew, then he would become more impudent
with strings of angst and vengeance. She clearly recognized
his inner child and wild instinct.

She had been come quite down on the passage of senility.

Physicality had been normal, only for normal day to day
cooking and brooming and cleanliness. Chasing Guddu
unnecessary, and forcing him to abide by normal caretaking
protocols would enervate her, and perhaps she might die
before he stepped into teenage phase. Guddu did not know
anything about them. How old were they? Where did they
come from? How they were his maternal grandparents? And
he could not differentiate between middle age and
senescence. Invariably, he used to think that they were his
life time companions. What vagaries and phases would
surface, he was completely oblivious of all sorts of
philosophies of change.

He finished the cliff of rice, flooded with dark and aromatic

daal. He ran straight to the hand-pump with difficult élan he
uplifted and down lifted the handle and in one stream he
washed his little hands, then with the second stream he
washed the handle. And so on, and with many streams he
completed basic washing requisite after meal.

Nana might come in sometime, just before the final sun set.
Then, invariably, Nani would make tea for everybody. He
24
lay on the charpoy, and stretched himself with a feel of
royalty and repleteness. The gone train of the morning had
been still rattling in him and his thoughts were continuously
chasing it; and imagining and reflective it again and again. It
was thrilling and fun frolic to catch the sight of the train.
The road kept the rattling of vehicles and motors alive but
trains' toot was unique, and matchless to his senses. The toot
filled everything, for many miles ahead and behind.

He had also heard that train did not toot frequently like tiny
buses and ugly trucks. Every toot held a signal, a message
for far off people and flora. He wished he were living
around or near the railway line or the station. Nana and Nani
once had said that his parents travelled a lot by trains. And
she had also reported that Guddu had been carried on a train
when he was very small, a child of her mother's lap. Since
the day he began understanding the motors and the trams of
the world transport he did not get any chance to travel by
train. He had touched the halted bogies a handful of times.
Often, he feared the train would begin moving with an
unexpected jerk and he might fall down or slip down on the
railway track between the iron wheels. And mercilessly
trampled and killed by red train. That fear lanced him to the
bone; therefore, till the time train halted completely he
would tightly cling to the iron pillar upon which the shade
rested.

The 7.30 train might come on time. He hoped so. He would

wait for its heavy and long toot. He had never seen the 7.30
train, basically of two reasons, Nana did not allow him to be
out during the darkness and it was fearfully believed that the
narrow road filled by plunderers and wild dogs during the
dark hours. It was his wish to see the colour of the evening
train, which exactly arrived at 7.30 hours. How it looked
overall. And interestingly how a train moved through the
25
darkness? What happened to clump of smoke when it rises
in the sky in the moonlit night? How it functioned and
looked in the night. What kind of passengers sat in that
train? Whether children of his age peep outside the door and
window? How morbid and heavy engine pulled its bogies?
How many bogies clacked and rattled in a line and pass
through that lonely railway track, which was horrendously
covered by swaying wild grass from both the sides?

Premeditatedly, she began cooking and set the tea on the

mini hole of the chulha. Her preparations were gawkishly
aloud. Soon, the fast smoke emitted out of the chulha, filled
the hut ambience. Began suffocating him, imminently,
vitiated his imagination. He got up with a jerk and came out.
The rain clouds had made an evening a deep evening before
its usual spell.

Bhuri with the same obedience like other days was seated
inside the barn which was unlit yet. The courtyard was
empty, perhaps Nani had sensed the mood of clouds during
her long stay at home in the afternoon. It had now become a
tenebrous evening. Black clouds were swarming
enthusiastically, seemingly floating very low from the top
perch of the sheesham tree. Guddu thought rain would come
in torrential form, full of wilderness and obsession to
destroy poor people, with horrendous striking and heavy
blow of storm. If that happened, he was sure Bhuri would
die as soon as the thatch roof would blow away. He was
aware that Nana hadn't spliced up the barn thatch with
perfect masculinity last summer.

The living hut was fostered by soiled walls, and the shade
was made of double thatch spliced nicely, perfectly and
tightly to the eucalyptus logs. The courtyard was deserted
matching his heart. Whirling wind laden with dust was
26
traversing one end to another, as high tides criss-crossed in
tenebrous and disturbed seas. The wind, under the black,
gloomy and heavy clouds gained speed noticeably. The
clouds went berserk, merging and raging and jostling in
monstrous wilderness. It was amazing, but at the same time
a little morbid to see such abnormality in the vast sky. More
clouds added from behind and just above him space was full
of blackness, it had become the rayless world for him. He
wondered how Nana would come if he was on way home.
And the 7.30 train might not come tonight; perhaps it would
halt in the midst of jungle to avoid danger passing on the
narrow gauge. He did not know what time it was? But he
was sure the day had gone to its home, would come
tomorrow with his big brother – the sun. His instinct had
made a tale; assumed day and night brother and sister.
Always collided with enormous enmity.

His position was near the sheesham tree, the unrestrained

wind was blatantly trying to unclad the lofty trees. It was
causing through rustling and soughing, minor and weak
boughs and twigs had been falling down like slabs of rocks
in a landslide zone. Many nests might tumble down, might
break and flown away by this raging wind. Many babies and
eggs would be destroyed mercilessly and birds had to live
with distraught grief tonight. And he found, there a solitary
bird in the entire sky, flying and stalling wishfully and
luxuriously just inches below the floating and passing by
clouds. How could it sustain the flow of the wind? He hoped
very soon the bird might grope in the clouds and might
appear as a wet bird. Its beak was upward, towards the
floating sky. It had been enjoying circular and long flights,
as it was floating in the wind at her wish. It could be an
eagle he pondered, so mighty and fearless, so free in such
terrible wind and about to pour clouds. Its presence was
unique and matchless; the only bird in the sky, companyless,
27
and its colour was not definite. Guddu had the final joy
seized out of the day. He was so happy and excited to listen
the pitter-pattering of the torrential downpour but the only
worry was Bhuri.

And at far off distance, beyond the railway crossing and the
hidden shade of the station, the trees of different heights and
variable canopies firmly silhouetted against the sky. The sun
had been hid before it could set. Guddu did not know where
the sun had gone and settled. At here, above and around his
home and the hutment string, the day was gone for the day.
It would not come back. The next morning might bring
vividness and brightness. But the premonition of storm
continued. No respite took place in the sky; it could be
possible the storm might shift to nearby town or village. But
it was hugely depended upon the speedy winds, which had
been steering up the cloudy clouds. The fantasy of the
floating clouds, the wilderness of the spreading darkness
and the solitary bird kept him bewitched.

In summers this scenery never occurred! He remembered a

day when the sky was burning and emitting orange-red rays.
Particularly, had flamy disposition everywhere and the sun
was coming down at its pace. That day the rotund huge sun
was clearly visible to the entire habitants of Mazhola, so to
him. It had been settling just behind the far-off canopies of
the various trees, and the electric wires looked like threads
through that image. That was full of deep Maghreeb that
evening. And now everything was darkish blue and soon
transformed into kajal black.

Everything became furious today, even the gangs of stray

dogs being seen running hard parallel to cars and jeeps. He
felt a heavy tinge and soon it melted on his head, it was a
drop, from the clouds. And a signal that rain had begun
28
nearby. He outstretched both hands and soon felt the
occasional burst of rain drops on the palms.

Nani screamed at him and he was brought back to the hut –

the living hut.

“My son hot tea! Drink it.”

“Your Nana would be on the way home.”

“Yes Nani.”

“I have partially begun cooking and still your Nana has not
come up with the evening meal stuff. Isn't he a careless
man? she cried.

Hmmm.........he grunted while his mouth was full of tea. He

liked whenever she had scorned that old man. Who wore a
white cap and sported white long beard? Nana had come,
heavy torso was drenched, and holding the water dripping
cap in one hand and evening meal stuff in other. Guddu had
finished the black tea.

“Would you like to drink more Raja Saheb?” he asked

smilingly.

“No.” Nani covered him and replied on behalf of him and

said further bit angrily, “He is going to have full and
complete dinner tonight.”

“Today your Nana has got gosht for you.....son.” Nana

interrupted sneeringly. Gosht dishes were being his
favourite food.

29
“Gosht fry for him.” Nana said teasingly. And he wanted to
see what kind of ecstasy would blossom on his white face.
He grinned shyly and said, “Then, cook fast, I am
hungry.........Nani.”

“Ok beta, but don't go out, it has started raining.” Nana lit a
beedi upon finishing the tea and sat on the charpoy. And
Guddu sat beside the chulha and carefully observing Nani,
she was keenly busy with pair of tongs and clacking of
utensils. The fire in the chulha had been grown into regular
flames, causing smoke rarely in the hut. The outside fierce
winds had been pulling out the incompatible smoke on
regular trips. Clearing the suffocation neatly and converted
the hut ambience into pleasant serenity.

His mental sharpness deployed his ear senses out, he

promptly wanted listen to the sound from the barn, where
Bhuri had been left alone in the darkness, and today nobody
had lit the earthen lamp in her hut. Amidst the myriad
strings of rain drops, the wind too, was heavy and intrepid.
The door was uncovered, rather kept. Random strings of
raindrops enigmatically broke out exactly at the door
boundary, sprinkles of mist like light drops entered the hut,
especially nearby the chulha. Slightly touching the well
burning smooth flames, causing inconsequential harm to its
heat. In between, Nani had been throwing the used reddish
water left out of her cooking preparations in the courtyard;
there it was getting washed away with turbid streams. The
downpour was extremely heavy. Nana had been silently
seated on the charpoy. And lit a beedi again to pass the
waiting spell. The crackling of log fire and the tapping of
rain was extremely merging into everybody's senses, except
Nani as she was keenly busy in cooking. He had been
marvellously gazing at the flames, and bemusing on their
leaping up height. Every flame licked the cooking utensil
30
with different colours, in a bit conical pattern. The fire was
strong and continuous; hence, smoke was minimal. It was
getting pulled outside by heavy wind and dampness. He
remained seated throughout the cooking and that was the
favourite route to pass that waiting lapse.

The aroma from gosht-handi enraptured him; wafting out

aromatic steam and mild boiling sound began lingering in
the air that excited him and as a consequence his appetite
grew bigger and waited to be satiated very soon. She
solicitously strolled thrice in the hut and arranged
everything needed to dine. The three sat on the floor, the
door was kept half closed to avoid the unnecessary cooling
of food by outside wind and rain.

It was sumptuous! Guddu ate more than needed; beyond his

limit. His belly was terribly heavy. He feared either stomach
pain or indigestion took over him by morning. He might
suffer in the night. He rued for a minute, and became
normal, and hoped his well being obstinately. Nani adorned
his small and low charpoy with a handmade mattress, a
pillow and a thick bed sheet to cover him up during the
night's chillness. According to his last fleeting glance it was
dark, and rain was incessant, the courtyard had overlapping
streams of turbid water, flowing towards the down slope,
beyond the hand-pump, through the backyard nullah. Rain
had not stopped yet. Nani left the igniting smoulders in the
chulha to keep the hut ambience cozy and comfortable
against the rainy grumpiness.

Guddu could not manifest what sort of night it was going to

be for poor Bhuri. The sound of rain was sweet to ears,
benisons to wild flowers, unknown shrubs, sheesham leaves,
buds of fallow farm and the sugarcane farm which was
spread widely behind the hutment series. And hard on the
31
charry narrow road. He did not hear roaring and fast rattling
vehicle on the road quite a long time. He prayed silently for
the safety of Bhuri from the harsh rain and predators like
feral dogs and black snakes. He wanted to ask Nana whether
had he covered the barn entrance by shaft of thatch made
sheet or not? Perhaps not and now it was grave time to
intervene in those kinds of affairs. The heavy rain restricted
everyone's exit. No plausible excuse could help him to get
out of the hut to see the latest condition of Bhuri. He
thought of reminding about Bhuri to Nana but he was
already laid on the charpoy and had gained sleeping
disposition, he would not get up for the sake of animals.

The pattering did not reduce. He waited for some time. And
the heavy belly trumpeted sleep. Amnesia ascended over
him. He grew lazy and dull to keep further pace with
vigilance. He was silent. And pretended he was sleeping,
both Nana and Nani had been silent too on the different
charpoys. He thought that Nana would light up at least a
beedi before the final retirement. But he did not. Smoulders
in the chulha crackled occasionally. And the earthen lamp
which was kept just above the chulha in an alcove was
smooth and continuous. He tossed and turned and tried to
disturb the ambience but efforts went unnoticed. It was
mixture of everything to-night, the sound of the harsh rain,
the crackling of the smoulders, the darkness was mellow
because of the earthen lamp’s magenta light. He closed his
eyes; his thoughts still attached to the barn, to Bhuri, and the
7.30 coal train which had not arrived yet. He was sure that
the spell of the rain suffered night had come ahead and
beyond 7.30 hours.

At this thought the intensity of the rain sound increased at

large, and the pattering of the rain drops were not steady and
smooth as he expected. He feared that the zeal of the rain
32
drops might tear away the hut roof. He knew with heavy and
intrepid wind the course had also been changing regularly,
so the consequential sound. He thought of going to the barn
to see the latest condition of Bhuri, but he had not enough
temerity against Nana’s silent confinement and the harsh
rain. At the same time, the sleep in his eyes was
overwhelming over his tender feelings originating from the
heart. He lay in dilemma, and did not know how to react or
jostle ahead. Bhuri’s security and life was his prime
obsession. He fell prey to drowsiness, which later converted
into a deep slumber.

The narrow road led to the railway station had grown into a
treacherous route. Sinuous winds were horrendously
snaking and bumping on the passage; spread heavily above
and below; swamped, filled and shook the wild shrubs and
stems with a devilish force, began crunching down like dry
dead worms. Soon, there was a thunderous black flash out,
darkened the sight and scene, and there, with great
horridness surfaced the acrid smell of burning coal; the fetor
of polluted waters; the malodour of excreta; the reek of
stale sweat and the black tea; and a pungent stink of decayed
flesh. Stray dogs and muddied black buffaloes were butting
and jerking wildly. They were accosting and retreating with
the same gusto, seemed astounded and feared of twirling
spirits and goblins. Their fearsome grunting was excessively
loud and horrendous. At times, looked as they were
extolling the dark spirits hovering around them. Guddu and
Bhuri seemed puny to them as their size was overgrown,
beyond the natural maximum size. The group of stray dogs
were laughing, wailing and howling at full strength like
blood thirsty wolves over a lately died dog that was brutally
trampled by military truck. Guddu being the hero sharply
grasped a long wooden stick by the littered roadside. He
33
vehemently patted the wooden stick in the puddles; water
flashed out fiercely, dogs shrank, moved away, but their
howling and barking did not stop. They were barking but at
each step they were retreating. It was a strange day, the rain
had just poured in gallons and the sun was abducted by
heavy and nubilous clouds. The monstrous buffaloes began
high trumpet, scared both of them, as he was the only
human on the narrow road. The retreating dogs accelerated
the sepulchral barking intensity. The buffaloes
spasmodically jerked and rattled randomly, seemed wild,
undomesticated, Guddu was horrified, and unable to
understand, what form had been taking place.

The black and heavy clouds lowered and then grinned at

him and a portent came into his eyes and he uttered that
they, the ugly clouds might fall down anytime. Over all that,
the wind was trying to grip all the forces and animals.
Trumpeting and barking synchronized in great zeal of
protest, Bhuri was as innocent as a kid, she began running,
hobbling, faltering, lagging but continuously running amidst
the unmanageable strokes of black wind. Guddu wanted to
control everyone, though horrified, amazed upon the
growing intricacies. He followed Bhuri, he fell down, as he
was shoved by black wind; she was timidly running towards
the entrance of the station. And in a flash she groped inside.
Guddu followed her and reached there. There he found the
colour of the walls turned raw red from white. The station
was absolutely deserted. The cabins were shut. The iron
poles were missing. The hand-pump was broken and laid out
in pieces; the shade was inclined upon the railway track,
about to collapse with the next heavy blowing black winds.
Bhuri jumped off the platform and was running towards
Tanakpur direction, in hobbled strides. Guddu too jumped
on the railway track. And he was chasing her and yelling
loudly,“Stop.........................O........Bhuri………stop……….
34
.where are you fleeing. Please stop Bhuri!! Don’t go......for
God sake.”

Bhuri outpaced him, like a coal train leaving her chasing

passengers behind. Guddu could not catch her. He was sure
and was out of breathing shortly. He covered some more
steps, finding hard trotting on the coal laden track. He
stopped and miserably sat in the middle of the track and
reduced into black tears. He, thunderously began wailing
and weeping, jerking out legs and hands in most angst way.
Stomping legs and fisticuffing the coal pebbles
continuously; coal flied out of the track, littered here and
there. The chasing clouds lowered down, then grinned and
began pouring rain in thick drops, soon the railway track
filled with the water. The tracks of both the sides submerged
and the light coal had been floating as the only remnants left
of the drowned world. And Guddu struggled for survival.

Miserably, he woke up with a meek shriek. His heart sank in

gloominess. Both, the old people were fast asleep. The
earthen lamp was still lit and glowing as steady as
previously. “Where is Bhuri?” He slept with the same
obsession and now woke up into the same obsession. He
strongly longed to see her. The entrance was tightly
covered. The smoulders in the chulha had been died, and
laid in silence underneath fragile ash heap. The rain had
returned to the clouds, and wind had crossed his suburban
town. The night was travelling towards another horizon; was
chill in absolute silence. There were silence everywhere and
he brooded for the 7.30 train. An expected chuffing felt to
his ears. Perhaps, very far from his hut and Adda, but he
became keen to know more about that slowly increasing
chuffing. As he sharpened his ears, the chuffing became
clear towards his hut. He guessed a train might be
approaching at Mazhola station. A whistling train surged
35
into his senses. Suddenly, toot....after... toot….so loud, and
heavy and morbid in intensity that ultimately penetrated into
his skull bones. He juddered in subtle fear. Three toots in a
few minutes spell. The train had stopped, might be at the
station, as there was no rattling. The chuffing and hissing of
the steam continued. The toots were exceptionally loud and
heavy, he never heard so huge and fear instilling toots. His
heart trembled. He concerned for Bhuri; but now fear had
made a deep place in his heart; in the aftermath of toots, he
remained awake and silent for couple of hours.

The next silent morning he did not wake up at his usual

time. Nana and Nani had begun with daily chores. It was a
clear day; and there were no signs of rainy clouds. Nana was
out on the narrow road for morning walk. Nani was busy in
chulha, preparing the black tea and thick rotis. She broke her
cooking. And when she shook him, he woke up with a jerk
and got off the charpoy and hurriedly walked out, and
reached in the barn, where Bhuri was seated silently. Her
ears were sagged, drooped over her wide peaceful eyes, and
the two horns were erect. And further inside it was quite
damp. Bhuri seemed normal and a little drowsy. He thought
like him she too had broken sleep. The green hay was
littered abnormally and he realized she might have jerked
and hooted when the gushes of the heavy rain and the wind
tried to touch her the previous night. She was safe and
alone. And no danger lurked around in her hut. Guddu
flushed and became worry free. He grinned and sonorously
asked, “Oh my darling how did you spend the night, just
like me or like a queen.”

He leaped towards her, sat beside her and swooped down his
tender little hand over her belly and the upper bone
partition. She shook her head and sneezed coldly. Guddu

36
laughed upon her condition. He laid his hand beneath her
jaw; she nibbled on his hand, slobbered palm lines and hand.

Then, charged with blessed hope and energy he began

singing:

“Rain Rain....you took off all our pains

You bring her the coolness
From the tiring day and its heat
A benison that makes her joyous and upbeat.”

“Thank you clouds; look how she is at rest and peace. Her
wide eyes are open and reflecting tranquilly of peace.”

“Are....O.....Guddua......come here my dear have hot tea and

ghee rotis.” Nani screamed from the other hut.

He came out of the barn. However, first went to the hand-

pump. He returned after taking a feigned and hasty ablution.
He gulped and devoured the black tea along with ghee
smeared rotis like other days, with the same plan and routine
in the mind. Nani did not say anything. Nor importuned him
for an early return. She wisely anticipated that he would not
visit the home – the hut in the afternoon, hence she offered
him the previous night's gosht and a few thick rotis. He ate
with great comfort and said that he would like to have gosht
every evening.

Nana returned hurriedly like a gawk; threw off the half burnt
beedi and shouted aloud for him. Nani retorted back, “He is
eating.” He heaved a sigh of relief and his forehead became
normal upon seeing Guddu inside the hut.

“Do you know?

37
“What happened last night?”

“What?” Guddu asked while reducing a morsel inside his

mouth.

“Due to the heavy rain last night, the 7.30 train was robbed
by hooligans. And a few passengers were shot dead too. The
train is still waiting at the railway station, all gathered
around by English policemen.”

“Guddu you will not go out today, stay with Nani. It’s risky
to go to that side.” Guddu was silent; he was interested in
further story. When Nana took his tea, he sat beside him and
hurled strange questions appertaining to the train dacoity,
the previous night's rain and the railway station. And also
expressed relief upon that his parents were not the
passengers of the previous night's train.

Terms like train, dacoity and English policemen were

enticing him and he wanted to know more about English
people and officers. At the factory, where Nana was
working, came under their authority. Guddu guessed that
Nana might have seen many English and white officers and
their children. Nana rose up and did not ask for another cup
of tea like other days. His face disposition was not as
relieved or cool as it used to be. He lit a beedi and moved
off.

Guddu thought of meeting Ashok, son of Bhagirath, their

neighbour, but he was reluctant to go to their home, as often
they teased him on issues related to school, education, the
British-Fauz and his father. Guddu had always despised
their questionnaire, and largely feared that those who attend
school, later they would be illegibly or forcibly kidnapped
or taken away by the English armymen, who came in green
38
big trucks. They went for fight, on the battlefield and never
returned. He often thought, “It’s better to be with goats,
roaming around the station and the huts than attending
school in a fear of being taken away from parents or
caretakers.”

He went till the edge of the courtyard, stood under the

sheesham tree while brooding, and then returned little inside
into his territory. Then, he went inside the barn with an
intention of passing some time with Bhuri.

Guddu reminded himself the previous night's nightmarish

illusion in which he saw how his dearest life was being
deserted and destroyed. It was quite fresh in his thoughts.
And those three horrendous toots, which shook him
inwardly, and pulled him out of that nightmare.

Banbasa was some miles ahead of Mazhola, and on account

of tiger and wildlife beauty zone it was the favourite tourist
destination of Britishers, especially white kids and beautiful
women from fairy tales gathered there every summer. And
the two trains passed Mazhola twice in a day carry a lot of
Englishmen. And most of the time it had been seen that
Indian soldiers in faded khaki uniform, seated over-packed
in their allotted red bogies. Mazhola being a middle halt
between the tourist centre and the main city Pilibheet acted
never a significant post. However, offered temporary
sojourns in need of time or acute crises and delayment.
It had been more than late morning. Afternoon spell had
been started but could not be felt. The day was overcast
again. The rain clouds were heavy and far away. Perhaps
might pour abundant water and set an easy way for another
dacoity and killing. Guddu's heart was excited to see the
glimpses of the railway station. And the robbed train which

39
had not moved off yet. He did not know what kind of
casualties had taken place with that train.

The road that never used to be busy, had now become busy,
trucks after trucks, green trucks rumbled on the narrow road.
Mostly heading off towards Tanakpur side. Guddu came
out, keenly staring at the passing by trucks. They were
moving at normal speed. Clearly, they were fauzi trucks,
and inside he could clearly spot sagged sepoys, holding
slender guns and clumsily wearing green helmets, covering
their heads and half foreheads. One by one many trucks
passed him, his eyes met many sepoys, and he shuddered
and feared of being taken away. He clinked his both the
eyes, and partially seemed closed, he thought they would
consider him a blind boy and would leave him unscathed.
He came back to his hut, leaving the left curiosity being
trampled on the road. Where, caravan of trucks made
Mazhola an active semi-urban place.

After lunch, his wait continued. He could not gather enough

courage to step out of the courtyard, as Nani had been
continuously towering around him and he felt that Nana
might come any moment behind the row of passing by green
trucks.
Nana arrived before twilight. He was hurried in strides and
looked worried.

“Guddu don't roam around here, get inside.” he shouted

from a distance.

Guddu grew vexed but controlled his disposition and

instantly condoled Bhuri and gestured her to go inside the
barn.

40
“Those dacoits have killed some English women and
children.”

“It’s going to be murky here for many days, as war has

begun.”

A few middle aged men from the hutment, who were his
factory mates, worked in the same factory, accompanied
him and came inside the hut for sizzling conversation and
adult gossiping. Guddu felt bored, he busied himself frisking
bundles of clothes and untidily jumbled up the sundry items
and rusted accessories. His searched gained sheer gusto of
wild rummaging when Nana and other fellow mates sat on
the charpoy and began conversing with heavy drags of
beedi. Doddering Nani was preparing tea. In the home
Guddu was the most ignored human. But being a boy of
wild curiosity he was keenly and secretively listening to
their conversation. The people started with the German
tales, he thought his father might have been sent to fight
along with the Germans, after some minutes he discovered
that his father perhaps gone to battle against the German
soldiers. As with the old people’s conversation it was clear
that Germany and England was not ally at all. They were
fierce rivals. One of the taciturn, whose name was
Baghiram, turned on the radio. Two to three voices babbled
in collision of different languages, confused everybody,
Baghiram by sleight of hand got the appropriate and the
needed frequency. In Hindi. It was full of political and
social whims, despite that he had begun understanding the
intricacies of adults' world and wars. And he got a strong
hunch that he would lose upon his wanderings and outings.
The topics about fauz, war, and the Englishmen were
instigating his hidden curiosity. And in between he also
heard that his own father was part of the English fauz and

41
had gone in a war for a long time. And perhaps might not
return. However, he and his God believed he would return.

For the sake of obedience and to avoid the fear of being

taken away, he, for some days remained abstained from the
railway station zone. And calculatedly did not wander about
much. His days were becoming a long wait. Several times
he planned to build soil structures in the courtyard but every
time he would lose the interest in mid. He would sit with
Bhuri with green stacks of hay and feed her in mild pace,
the more time she took, the more time he spent with her. In
this way he had been sputtering away his morning and
afternoon spells, while once he used to play and prattle in
those spells. He thought that his fate had been taken by
curse. Hence he had to live a very confined life. Like a
prisoner of war.

The passing of military trucks reduced to normalcy. Nana

became a full time worker at the factory, leaving the whole
day for him. At nights he discovered that road side and far
away lights were off. And it was not the case in earlier days.
He wanted to know what sorts of changes had taken place
on that side, the railway station side. Even at home, Nani
would put off the mud lamp immediately after dinner, and
would force him to sleep at early hours. Every day, he
would ask Nani about the premature darkness, about the
switched off lights of miles and miles. Then, she would
explain that war had begun, therefore lighting during the
night was strictly prohibited and against the British laws.
During day, it was strange for him to see and felt roaring
fighter planes traversing across the vast sky, leaving a long
line of black soot for miles and miles up in the ice-blue sky.

Ashok was the only son of Bhagirath. He was absolutely

dark and ugly but taller than him. It was said that they both
42
were born in the same year, though at different places of the
world. From him he came to know that schools had been
closed down for many days. And it was most likely that
bombs might be dropped at densely populated and brightly
lit places. Ashok intimated that any time their hutment string
could be blown off by single bomb. A few days ago, he did
not know much, but he came to know from Nana and
different gossip mongers that a fighter plane fell down in the
dense jungles of Banbasa. He had noticed by toots that
number of trains passing Mazhola station had increased
from two to approximately ten. Nana and Bhagirath
informed him that trains were passing frequently from
Mazhola station carrying soldiers and English officers, than
normal passengers.

A road from Adda went to a church, where English people

could be seen. On Sundays, often poor and shambled
children and women and old men hover around in hope of
receiving either cake or pudding. The English were fighting
with many countries at one time, it was world war. He
thought everybody had to fight, so his father was fighting.
But where? That was unknown. And he became certain that
his father was a soldier in the British Indian Army and
fighting at some or other corner of the world. He thought,
“If he is fighting at Tanakpur-Nepal border then it is sure he
will definitely come to see me.”
One evening, he pestered already tired out Nana and tried to
get his exact war location. Nana befuddled on his pestering
and sent him inside with plausible excuses, which kept his
hopes alive and curiosity satiated for some days. His
persistence was growing every day to know the whereabouts
of his parents. He wanted to know more about war and his
parents’ role in the ongoing war. And sometimes, he surged
out of his confinement and limitations and thought and
planned to visit the railway station for both the purposes.
43
It was everywhere that the Great War had begun, and The
English fauz had been fighting hard to acquire The
Kingdom of Nepal from Japanese force. Ashok, who had
attended school during the peace time, expressed that Nepal
bordered Tanakpur. And a lot many English fauz had been
deployed there to capture and fight for The Kingdom of
Nepal. Guddu did not understand Nepal as a province and
the intentions behind the war. Why the Britishers were so
punctually sending troops after troops to that border side
through that narrow road, which passed by his hut. The
transportation ceased, in a few weeks he had not seen buses
and cars passing on and off. Though the frequency of green
army trucks had been increased drastically even at nights.
He would stand under the sheesham tree and carefully watch
the passing trucks – full of armymen. Nani was happy to see
him all the time as she understood that he might have given
up jaunting with Bhuri in fear of being captured or killed by
armymen. Her heart shuddered at this dreadful thought, she
screamed for him instantly. But, he would refuse to sit
inside, he would stand there with an unknown hope in his
heart that one day his father would see him either coming or
going along with the troops.

He did not know how his parents or his father look like.
How he would recognise him. He hadn’t had any memory in
which he could recollect their faces. Mazhola was silent and
unattached by any sort of force. But, still there was large
fear looming that any time a fighter plane might drop a
bomb or crash landed. He was extremely afraid of the
sudden, fear instilling sound of the fighter planes.
Engrossment in the war tales and wait of his parents
lessened his companionship with Bhuri with passage of
days. She remained seated around the charpoy, in the
courtyard. Though he stood on the edge of the courtyard but

44
always kept an eye on Bhuri. About her roaming. Nana had
been getting hay by neighbours as a help for Bhuri.

As days passed by, he remained confined to the nearby

sightseeing only. It was his heart that implored every time
that his parents would come one day to meet him. He
optimistically felt that parents of small children never die, as
he had not seen any death around his life. At nights Nani
would fondle his hair, slobber his face and express that he
would become a governor of the city one fine sunny day.
But, she did weep when she pondered about his parents
trace. She exactly knew not that who served the English
army, whether they came back or not?

As his head was laid in her lap, she began her familiar night
song for him and he slowly-slowly closed his eyes and
embraced the night, the darkness and the loneliness.
“Do not cry my child
Do not cry my child
As you are too little to worry about worldly and material
worries
As you are destined to get showers of love, some days by
us, some days by your parents.
And rest of the days by God himself.
Do not cry my child
Do not cry my child.”
“If it is true my father is a soldier, then I must find him and
join his army.”

“No.......son.....don’t worry he will be home. He is a very

smart soldier.”

“Do you know how he looks like?”

45
“Yes.......just like you........he is fair, broad and healthy, his
eyes are deep and impactful. But he does not sport long hair
like you. That's the only difference between him and you.”

“Ok.........Nani”

“Did you know that you were born in hospital, military

hospital...and then many white women and men had come to
see you and your mother?”

“Really?”

“Yes my son.”

“Let this war be over....then we will send you to school.

There you could see English memsahibs and saahibs.”

“If you study, then you too can join the fauz just like your
father.”

“I will join the fauz to find my parents.”

“I want to meet them as soon as possible....Nani.”

“Tell Nana, otherwise I will try to find myself.”

“Ok.............son! Now it’s too late, you must sleep now.”

Guddu huddled into the heavy quilt and thought Nani would
sleep with him. Though she did not, she was excessively
dozing, he closed eyes and Nani without uttering a word
kissed his forehead and went to her charpoy.

He felt approaching stirs of roaring in the sky. It was not

thunder striking as rain was over. The winter had just
started. He tapped the quilt all around himself to avoid the
46
cold strokes in the middle of the night and sleep. Perhaps, it
was a fighter plane, roared and moved very rapidly. Far in
the sky. It was complete dark inside the hut. He thought the
fighter plane might fall down in sometime as it was very
unusual to hear roaring in the sky that too in the night. He
expected a blasting sound, though faded. And after some
time he heard the same expected sound; however, it seemed
very far-off sound and he sensed that it might have fallen
into the dense jungles of Banbasa, not nearby his hutment
series.

As it was very cold and the fog was immensely thick he did
not see any figure just around the courtyard. Previous night
he himself had tightly closed the barn entrance to avoid
Bhuri from the night's excessive chillness and foggy
dampness. He drank tea, ate rotis and lazed down on the
charpoy in futility.

He came to know that the railway station road was repaired

and reconstructed as it was the main junction for armymen.
Trains had been rattling often during the daytime. Somehow
he managed to finagle Nani and came out for a normal stroll
alone after many days; at the end of the last hut he saw a
long line of bivouacked dark green tents on one side of the
road. And on the other side army trucks were parked, there
was a long row on both the sides of the narrow road. There,
at large he saw the soldiers, especially Indian sepoys with
emaciated faces. The white officers weren’t hovering as he
fixed his gaze for detailed observation. Rugged and haggard
sleek soldiers were indulged in file drilling. Holding guns’
butts firmly with limited focus on the surrounding nature.
He thought of asking his father's whereabouts from those
khaki dressed men. He could not, he was afraid of being
abducted by soldiers. And some filthy soldiers were greedily

47
standing in a silent queue at the sarkari hand-pump, with
tiny green buckets in their hands.

He stood facing the railway station road; it was bright in

mild sunshine. And looked stunningly black in fine grains of
charcoal; fresh and new, purely epitomizing its
reconstruction. Better than the main road. He strode ahead.
He heard a toot, quite heavy in intensity. And that too from
Nyoria Hussainpur end. He thought, again, that his father
might get off this train as nowadays trains were arriving full
of soldiers and sepoys. He hastened on the road. He wanted
to catch the sight of that train, as this opportunity had come
after many boring and plain days. At times, he ran. The
surrounding at both the sides was lush green and the wild
grass had grown excessively long. The entrance was near,
he hesitated, stopped himself as there two tall scrawny
sentries were deployed with long guns in their hands. He
shrank a little bit but moved ahead.

“Where are you going little boy?” one of the sentries asked
resignedly, he was stood on the left side. Guddu looked
innocently into his deep and haggard eyes. His lips were
cracked, and boots were shining and the gun butt was rusted.
Above, the barrel was stolid black and shining brilliantly in
winter’s low sun.

“My father is there.” he replied, as he was true.

“Ok......go.” they did not suspect; as he was a fair, handsome

and small kid.
Guddu was very much happy that he had duped the soldiers
at first attempt. The ticket window was open, and a civil
man, who had long and monkey shaped ugly face was
dozing off. His head was wrapped fully over ears by
woollen gamcha.
48
Guddu was very much confident. He stood facing towards
Tanakpur end. First time in his life he found the station
buzzing about with lot of people. And a busy place too. Full
of material stacks, piles of boxes and heaps of rolled beds.
He saw groups of troops were busy in loading tons of
luggage in forms of black boxes and rolled bags. None of
the passengers got off permanently; rather it was a military
train entirely. The train had come to pick up soldiers from
this place he guessed so. He was the lone civilian on the
entire platform. He tried to search the station master but he
was nowhere on the platform. Soon throng of soldiers
gathered around the sarkari hand-pump and began hunching
the handlebar and one by one they filled their square shaped
green water bottles. Guddu liked the design of the water
bottle and longed to have one. Some of the smart soldiers
hurriedly washed faces and frisked hands till elbow. He
began walking towards the opposite end. And one by one
watching the bogies; most of the bogies were filled with
silent armymen. And a few were empty too. But there were
some bogies which were completely closed. Even the
windows. On those bogies it was written: Only for officers
and family.

Half room of the bogies were filled by war needed luggage

and different sorts of military equipments. It had been more
than fifteen minutes. Passenger trains had never halted here
for more than ten minutes. He stood in front of the second
last bogie, it was empty and it was positioned at the extreme
end of the platform. Though not out of the cemented
platform. He had been vacantly watching inside, tried to
decipher but due to low sunshine he could not get the proper
view of inside; hence, he decided something in his tender
heart and got onto it. The bogie had many stretchers which
were strewn on the lower seats, at some point there were
heaps too. The floor was dirty. Scattered soil and dried up
49
blood gave it a semblance of a rugged floor. The aroma was
not fresh inside. Little petrified and of spoilt flesh. Despite
this discomfortability he was being inside the bogie, first
time in his life. And interestingly there was nobody to keep
vigil on him. He was alone and very much free. The door to
the other end was closed; the windows were kept open for
sunlight and wind. The bogie reeked medical practitioners
and surgeons failed chamber and medicines’ pungent and
vomit causing smell terrified him. He sat on the berth and
leaned against the window sill, waved his hand outside, as
many passengers did when train move generally, carrying
passengers ahead and leaving visitors and well wishers
behind.

He had been continuously hearing the thud sound of loading

of the luggage and the stuff. He clambered on the upper
berth. It was very much near to the ceiling and had dark
silhouettes. He lay on the berth. Just like a relaxed
passenger. He closed eyes, and opened. He felt good at heart
despite that emerging uneasy foul smell. While enduring he
wanted to spend some more time in the bogie.

50
 Unknown Place

He awoke to the two consecutive toots. He felt being into

motion, soon realized that he had been moving along with
the train. He screamed in full throttle...Naaani.......but he
was late and there was nobody in his compartment. He was
the lone passenger. He began sobbing. He wanted to go back
to his hut. He thought of jumping off the train, he guessed
the train had just started, but he also estimated the speed of
the train. It was rattling ahead fast. He came down. Sat on
the lower berth, beside the window seat. The door was open,
through which he had entered. Cold strokes of wind were
ferociously wheezing inside the compartment. The white
canvas of stretchers were ruffling and flapping along with
its gush. The train had been passing amid the tall and wild
grass that had obscured the other visible tracts of land and
vegetation. In a flash of moment he realized he had come
quite far from Mazhola station. From his home too.

Now, the landscapes were rare as the train passed through

the dense strips of jungles. And it had been tooting
regularly, clearing the way and fear and chugging ahead.
The cold and fast wind was very cold and slapping in nature.
He felt the strokes on his forehead, eyes became teary. He
moved in a little. His heart was heavy. He did not how and
when he would go back. Contrastingly it was emotionally
soothing and intellectually satisfying.

The force of the wind cracked his lips. He tenderly touched

and found traces of light blood upon his lips. He strolled in
the corridor. And he was surprised upon finding nobody in
the bogie. He went back, and lay on the different upper-
berth. He fell asleep amid the chillness. The mild gushes of
the cold wind began soothing his long and light hair. He
51
crouched to get some warmness from his own body. He
dreamt about his father!

He reached to a bigger world, where white tall mountains

tried touching the passing by clouds.

The platform was large and had several medical tents on it.
The commotion was large, contrary to his world.

She screamed......frantically, “He is alive........there is a

smart kid...on that berth!”

“What are you saying lady doctor?” They both sighted him,
looked profoundly at his belly, which was exhaling and
inhaling fresh air heavily.

“Take him under custody.” he ordered.

“Ok.” she murmured.

She browsed her cold hand on his white cheeks. He opened

his eyes and shrieked a shrill meek scream. He was hungry.
She felt so.

“Come dear I will give you bread and butter to eat.”

Guddu could not believe his eyes that an excessively fair,

very beautiful woman had been standing by him, in front of
his eyes. He was awestruck by her beauty. She was
gorgeously fair. He apprehended her as a white woman, a
superior race of woman from England. He was sure the lady
was not Indian. But, he feared to speak to her. She wiped his
cheeks and he came down fastly. He liked her amiability
and generosity. And she spoke to him in Hindi, which was
understandable to him.
52
She took her to the medical tent. And there, handed him to a
lady doctor, who was also a fair and white woman. He
looked around and found himself surrounded by white
people. He felt as he had come to a fairyland. It was a
check-up camp. She plugged stethoscope on his chest to
check heartbeats and the normality. She whispered to
another lady about his report. He was a case of over anxiety
and depression. The familiar lady fondled his hair, and took
him out by holding his ring finger towards the children’s
tent. First time in his life he ate bread and butter and drank
milk above it. He was replete and gay. He did not
understand what had been happening around him and why
people were taking his care so personally and profoundly.
Later he was introduced into a bigger tent, green in colour.
A sentry was deployed at the entrance. He got a bed; it had
all the basic bedding comforts. She told him to relax till the
evening. He nodded and lay on the bed. There were many
beds around him; in the same tent. On a few beds some
children, half covered with white bandages were fast asleep.

When bombarding was absent, there was continuous

humming of heavy breeze, as it was continuously colliding
to the mountains and refracting. However, cracked roaring
of fighter planes and sprinkling of bullets’ sound was
regular. He knew that war was on. And he was in that field,
near to the mountains where Britishers had been tussling
hard to capture the entire mountains and the area of another
side, as from there, Nepal, a new and fresh country started.
Though, from that side Japanese force had been paying back
equally. They had good hold over mountains from that side
and most of the Indian soldiers were top on the casualty list.
He would lay listless on the bed and every time praying to
get back from this camp, which was horribly near to the
battlefield. He feared, now and then, either a fighter plane or
bomb would destroy the entire camp. This frightful
53
proposition was gnawing him every moment. And as an
upshot his face became sallow. And doctors were astonished
on his declining health and mental state. Since his arrival
into the camp, he had felt a strong depression in him. He
wept and sobbed for hours and did not know how to get
back home. To Nana and Nani. They would be devastated
there.

The Sister asked, “What is your name little boy?”

“Guddu.” he replied pallidly every time. She tried to know

about his parents, but ironically he did not know his father's
name and his whereabouts. He just knew that his father was
a soldier and involved in a war. What war he did not know
that also?

In his camp when he startlingly walked around, he found

some half dead children, both boys and girls. They were
ghastly wrapped with the bandages and the medicinal
clothes, their eyes rolled when he saw them profoundly.
They were war victims. He strongly sensed. And with a
bursting frustration he came out of the camp, the deployed
sentry did not say anything as they took him a white boy. He
went straight to her cabin, to the familiar Sister and gathered
hissings, put one hand on his belly and shouted, “Sister I
don’t want to live here. I want to go my home.”

“Please drop me to my place, Mazhola station from there I

will go back my home. My Nana and Nani are there.”

“Or if you can’t then let me go to the station I will catch the
train somehow.”

“Little boy.........you aren't in good health. How can I

discharge you right away?”
54
“Be here for a few days then we will try to get you to your
place.”

“No.....I want to go today.” he insisted.

“As you look fair enough my darling. I will reform you.

You will have a bright future in this dirty and hopeless
country. Otherwise you may turn out be a revolutionist one
day.........just like others.” she murmured in English and
blushed at him, he turned angry; stomped away the feet dust
in sheer miserability and frustration.

Hurriedly, a siren bulged in the air. Her chubby disposition

turned into fake seriousness, as she had to show how serious
and benign Sister she was. She ran away, towards the other
camps. The gates opened and a faded green dilapidated
truck limped in. Its canvas sides were ripped and torn. The
tailgate came down and half a dozen bodies fell on the hard
ground with sickening casualness. The wounded survivors
stepped down unsteadily. The fit volunteer soldiers had
masked their mouths. The truck was full of fresh stench. He
reeked it was of the same kind, which he had experienced in
the bogie and fell prey to the enigmatic slumber. Stretcher
after stretcher got filled with corpses. The grief moaned
through the tents and the lofty trees, bordered both the sides
of the road, their trunks were painted with maroon
distemper. The heap of corpses reduced. She felt nauseated
and began poking out. What a wretched sight it was for him.
He ran towards the truck, crossed it and was out of the gate
in one attempt, and nobody interrupted him surprisingly.

The world was a disturbed world for him. Very strange and
weird than his own world. He had been running, not so fast,
but carefully, avoiding the main road. He was mainly
55
passing and running behind the long random rows of trees.
The trunks were wide and huge enough to hide his running
presence. One more truck rattled towards the camp road.
The dust whirled as it was fast pacing. And uneasiness
moaned through the towering trees.

After an hour or so he was amidst the clustered homes and

shuttered shops. He heard a toot and guessed that the
railway station would be nearby. He knew that Tanakpur
was the last station. From here, no train goes forward; every
train that departed from here had to pass through Mazohla
station. It was a positive hope for him. He had to get to the
station to reach his hut. And if by chance father met him
than all the worries would be solved instantly. However, he
did not know where father would be? His heart pounded and
said he might find his father very soon. He was a lost child,
and feared being abducted by armymen or the Sisters of the
medical camp. The market place was absolutely shuttered. A
dingy, tiny tea-shop was opened. He stood on the pavement
and was keenly lost in sundry thoughts. He was not
conscious. Something had been surging within him, he was
under constant fear. He thought he might get killed in this
war torn city.

A few men, all garbed in heavy clothing had been gathered

and slurping tea shrewdly, and were seriously busy in
gossiping. They had been constantly lighting cigar after
cigar. Spirals of blue smoke hung just over their streaked
faces and wrapped heads. Guddu was indecisive; being an
unsupervised child was gnawing him. He did not know what
he should do now. The camp was a relief for him some or
other way; once again his vagrant spirit had put him in dire
danger. He wanted to run away from his current spot as he
feared these people, the gossip mongers might abduct him
and slain him on slightest religious diplomacy. He began
56
walking backward. The road was damp and empty. The
flakes of snow were littered and at some spots were heaped
up. It was a cold day. He spotted mountains, snow clad
mountain tops. It was a hilly terrain. Some of the far off
buildings had been ruined; their facades were seemed
destroyed deliberately, not by natural calamity. He guessed,
it might have been done by crashing fighter planes. As he
approached the sound became heavy to his ears. He saw the
spirals of smoke rising out of the white range of mountains.
He stood at one point. The whistling of the rifles, rattling of
the machine guns was sickening and continuously
bombinating his mind and kept his senses bemused. To add
further fear, there were occasional explosions and heavy
rising smoke from both the sides of the mountains. He
thought about the fighter planes and astonished at their
absence in this war torn place. Though, he knew
optimistically he would hear them sooner, if not so late. Or
in the night.

He preferred to walk ahead. He might get to the station and

to the hope subsequently. The city seemed to be good with
infrastructure, unlike his place. As it were a border town,
and one of the favourite places of Britishers to control over
the mountainous border. The streets were eerily quiet. The
sky was not lustrous because of the foggy semblance all
around. The sun was there, though not strong like summer
days. With every step strange loneliness was settling in his
veins. He had never been to such a silent place, despite
being a good and big city it was under strange grip of
morbidness and silence. He longed to go back to the opened
tea stall and intended for some help to reach the railway
station before the day could set in.

A sudden roaring in the shimmering sky shook him. It was

close, as it had come especially to vigil upon him. He felt
57
like a helpless kid, though he was! And fell down with a
tumbled thud. He did not get hurt. He was fine, walkable.
He shuddered weirdly and an unknown hope voiced his
instinct as a consequence he continued walking. He
reminded himself that his father was a soldier, and fighting
for these people. He needn’t to be feared of anybody. He
was the king.

An intrepid wind roughly passed through the street roads.

And blistered through the brick walls. He scared for a
moment, but continued walking. He was near to the shop but
it was closed. He shunned on his misfortune. “What a shilly-
shally boy I am, damn it.”

The street was long, after not so long distance two roads
from the east and the west criss-crossed. The rusted market,
tightly closed shops and the chilled pavement were fallen in
diversions and he hoped that he might find something
valuable. The thought of going back to the camp was
relishing, he was fugitive, an absconder from her. But, a
defeat at the same time. He was immensely caught in the
thick web of befuddlement. The sound of ammunition was
continued. Had she have a sort of infatuation to him? He
lived alone and lone, so his thoughts were less sophisticated
and wild though strange and odd to himself. Partial snowfall
had been begun. He came under the shade. The flakes were
soothing to teary eyes. So light and continued! He
mesmerized, a smile passed across his lips, which might get
cracked overnight.

Between the two walls, side by side, a hollow passage went

straight and merged into the unknown darkness. The space
above head was sheltered, seemed adjoining house of two
brothers. He was a little relieved and comfortable there
inside, it had a trench or bunker like shelter. He could see
58
the outer street in full and clear sight, littered street with
sand bags, pill boxes and barricades.

Hooting filled his ears. He shrank in fear and trudged

backward, into the more darkness, to have a safer protection
and position. The boots were butting hard on the snow
mudded road. The troop had been passing, and it passed
successfully, fully equipped with all the necessary weapons
and the basic necessities of war soldiers.
The troop passed his sight. He expected other troops might
pass through the same route in some time; hence, he
remained hidden. It was dark; the sunlight was becoming
low and indicating the waning day. He peeped outside; the
torso remained in the dark. He rolled effectively and found
the street alone like him. The hooting sound had been
vanished minutes ago. He came out, stood staring out at the
backdrop of mountainous scenery. The chillness had been
increasing with the diminishing light. Survival for the night
caught his thoughts. He did not know what to do, and whose
door to be knocked for the sojourn. Or he had to sleep on the
pavement; moreover, snow flurry had been started.

He remembered her and thought, “She was a kind lady.” But

he wanted something else. His search was not her camp. He
wanted to meet his father, a sepoy; he wanted to see him in
khaki uniform. It was his longing, a hidden desire. And he
hoped God would fulfil it. Other than hopes, he had nothing
in his mind. No planning and contemplation. Though, he
wanted to go to the station. And from there might reach
back to his home. The hut. He crossed the crossing of the
east and the west road and plunged on the straight road. That
might lead him to the station. Darkness was falling
everywhere; the roadsides were decorated with the lamp
poles but not lit, because of war, lest fighter planes drop
bombs over the lit places. Dogs came out on the road. He
59
was briskly walking, though he found shimmered lighting
on the mountains and at far off places. He was trembling
and shivering with occasional gusts of cold breeze, it was
scenting berries and litchis. He passed number of houses and
closed shops. Dogs were ahead and behind him. He was not
afraid of them. They barked incessantly, howled and
screeched, over it, mighty explosions took place and the
serenity of the silent city was got filled by evilness. And he
was the human, walking alone. He stopped, and put his ears
on the pair of wooden doors. It was closed and he expected
some sound of humans from the inside. However, he was
flabbergasted upon the discovery. No movement, no sound,
no cooking was taking place inside that home. He tried at
another home, and then he completed the entire row. It
engaged him for a while. And the results were same for the
entire row. He suspected human existence in the city,
though he had seen a few people around the tea shop in the
day.

He was tired of futile walking. He sat down on the pavement

under the slab of a closed shop. Due to mild snowfall the
dogs were on the pavement and around him, he thought of
befriending dogs to pass his night safely. Now, he had to
believe that dogs were the supreme protectors. Some
cardboard flaps were strewn on the lee side of the door of a
shop. He snatched them happily, laid the flaps, and
connected them to make a large and complete lying place
for himself. Apparently it was a clean spot, and he assumed
so. Above, the night-time sky shimmered with countless
jewels of twinkling light. And its mild rays were source of
light for him, he need not to grope in the pitch darkness.
Though, he could not see anybody on around him as it was
densely foggy.
He lay on it. First time in life, he was sleeping without the
pillow and the coverings. The dogs swarmed around him, he
60
whistled and crooned melodiously, and they got fascinated
to him. He got up and sat instead lying down. He patted all
the dogs nearby him. And splashed his hand on their spines;
lovingly touched their napes one by one. They were silent.
And crouched beside him. He felt a great surge of safety and
gratitude towards them.

He remembered Bhuri. The thought of Nana and Nani was

continuously disturbing him. His eyes became teary. He
could not sob loudly. He shuddered and crouched in self,
with the hands he covered his both the ears. He was feeling
cold. And could not do anything to fend himself against the
bitter coldness. The moon was mazing through the clouds,
buzzing of explosive sound and detonation of guns had been
ceased. To-night, not even a single fighter plane roared in
the open sky. It was dreary silent everywhere. The streets
filled with the heavy fog. There wasn’t snow fall, then. He
dreamt about his father, he saw that he met his father on the
mountains in the same city. His world filled with
inexpressible joy when his father kissed him and gave him
sundry items to eat from his military bag. He was
marvellously swinging in the dream. He murmured
father...father and woke up to a few dogs spectral howling.
He did not understand what was wrong with these dogs. The
moon was nowhere. Snow flurry had begun. The dogs were
lightly jumping and crossing the street road. They were
excited and carrying a premonition. All of a sudden,
flashing light suffused in the falling flakes of snow. The
sound of that vehicle was dreary on such a lonesome road.
The dogs began barking loudly as the vehicle approached.
Guddu got scared till the last chord. He did not know what
would happen next, and to him. He crouched in fear. Lay
down simply on the flap bed; closed his eyes. Group of dogs
huddled around him and a few dogs fell upon him and by
that time vehicle crossed them, he remained hidden by
61
huddling and scurrying dogs. The dogs left him and began
chasing the patrolling truck while barking reluctantly. He
heaved a sigh of relief and brooded over the beautiful
dream, which he had experienced just before this dreadful
passing.

He could not sleep; the power of sleep was so powerful that

he was shuttling between powerful naps, fear and over
anxiety. He wished and prayed for a safe night pass. To his
relief, dogs were friendly to him and to an extent helpful
too. He thought of taking these dogs to his hut. He stared out
at the mountains and expected a sunrise but it was mellow
darkness and snowflakes were blossoming while briskly
falling down. It had created enough grumpiness; besides,
cold waves were continuously chilling him. Lancing to his
tender bones. The dogs were silent, in between dozing off.
He fell down slightly and wished he could sleep
unconsciously.

The morning was leaden. Dogs had been vanished. He was

lying alone; unattended. Cold and blue! Fatigued and
famished. A jonga was rattling through the snow laden road.
A powerful scream of a lady halted the jonga. And he was
being inspected by her. The kid's lips were latticed with
cracks and his eyes nictitated for a while. She was
successful in finding him. The dogs came out barkingly,
chased the jonga. He did not wake up. She kissed him
umpteen times in concerned mood and rubbed his palms to
start initials of life. He was an angry boy. She cried, “But a
loving boy too. Enough fair to be loved by me especially.”

He was taken into her custody. To her allotted tiny quarters.

She held a high rank in the medical camp. She took him by
saying a special case. Moreover, he was a fair boy with
distinct features. At any cost she longed him to be his
62
companion for long time as she could not see herself under
the oppressive institution called marriage. She even hated
the thought of marriage. Guddu did not die of extremities,
he was happy at home, though it wasn’t his. He was
bedridden for a week and she had taken leave from the camp
for him. She had strange obsession for him. And every
minute she caressed his forehead and profoundly kissed
him, and as a result he became addicted to her cuddling and
kisses and hugs. Guddu did not realize what kind of fate was
going on with his life. He sensed something good by grace
of God. Guddu had been recovered. Now, he was fit and
fine. He roamed around the entire quarters. He was highly
dazed by regal interior and kitchen lay out. He had never
been to such extravagancy. Her quarters had a ravishing
ambience and vibes. He was bemused on his fate. In spare
time he would listen to the radio, and then would go for an
evening walking around the lawn with her. Every night he
was given medicine and other protein sources before
retirement. She had arranged his bed with careful choices:
velvet pillows, soft tantalizing pair of quilts and many more
skin pleasing fabric sheets and coverings. For a week or so
he slept at his will and truly enjoyed the luxury, and did not
remember that he had come from the hutment background.
He was truly relishing it. Everything was taken care of. His
clothes had been changed, two extra Sisters at home were
engaged to groom him, to teach him English manners and a
little bit about English language. He was learning at mild
pace.

He had learnt to say ‘thank you’ and ‘welcome’. He would

open the door in the evenings for her and often loudly
welcomed her by saying, “Welcome home.” In return she
would put a rose in her upper blazer pocket and kiss him on
lips. Helping ladies departed in the evening. After dinner,
she asked about dinner and his choice for the coming days.
63
He did not say anything as he did not know what all could
be eaten with her. He did not know what kind of preferences
and choices she appreciated. He kept mum. She draped her
arm around his nape and kissed him. Cuddled his cheeks
and again kissed his slender pinkish lips. Then, she opened
the dark red wine and poured into his glass, which was
smaller than her glass. She ordered him to drink; he drank
sip by sip and found it sour and sweet. Though amazing to
finish it. He put the glass with a thud and lay back on the
chair. The light and ambience of the home was dizzying
him, pulling him towards unknown zones of silence and
rapture. His eyes drooped. His cheeks became red like still
wine. She finished her glass. And kissed him and took him
by his arm to her sleeping room. There was a double bed
adorned with number of pillows and bolsters. Soft and
tantalizing!

He was made laid on the bed. She reduced the light of the
room to mild ambience. He was half awake, enjoying the
trance caused by the red wine. He had been murmuring and
she was enjoying his state of mind and the pleasure he was
groping within him. As she drew her torso near him; her
body's erotic fragrance dazed him. He tossed and turned like
an innocent ripple near the bank. She lay beside him and
kissed his lips with contrition. He could not control, glued
his lips to hers. He was breathing within her. She took him
in her arms and softly murmured, “I love you.” She spent
the night erotically caressing and kissing his body
repeatedly. He did not know what exactly had happened
with him, but he was pleased in ignorance.

Every night, following dinner he was served amatory red

wine. And later on they slept together, Guddu lay in mild
and erotic drowsiness while she engaged herself in mildly
exploiting and tasting him. He never protested her. Neither
64
was he anti-erotic. He had been living a good and cozy life
and that was the extreme satisfaction to him.

Before dinner, he would sit near the window and watch the
snow flow for hours. The winter was on the run, so the war.
She began him teaching to keep him engaged while she was
at duty. And he had begun learning quite fastly. At her will
she wanted him to be an erudite gentleman of Anglo-Indian
origin. That would be his new originality. After duty hours
she would profoundly busy herself in two things mainly:
dinner and he. She adored him a lot while teaching basics of
conversation, mannerism, cutlery etiquettes, club meetings
and so on. He was excessively fair; it would be difficult to
figure him out as an Indian at first sight. His colour was her
prime attraction. In the day they would hardly murmur or
talk about the night spells of incomplete love makings. Her
fellow mates were under impression that she had adopted
that boy for benign grooming and might take him to
England to nurture and better his life.

In between to keep his unknown hope alive she would slyly

discuss about his father's return. And through her only he
came to know that he would not be able to meet his father
until the war was over. And, then, nobody knew when the
war would be over. He would mule over Nana and Nani but
never appealed to her to meet them. And he did not know
why?

Throughout the day he would keep the radio on and scan the
yellowish newspapers just to see the enticing black and
white pictures of Indian leaders and freedom fighters. He
was provided with plenty of crafting and drawing material.
He was taught to draw paintings to pass his time. The two
Sisters would hover around him and lovingly try to talk to
him. He would think nothing about them. They would
65
fondle him like a kid, a growing kid. He did not have any
idea what they were planning for him. His childhood was
still filled with loneliness though his living standard was
improved drastically but it had a condition behind it. And he
knew it, since he was silent and living with it.

It was not a bitter truth of his life that he had been got
addicted to her sexual desires. He had been sleeping with
her almost every night and equally responding to her
touches and aphrodisiacal stimulants. He became
accustomed to the red wine. The mildness and drowsiness,
in which he used to lost, now reduced to very much in his
senses. His instinct filled with lust and carnal desires.

She spread over him, and he bit her lips. She responded
well, within minutes both unbuttoned each other's clothes
with a flurry of rush. He would listen to her and practise the
same tactics. The intensity of their love making had been
grown, and she expected him to gain maturity soon for the
complete wild course. He would kiss her dedicatedly all
over her white chiselled body. The more she would hiss and
scream softly, the more he would scamper over her. It
became ravishing experience to be with her the entire night.
The first and few rays of warming sunlight deepened the
redness of the red blinds, she brushed the hair from his face,
a face satiated of pleasure and befuddlement. Nude and
wildly strewn; she closed him by cover; kissed his forehead
and splendidly joined layers of lips. She got off the bed and
paced out for the first morning tea.

He had been totally subservient to her will and charming

body fragrance that was redolent of a heavenly perfume, as
dancing angels poured drizzle of fragrance, and scented
benisons. He had forgotten all his previous kiddish and
hidden anxieties. He had been transforming into manhood,
66
though prematurely. Their legitimate proximity
overwhelmed his senses and he completely forgot that he
still had to gain adolescent.

In the evening, he was desperately waiting for her. The two

Sisters left early. An over raged sexual desire had been
raging in his feelings. A beastly will to occupy her. He kept
the radio on till she came in. And he was laying on a bed,
tired of jerk outs, his back facing the ceiling. A soft pair of
knock at the door revived his long awaited desire of the day.
He welcomed her. She kissed his forehead and headed off to
her room to change her uniform into light and transparent
silky gown. He waited for a few minutes. Then, peeped
through the ajar door of her room. She had been undressed
herself and lay on the bed with a sigh of relief. He walked
around the bed, then clambered and saw her white, a little
exhausted face full of marvellous beauty. She closed eyes.
“Darling.” she murmured. Beauty lying naked on the
rumpled sheet was all his. Her legs were brazenly nude and
open. A skimpy piece of cloth which barely covered her
breasts; and they were pounding with every breath. She
stretched, trying to shake off the heavy weariness of sleep.
The skimpy cloth slipped down. He could clearly see her
pink nipples elegantly carved out of soft breasts. She half
folded one of the legs. She was still lay motionless,
undisturbed. She did not open her eyes. He caressed her rosy
cheeks and put damp kisses in strange obsession. She did
not open eyes and uttered, “Darling I love you.” He lay on
the bed, resting his face on her flat belly, just above the
slender waist. He stood up and unclad himself. She was far
fairer than him. Guddu lay completely on her; covered her
romance emanating pinkish breasts and the white healthy
thighs with a ruptured grip. Even he closed his eyes. He felt
as his being was melting into her. He had been feeling a
bonding of love and lust merging within his breathes. He
67
embraced her tightly, occupied more of her. She draped her
long and soft arms around him to tie him over herself. He
kissed her neck, nudged a little down and nibbled her
nipples. She screamed with a jerk. But, she did not try to
pull him away. He repeated, and she screamed repeatedly.
She pulled him by hair and mouthed into his little mouth. In
that position they remained silent and engaged for some
time.

They enjoyed a short and powerful nap but did not give up
each-other. He began kissing her. When he reached at the
belly she hissed with an upsurge. He kissed and bit her, over
her belly. She stretched her legs, folded in the air, and then
clutched him. He moved below her waist. She cried ‘baby’
lustily. And then he put head between beautiful legs and
hurriedly kissed her thighs. His kisses were arousing her. He
bit her pubic zone. She stretched legs to maximum angles.
He lay over her; covering her inner sanctum artfully and
began pumping with erect penis. She filled with sensuous
joy. He rubbed over her for a long time. Both were gasping
and fell on sides for each other. He clung to her and kissed
her and did not leave her neck.

68
 The Burnt Barrack

Still! Caged! Tapped! The pleasant approach of the night to

the next phase of the night was mildly diffusing. Its spell
characterized by long hours of darkness and subtle anxiety
to keep winter nights harmonious. Disciplined and mildly
affecting it; it had been flowing with light rise at foggy pace,
neither jostling nor excitedly spreading away from where it
had been springing. Delightfully acclimatizing to form
intangible spectrums of finely woven streamed rivulets as
lovers embraced each-others breaths and bodily fragrance.
The moon, friend of the restricted hearts, the shy poetic
inspiration, half obscured, half lit witnessing over the
benumbed lofty tree tops.

His bed tapped by net-mosquito of all the sides, his allotted

window was tightly closed, facing the backyard - the cluster
of coniferous and other trees, invariably falling under
category of lofty trees, characterized by rotund and
handsome trunks. The entire barrack was full of tapped
beds, laid in the night silence, devoid of chirpy vibration, at
eternal rest, facades of net-mosquitoes filling ambience of
erectility. And as usual he sensed, rather sure that no one
was awake except his own soul.

He loved to keep himself closeted in his tapped bed. Marked

by being solitude. His quietness had begun whispering to
him. He was aware that he couldn’t remember it. He
couldn’t capture it. He ought not to be! He had waited more
than others; till the others had lost in haughty snores and
ravishing dreams. In his subconscious, motivational tides
from the sun settling horizon were tenderly striking to the
shore of his heart repeatedly. Soon, as the sun there sunk

69
below the magenta high tides. He would reach on the verge
of fantasy fenced by unperturbed serenity and calmness.

The function, or so called the night musical party had been

started at ‘Sylhet’ hours back. The officers party place,
located vaguely at a kilometre distance from the gate, but
quite near from backyard passage, a night- sentry free way
which was densely populated by coniferous, eucalyptus and
gulmohar tress. The mirth-instilling waves were emanating
from ‘Sylhet’ always covered major territory of the silent
Missionary School’s campus, and ungrudgingly enriched the
barracks. The balmy infusion had truly made it a splendid
place, near to a calm paradise, where reveries would
transform into sweet dreams. And then, his childhood
instinct would speak to his fragile soul.

And music so pure, so calm, so exquisite and beautiful, he

longed to hold it, as he would do in class, but they were
moving with the every moment of nature. And he couldn’t
either remember or store them all instantly. His
claustrophobic quadrate structured bed, quite suiting to his
needs and behaviourism as he was enjoying drowsy
contentment, the musical streams would horizontally, and
gradually falling down like filtered thin drizzles layer by
layer into his bed. It was like being asleep and dreaming and
believing that dream images were true.

The goddess of the night pulled the most adorable disciple’s

mind inside, and took him over the universe. Thus, granted
him the experience of the fullness of his soul, which would
make him free. There was a force, which pulled the soul
upward to unite with God from whom he was separated and
deprived, and there was a force of the earthly elements that
tried to drag him down into the meshes of mind and matter.
Here, the soul was in its real nature, free and unfettered,
70
unlimited by ego and full of bliss, burning away the passion
and zeal for possession and reconciliation; the carnal
cravings and the brutal reach for power. Far from
externalities.

He would use it as an aid to sleep; shedding weeks gathered

tension, domesticity and autonomy so that he could ably
wake up fresh to meet the challenges of another day.
Staying awake! Might be a rebel within him. As it was gift
from the goddess of the brumal night to this shy and anxious
boy. He would sacrifice sleeping hours to last with it; to
enjoy it, to hear it, to flow with it, to merge with his soul,
with the still night till the music diminished, indicating the
party of elite officers were over. And dawning and the world
of humans were ahead.

It had been many days that every Saturday night he was

blessed with angels of music and the goddess of the night,
inevitably leaving a balmy touch in his soul so that he could
patiently wait for the next Saturday night, or hope for a
musical night in between. Unlike other normal nights,
Saturday night had always the night of lonesome celebration
for him. This night-fall didn’t demand a demanding day next
day. The lineage had given a meagre provision to wake up
till 7.30 am although a deadline but still a relief.

He had been late in waking up. Having listened barrage of

comments; he faced the tirade obediently. And an old and
ruined church, bereft of light came into his mind.

The fog remained the same for some time. The gone night
took away the moon. The sun rays had replaced the
charming musical waves. Now, it was morning. And the
entire day was ahead. The other side of nature became

71
conscious, movements, chirping, upbraiding, and vibrations
took rhythm to support the pace of life.

Entire barrack’s beds looked crumbled and might have

suffered chillness and wild huddling. The net-mosquitoes
had been untied. The fear of vigilance and discipline about
to strike in their minds, hence the beds became smooth, well
laid out and bump free. Although, to some extent it was
reckoned a free day as there was no school for the boys,
except the evening prayer. But still the basic domesticity
and self work had to be taken with passing hours as life
went through rites of passage stage by stage. His eyes were
wide open; he grinned at a few boys, sitting silently on bed
while others passing and wandering in the corridor to finish
their morning ablutions hastily. Before he could start his
procedure for the day, he was planning the day, where and
how to spend. And the previous night’s mirth was still
galloping in his mind, unable to free him.

He would try to recollect what all had happened with him.

Was it natural during his sleep or he vested some special
powers to experience that magic. He firmly believed that he
was awake, if he was awake then he should have been
dizzying at this time, would feel the scorch from the
glistening shafts of the sunlight which were falling from the
gaps of the lofty trees.

He extricated himself from the bedsheet; wrapped

everything, flicked the bedsheet and laid out every item like
other barrack mates had done. Finally, leaving the reverie at
its point, moved off to the bathroom. A brazen bath under
cold shower set calmness in his mind and he retreated to the
world where he had to live and sustain and endure.

72
He drank milk and secretly passed his half–eaten pudding to
a black boy of his age sitting beside him, to get rid of a dull
taste. He thought of lunch and mutton, if cooked with right
paste of condiments otherwise he had to postpone hunger
for dinner in a hope of a sumptuous food.

They had been providing him everything to boost his studies

as well as to set his mind frame for studies and a new
religion. He never looked out of the window while studying
to notice the speed of the soughing breeze. He would
studiously turn the pages, mug up the rhymes, poems and
prose. But strangeness hollowed him as soon as he closed
the book.

The washerman, a short stoop man had arrived with two

tight bundles hung back over his shoulders, covering his
entire backbone. He had laid out the ironed uniforms and
civil dresses just ahead the main door. Boys mischievously
began flinging week’s gathered filthy uniforms and civil
dresses and cogitatingly began picking washed and ironed
dresses and clothes from the fresh and tidy bundles. He
flung dirt stained and soiled colour clothes on the heap,
when the washerman had begun counting clothes to form a
stack. And the other boys had been settled down with their
clothes, he reluctantly and silently picked up his uniform
and a pair of civil dress from the cloth sheet. The
washerman gained the stoop position, little relieved but
moved off the barrack with a crumbled bundle since he
didn’t form a stack of filthy and dirty clothes to be washed.
He would come next Sunday with the same clothes but the
bundle would be stacked, plain and erect to some height.

Unexpectedly, the rarity happened! He liked lunch as he

hadn’t had breakfast with good heart. Boyishness divided,
some rapidly rushed out of the barrack, some chosen to be at
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recreational room. And a few of them lazed down on their
allotted beds for the winter afternoon siesta. And some were
out on the playground as the afternoon was splendid and
pleasant, not causing any damaging heat. He thought of the
other way, the backyard way, the backyard that he often saw
from his bed, especially in the moon light.

That way was partially forbidden but he knew that afternoon

was the lax time; hence, no one would be stringent to him.
The sun wasn’t overhead, still there was sunshine as it was
afternoon time, and the air was cool and healing. The shafts
of the sunlight, which he had noticed in the morning, had
been diminished and there was falling sundry sun rays
partially obscured by the barren boughs. The lofty trees had
been shed leaves and stood silently and patiently.

The intermingled boughs occasionally swung with unbridled

gushes of the cool and crisp breeze. Serenity had been
interrupted. A cool breeze mildly swept the minor heaps of
dry leaves. The tract of land was immensely covered by
yellow sallow leaves; at patches bumps of green and grassy
land were visible. He strode further, dried yellowish tiny
fallen fruits were trampled under his feet, also the wilted
and the dried up gulmohar glowers laid mingled with other
varieties. And at occasion the eucalyptus leaves were
suffusing mild redolence, sort of aromatic and medicinal
fragrance. The day was still and the sky was clear, not
sparkling bright. The marginal shadows of lofty and thick
trunks, and thin and dangling boughs had stripped him as he
was treading ahead and ahead.

There wasn’t any sign of trace, way, and identified passage.

The entire backyard was covered with layers of dry leaves
and umpteen twigs and fallen logs. Every step creaked!
Dried up bushes and shrubs staggered him while he made
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his way to explore further. He wanted to see a glimpse of
Sylhet; he profoundly thought most of the night’s music
sprang from there. And he was sure about it. So it would be
affirmative step to spot that place before the winter dusk
spread over the pointed boughs.

A lonely forest; a lonely wanderer. In gaps of regular trees,

exploited teak trees stood with abnormal erectility. Upon the
tight boughs, on both the sides a few tattered and wilted,
absolutely dried leaves were firmly attached. It would be
sullen sight to observe teaks profoundly. He thought; very
unhealthy species of trees, as it reeked that thousand odd
years’ grief and silence had been wrapped in their shadows
and eventually affecting the other benign trees and nearby
supporting bushes.

Seemingly the entire forest was pallid, yellowish,

epitomizing death; other healthy trees’ boughs, with just
sprouted leaves apparently dangled with irregular gushes of
wind. But teak’s bough like dried up snakes, erect,
countable and absolutely unfazed by irregular strokes of
wind, wind couldn’t leave any kind of natural effect on
them. Stood stunned with stricken thoughts.

He veered to left, moved ahead with some noiseless steps

inside. He wouldn’t touch in anything in a fear. A strange
fear stung him, might ingenerate immense and unbearable
pain. The bark was rough, partially attached, might sway or
broke down with unexpected torrent or a heavy dusty storm.

Again he thought, “These kinds of trees bring morbidness

all-around. It is a ghost tree, which accommodates and
tether spirits, goblins and ghosts even in the daylight, it
reeks a strange and morbid uneasiness; these kinds of
unnatural trees should be cut down and quickly burnt down
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or should be set ablaze right away, as ghosts, spirits afeared
fire. These trees patronize spirits during afternoon.”

He pulled down a bark from the nearby white eucalyptus

tree and then thought about the difference of grooming by
mother nature for both the trees, which had germinated from
the same soil, stood under the same sky and the sun and
equally got the same rain intensity and different levels of
wind.

“Then, why teak is forlorn? Ostracized, why squirrels do not

ran up and down on it.”

“Why the black crows didn’t hover or fly around its shadow.
Why there was a red ant’s hill upon its uprooted roots. Why
its bark was rasped, scrapped and stumbled? Did someone
harass teak trees?”

“Yes the goblins and spirits. Therefore all these teak trees
are sad, despondent, dry and impassionate to wait for the
next spring.” They had dying spirit. He squinted eyes for the
better observation, for the steep sight, sudden birds began
chirping, as far his eyes level raised,
logs….logs….timberland, stems, trunks, trunks, brown,
soiled colour, rough colour, at times dark too, as a monster
tethered the logs intermittently for a wild purpose.

He had been carefully treading into deeper depths as a

keeker. Surreptitiously rolling eyes, in a sudden jerk looked
up, through the barren branches and the sight ceased at the
sky. The sun rays scattering from shred of a mirror. He tried
to figure out the backdrop of the sun, but the sky was not a
combination of blue and white patches, also there weren’t
any light group of clouds swarming around the sun. But the
sky couldn’t be a colourless entity of the universe. It was
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magnificently mixed up of white and blue making it a
slightly dusty sky but the major appearance of the sky was
whitish not the blue or black or magenta that happened
between the twilight and the dusk.

It was a forbidden backyard. The remnant of the burnt

barrack had been turned into sooty black. And brick dust
dripped down quite occasionally with mild strokes of wind.
It was strongly believed that once it used to be full of
soldiers, basically of Indian origin. One night, at the early
spell, some of the soldiers were tortured and killed by white
officers. It caused a treacherous havoc among the troops.
They turned vindictive and rebelled with indigenous spirit.
And thought freedom would be available next morning. All
the white officers were killed and buried behind the barrack.
The involved troops surrendered next morning and thought
of serving long period in prison. But, it was not the plan.
They went out of law. They turned out to be more vindictive
as a consequence all the soldiers were confined in, first
gathered, and the barrack was set ablaze. Later it was
reported as the unfortunate accident in newspapers. Since
then the barrack was not rejuvenated or claimed by
authorities. It became a horrid and haunted place to visit and
linger around. And the effects were quite prevalent in the
jungle of the backyard.

He was standing in the ocean of dry leaves; crows

dominated the tops of lofty, tall trees. And at fair distance
hyper frightened group of squirrels caused rustle on the
leafy ground. Invariably, he would assume a large snake or
group of tiny and sharp snakes might be slithering around
him, this assumption was horrid, he shuddered in flash of
just fallen sunbeams. He moved away from the randomly
stood teaks, plunged to the back ward way; he had to be in
optimum openness, where no frightful trees, insects and
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rustling sound could gnaw him. He optimistically sharpened
his ears; the sound of nature mixed with variety of mild and
unnoticeable movements eased him.

The day become more still; even the chirpiness from the
barracks direction died out. He tabbed toe to create a sound,
a cranky sound out of the scattered and dry floor leaves, and
he liked it.

“Has nature ceased?” he asked himself. He was little tired;

more than body it was his eyes; eyes slightly burning as a
consequence of minute observations, an obsession might
abduct him if he wouldn’t close his eyes as soon as possible.
He did. A tinge of jadedness ran downward his spine, thighs
and knees. He needed to rest, that cheerful eagerness had
been diminishing which he had upon entering the forest. He
had come without any motif or plan; it was impromptu stroll
which led him here, quite far from his residential building.
Nevertheless, he still wanted to see the glimpse of ‘Sylhet’
but now he was afraid to go ahead, he had made his mind to
return. He would come on some other day, with a prepared
mind. The late afternoon had been over and the sky gained
smoky texture, not misty or entirely foggy as he could still
trace the fading sun rays. The passing day had been opened
the doors for the dusk which would arrive soon and both
were sure of it, the day and he.

The peak period of the afternoon had been whiled away at

the backyard of the barrack. He thought of shifting to the
study room with a purpose of self study, but his thoughts
paused, again started, he would like to stroll further, but not
in the backyard, somewhere else, as twilight had begun, as
in winters, as he studied that days were of shorter duration;
hence, the evening with the delighting darkness would
beguile his heart and it could be possible that there might be
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an event at ‘Sylhet.’ As the month of December was gay in
itself, the winter was at its peak especially in this month,
and the spirit of Christmas in the last week of the month
leaves no hope for monotony. Just a matter of a few hours
wait could fill his heart, it could be the repetitive event, and
the night might repeat its charm, might retrieve in the same
way just like the previous night. He was passing through
zealous anxiety.

The mellow chillness had begun covering the territory, it

was located around the forest, as a consequence the place
became prematurely cooler and quiet; and special serenity
got added up naturally.

He was walking down on the dusty road, a normal road

which passed edging three live barracks and a church. And
it’s both the ends went missing, were lost further. Myriad
trees stood on both the sides of the road. The playground
was not so huge but divided into two parts so two or more
sports could be played at the same time. The playground
was heavily surrounded by trees of all the sides, from all the
direction.

He would stroll on the road with a focused determination,

unravelling the deeply consolidated charcoal road, faded
road; without diverting his mind towards the playing
children. He would enjoy everything, the weather, the
soughing air, the mellow sunlight, enormous flocks of birds,
chirping of parrots, cawing of crows and shy fluttering of
sparrows. And sometimes he would witness the falling of
leaves and flowers from the road side trees. But he was
afraid to meet other boys, especially while playing, their
spirit could be contagious, perhaps affect him. In fact most
of the times, to avoid this sort of fear he would try to be a
lone perfectionist. One morning, while he was sitting before
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a completed portrait, inwardly shuddering over the ugliness
of it, a suffocating smell of musk was wafted into the
barrack; it was followed by a sound of rustling gushes of
wind and trampling of array of leaves; something had been
treading, underneath it and that again was succeeded by the
personal appearance of a British officer, and it reminded
him a portrait of a general, which he had seen in the
newspaper a year ago. And then he gazed at the portrait,
resembling to that soldier and the newspaper image and he
simply delighted on his imagination which inevitably had
forced him to sketch with diligent mind. But the purpose
was unknown he guessed. He would save it. In company of
none he would vent his father’s slavery on this painting. In
the same jungle, often where he roamed about in solitude.

This had slightly set him on self negation. As he was

growing, the socializing factor was diminishing. His thought
flow insisted that he wanted something anew all the time,
well it was ambitiousness or dynamicity or mental stability
or just a charming phase of childhood, which most of the
well grooming going children, enrolled into British schools
faced. But he didn’t know it and he couldn’t dare ask
anyone, not even to her.

It was past nine and apparently sleeping silence had made

niche. Now at this time when everybody was fast asleep, the
other boys of his age. He would ponder over his day’s
activity, the day which had been passed. In gratitude
towards the undeveloped dogmatism and smothered self
esteem he had to recollect what he had done throughout the
day, was it justifiable or not, if not he had to repent for that.
Regret by lying in dejection for hours. How many hours did
he study? Where did he waste or spent major part of the day,
in learning or wasting. He ought to answer himself. He had
studied only for an hour that too just after dinner and it was
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casual reading. Despicably, a low productive Sunday for
him. She had given him texts of poems and many fable
books so he should have been reading rather than finding
other options to pass time and to divert his mind. He had
gone to the library; there a book had caught his attention.

He had to sleep now, the next day he had to visit school. He

closed eyes but a depth was settling in his eyes and he felt
that he got connected to his pillow. He opened eyes to
observe minute sound from the outside forest, although it
could be frightful to involve himself in these nocturnal
avocations, but he loved to discover when he was alone and
silence pervaded everywhere. Negligible rustling of dried up
leaves had just occurred which was quite common during
leaf-shedding days in the forest. From the far off distance, it
seemed that owls might be growling, he didn’t know the
exact sound but it was coming from the forest not from
Sylhet. Or might be from that haunted, dilapidated burnt
barrack. He memorized owl’s growling during the night-fall,
as they sleep in day. Noticing these sound would of no use
to him, in addition to that he might caught in fear which
would cause no good deed for him. He should prefer to
sleep and he went for it.

She was confounded to hear that. What!! She exclaimed

loudly. How could you say that? She took him away, and
kissed her forehead and told him to sit erect opposite her.
“Look my boy......I have not seen or heard about any Sylhet.
Yes, there was an officer mess but it has been shifted to a
remote place, denser than this place.”

And he was lovingly instructed not to roam about in the

forest at the backyard. In the night, he lay awake beyond the
midnight and heard the mild notes of music for some time.
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He heard the roaring, all of a sudden, it was a fighter plane,
and from the far off distance a destructive sound filled his
ears. And he murmured, “The war is not over yet.”

And father might come!

He was home. With her, back to his beauty. It was a futile

stay over there. She sensed. A late flurry of snow had begun,
beautiful swirls, dancing on the far off mountains, where
forces were tightly deployed on both the sides. It was
dazzling purity. So chaste in meaning!

Her blonde hair ruffled like thick smoke, she had become
outlandish ravishing in that short period of parting. She bit
him wildly. He scampered around. He could feel her
shaking, a deep muscular contraction as her body craved to
generate heat and warmth through combined nakedness. He
flung the bolsters around her and began rubbing himself as
vigorously as he could. Panting slightly, he opened his eyes
and rolled over, an impish smile laced with immature
puberty burst on his face. She kissed him on the cheeks,
enjoying the smoothness, he kissed her back.

As warmth had been generated she pulled him on her,

looking up into his eyes.

“What are you thinking of?”

“Wine?”

“No.....love and sin.” She made no movement. He bit a

flourishing pink nipple, and deliberately loved her mignon
screaming. He lifted the hair plastered across her face,
pushed it to one side and they kissed. He murmured, “I love
you.......Merilyn.” His enthusiasm surprised her.
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