After
getting down from the train at Bhanjpur railway station, the grand old man
would slowly walk through the narrow dusty walkway. He would prefer a shortcut
route to his eldest son Basanta’s house.
The three grand
children would run to welcome their Dadu and relieve him of some luggage which he
had brought with him. The youngest one could not keep pace, would stay half way
crying but his Dadu would lift him and put him on his shoulders and carry him
home for the rest of the distance. After they reached home the children would
leave for the school.
Unlike
today’s children they did not expect anything from their Dadu except his love
and a toothless smile. They would wait eagerly for the last school bell, so
that they would come home and be with their grandfather. There was a special
fascination between them.
The two
bundles made out of an old dhoti and a red towel would contain some guavas, mangoes, drum sticks, Mudhi, Chuda, Ukhda, Arisa Pitha and a small glass bottle
containing hardly 100grams of ghee, all homemade. The fruits were from the backyard
garden of Pandhda House. The cows hardly give any milk due to their poor breed
and lack of proper fodder. They are kept mostly for the cow dung and they live
till they grow old and die. No one would sell a cow to the butcher if it stopped
giving milk, as it was believed to be a great sin to do so.
The grandmother
Rukmini would struggle to make this amount of ghee for her eldest son over a
period of six months. “This ghee is not to be shared with anyone”, so the grand
children knew about it and would never ask for it from their mother.
After a couple of days of Dadu’s stay,
son Basanta would take his father along with the children for the evening
Raymond circus show. That was an international circus party. Three hours of
sheer entertainment for a fee of fifty paisa for a gallery seat. Due to the
projection of a powerful light, the sky would lit up at nights and the
villagers from far and near would come to know about the arrival of a circus party
at Baripada. The tribal and non tribal people of Mayurbhanj would folk in to
the town walking or through the narrow gauge train.
Dadu would stay for a week, when his time
comes for departure the grand children would cry and hide his cloths so that his
stay would get prolonged. But Bholanath Dadu had to go back to village for
other important work, he can’t extend his stay. All the three grand children
would accompany him to the Bhanjpur railway station to see him off and also to
have a glimpse of the made in Great Britain steam engine.
The Rail line is as straight as an arrow from
the Baripada station turning to Bhanjpur, a distance of three and half
kilometers. Those days other vehicles used to safe guard themselves from these
demons, be it a narrow gauge or a huge Canadian engine. But now with increase
in literacy level and more educated people around the engines and its drivers
are afraid of smaller vehicles, at times of human beings.
Children
would put their ears to the rails and try to guess if the train is approaching
or not. Most of them eagerly wait to watch the engine with its black tail of smoke
while passing through that Bhanjpur tunnel hissing and puffing. The train with
its four small compartments would reach Bhanjpur around 4:30 pm from Baripada.
Bholanath Dadu
as well as the little ones would become emotional, shed few drops of tears as the
guard would blow the whistle and wave the green flag. All of them would wait until
they could see no more of that last compartment disappearing at a distant curve.
After coming home, the youngest one would sob in his mother’s lap. Mother Annapurna
would console him with her soothing words “Do not cry, my little flower; we
will be going back to our village shortly in that same train.”
Sanjoy Kumar
Satpathy
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