The Oraon And The Divine Tree

  Chapter 5

  I

  Next morning Dhanesh rose before sun rise, brushed teeth with a veranda twig, mashed down to make the end the tooth brush, and smeared his burning palms with the juice of an herb. He heard the clucks of the cocks while he reached the field and in the barely visible light of dawn observed that a thick crust of gum had accumulated in the three inch deep opening cut out by him the day before on the trunk of the tree. He cleared the gum and was satisfied that no more bloodlike juice was dripping. Now the bonny part had to be cut off and it would be more painful for the tree. ‘I should administer some anesthetic’, he muttered to himself. He picked up leaves of bhang grown at the edge of the forest and rubbed the cut with the juice. ‘This is a good anesthetic and would lessen the pain’, he said to himself.

  He checked up the axe carefully and found that it was o.k. Now the sky had become brighter and screeches and chatters of birds made the ambience lively. The forest was still dark like a high wall with serrated top. He struck the bonny part of the tree and the continuous contact of the sharp edge of the axe with the trunk made a series of monotonous sharp sounds that echoed in the forest and snippets of timber started assailing the bare part of his body. He changed his earlier decision and wore the spectacle with large glasses given to him by Nimu to protect his eyes. He muttered addressing the tree, ‘I’ve administered anesthetic and hope the cutting is no longer painful for you.’

  Morning breeze started blowing in the high up foliage of the tree and Dhanesh felt as though the tree was whispering, ‘yes my friend, your medication is marvelous. I don’t feel anything but the thrust of your axe.’

  Dhanesh continued cutting faster and splinters of wood started hitting his body mercilessly. The sharp edge of a fragment hit his chest hard and he felt blood oozing out. Nimu was right; he should have covered his body too. Dhanesh realized that old age had left its mark on his strength and power to endure. In his youth he could ignore the cuts and bruises made by splinters of timber. Only bathing afterwards was problematic as contact with water used to cause sharp pain all over the body. But no infection or suppuration followed as the herbs smeared all over his body could cure the wounds in a day or two. But now it was different; his old worn out body took much longer time to recuperate. Dhanesh went back to his den to put on the shirt and the cotton monkey-cap given him by Nimu. These would cause tickling and irritating sweating but he had to protect his body, face and forehead. The breeze now swirled through the top of the tree and Dhanesh felt as though the tree was chuckling to observe his queer appearance.

  II

  Dhanesh started cutting again and now the onslaught of the detritus of wood did not create any problem for him. The unaccustomed garment, however, caused him some uneasiness at first but he was soon accustomed to it as he went on slashing the hard bonny wood of the trunk like a robot and his mind drifted back to the past, the history and the legends of his forefathers who had been deceived into the slavery in the tea gardens. There was nobody around except the tree and Dhanesh who split himself up into two – the tree and himself – the tree questioning and he replying.

  ‘Now tell me some new story. Where is your homeland my friend?’

  ‘My grand father came here from far away Santhal Parganas.’

  ‘Then you’re a Santhal I suppose.’

  ‘No, we are Kurukhs, known as Oraons and the Rajbonshi’s here call us madesias and the Bengali babu’s call us dhangars. No body knows our ancestral land which is shrouded in myth and mystery. My forefathers believed that long long ago our Kurukh race used to live in the mythical land Rohtasgarh. Mundas of Chotanagpur call us Oraons which means nomads who have traveled many places and who do not have any land of their own.’

  ‘Why did your ancestors leave Rohtasgarh?’

  ‘That’s a lengthy story.’

  ‘Tell me the story. This would lessen your drudgery of the hard work.’ Dhanesh went on cutting the tree and relating his story to the tree.

  ‘While I was young India had already won independence from British rule and the government had passed new laws protecting the interests of the tea garden laborers. Most of the laws were violated by the planters but at least one thing had changed, the serfdom of plantation laborers had been completely abolished and tea garden laborers could move anywhere now and give up garden jobs if they liked. Many of them were retrenched because of occasional crisis in tea business and took to agriculture or became menials in households or free casual laborers. I happened to get admitted to a school and could continue studies up to class six. My Bengali friend at school Mihirbabu, a brilliant student, continued studies up to the highest level and became an inspector of the tea gardens, a high level government officer. He was a nice person and could recognize me while visiting our garden. He told me that he would visit Chhotanagpur soon and if I accompany him I would get the opportunity to visit my homeland. I was thrilled at his proposal and the manager granted me one month’s leave with pay at his request. The managers obliged to the request of the inspector without any hesitation as he knew well that any adverse report from the inspector about violation of plantation laws would put him to trouble.

  As soon as I arrived at Chhotanagpur the doors of a completely new world opened up before me and I was amazed to discover the difference between my lifestyle and language from that of the Oraons of Chhotanagpur. In fact, like all the Oraon plantation laborers in north Bengal, I was born and brought up amidst a mongrel culture of Oraons and Bengalis. The language I spoke could be comprehensible to the local tribals at Chhotanagpur but it appeared funny to them. But soon I made friendship with many Kurukhs, Mundas, Hoes and Santhals there. I enjoyed their festivities and music which I had heard about from my father.

  It was the year of Jani Shikar, hunting by tribal women to celebrate their victory over the Turuks (Turks) whom they had driven out from the Rohtasgarh fort twelve times.’

  ‘Tell me please the story of the battle with the Turuks at Rohtasgarh.’ The tree seemed to be keenly curious.

  Dhanesh continued, ‘There are many accounts of the incidents. That happened long long ago and nobody knows the exact incidents. Many folk-stories have been created about the battle and the myths, which were handed down from mouth to mouth, have changed in course of time because of interpolations. The most interesting account is like this.

  The Rohtasgarh fort where our ancestors lived since time immemorial was defended by the most invincible fort and according to the Hindus, it was founded by Rohtas, the son of Harishchandra of Hindu mythology. The Turuks came from a distant land and invaded India and the Sultans captured Delhi and established their kingdom in India. Now they wanted to expand their kingdom by subjugating the independent states. They realized that in eastern India, capturing Rohtasgarh would give them tremendous strategic advantage. So they rushed with their force to capture the fort but observing the invincible fort and prowess of the Kurukh warriors they fled. Then the spies of the Sultan found a Kurukh whore at Delhi and promised to pay her a lucrative amount if she could inform the Turuks about the weaknesses of the Kurukhs at Rohtasgarh. The whore informed them that during the Sahrul and Karam festivals all the Kurukh males get drunk with haria, the rice fermented drink. Karam is held during the rains and disadvantageous to attack at that time. So they decided to invade the fort at the time of Sahrul in spring.’

  ‘Tell me something about your Sahrul festival,’ the tree implored.

  III

  ‘Hat…hat…hat…...’

  The noise made Dhanesh return to the real world and turning around saw Tiken, the Rajbonshi peasant boy on the back of a large buffalo leading a group of buffaloes.

  ‘Are you going out for grazing?’ Dhanesh asked.

  ‘No, I’m taking them to the lake. You know they like water and mud. I’ve heard you talking to yourself just now. You feel lonely cutting the tree alone I think. I would be glad to be by your side while you work but the naughty buffaloes would move freely if I don’t keep watch on them and
it would be difficult to hunt them out if they enter the jungle and also leopards may attack them in the forest. Why do you wear this funny dress?’

  ‘They protect me from splinters of wood while I cut the tree.’

  ‘They are costly I think.’

  ‘No doubt. Nimu babu bought them for me.’

  ‘May I wear the goggles?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Dhanesh put off the goggles and handed it over to the boy who had dismounted from the back of the buffalo.

  ‘Whose buffaloes are these?’

  ‘Cheltu Roy’s.’

  ‘I think you worked in Sital’s farm.’

  ‘He no longer needs me and also he behaves roughly with the menials like me.’

  ‘I know Cheltu; he’s a good man I’ve heard.’

  ‘Certainly and he never cheats about payment.’

  Dhanesh hesitated and then asked getting closer to the boy ‘Do you think I’m committing sin by felling this sacred tree?’

  ‘Not at all. I don’t believe that trees could be planted by deities. I could have felled the tree myself as it meant a good job at the Marwari’s gaddi, but I don’t have the skill, nor the strength to fell down such a gigantic tree.’

  ‘Every one here has deep faith in the myth. You seem to be the first one in the locality to differ. But how come a Hindu boy like you does not believe in these things?’

  ‘My father was a communist and he taught us not to be superstitious. He joined the Naxalites you may know and was killed by police in the jail. Oh ho, the naughty buffalo has strayed away toward the jungle.’

  The boy returned the goggles and hurried unleashing his long stick toward the run away buffalo, chased it back to the line of the buffaloes again, rode on the back of the largest one and left along with the herd. The sun was now up and everything around looked bright. The breeze blowing harder now made a hissing noise in the foliage of the tree. No body was around and none was likely to come this way at these hours. Dhanesh continued his story.

  IV

  ‘I’ve not myself seen the Sahrul festival as the Kurukhs at tea gardens do not observe this, but I’ve heard about the festival from my father.

  The Sahrul festival is a flower festival and it is held in spring as then the saal trees are adorned with blossoms. The festival begins with the puza of the village deity who, the tribal people believe, protects them from all hazards and brings prosperity to them. The puza is performed by the Pahan.’

  ‘Who is the Pahan?’ Dhanesh asked shifting himself to the role of the tree.

  ‘He’s the priest of the Kurukhs. In the evening before the worship of the gods the Pahan fills three new earthen pots with water. Next dawn, the Pahan bathes, puts on new clothes (kacchha dhaga) and examines the water levels of the earthen pots. If the water levels remain unchanged, it’s a sign of good rains and prosperity. On the other hand, decrease in water levels portends hazards like drought and famine.

  After checking up the water of the pots, the Pahan gets ready for the puza and his wife washes his feet and seeks his blessings. Then the Pahan along with the devotees proceed for the sarna or jaher.’

  ‘What is sarna or jaher?’

  ‘This is the saal tree in which the supreme invisible god (Singbonga of the Santhals or Dharmesh of the Kurukhs) resides according to tribal faith. There is an interesting folklore about the discovery of the jaher deep inside the forest by the tribal people.’

  ‘Tell me please the story.’

  Dhanesh stopped talking as he felt uneasy with the airtight outfit inside which beads of sweat were dripping down his body. It would no longer be necessary to wear the dress for the rest of the day, he thought. A furrow had been cut by the axe. The uneven ends had to be smoothed out to enable further strikes by the axe. Dhanesh put off the goggles and the robe, rolled the robe neatly and stacked it into the Hessian bag. He then picked out the large chopper, bent backwards and started smoothing the uneven furrow on the trunk after drying his body with a towel. He resumed the story.

  ‘Some tribal people, while resting under a tree in course of hunting in deep forest, started discussing about the abode of their creator, the Supreme God. But they could not come to a conclusion and eventually decided that they would send an arrow high up in the sky and abode of their creator must be at the place where the arrow drops. They sent the arrow in the sky and it traveled down on a saal tree inside the forest and since then the saal tree became the place of their worship of the Supreme God.

  Now let me get back to the Sahrul festival. After reaching the jaher with the villagers, the Pahan offers three chickens of different colors – the first one for the Supreme God, the second one for the village deities and the third for their ancestors.

  While the Pahan performs the puza rituals at the jaher, the villagers start singing accompanied by various percussion instruments like tumdak, madal, dhol, kartal etc. Then some males lift the Pahan on their shoulders and proceed towards his house while other villagers follow them singing and dancing. As soon as the procession reaches the door of the Pahan’s house his wife welcomes them and receives her husband by washing his feet. The Pahan then offers saal flowers to his wife and all the villagers as tokens of love brotherhood and friendship. This is followed by the ‘fool-khonsi’ ritual in which the Pahan adorns every tribal house with saal flower.

  After the rituals haria-prasad is distributed and the villagers drink, sing and dance for weeks to celebrate the festival gorgeously. However, in earlier times the female Kurukhs refrained from drinking while all the males used to become tipsy with haria.’

  V

  The sun was high up into the mid sky now and his story telling was interrupted as Nimu’s man came with the lunch packet. After lunch he leaned against the trunk of the tree. He felt very tired and drowsy.

  ‘No, I should not rest now; only a little work to clean the rough edge is left and Nimu babu would be unhappy if he finds me sleeping before completion of the days’ work.’ He muttered to himself and resumed clearing off the edges with the chopper and got back to his story.

  ‘The whore gave the Turuks every detail of the festival and assured them that in course of the festivities all the male Kurukhs would remain completely soused and incapable of resisting the invaders and they need not attach much importance to the weaker sex. So the Turuks planned to attack the fort during the Sahrul festival and capture it while the male Kurukhs, being drunk, would be incapable of fighting.

  During the next Sahrul, all the Kurukh men were dead drunk at midnight and the women were ready to go to bed after their children had slept. All of a sudden they were startled by noise coming from outside the fort gate. A leader of the women called a young girl, expert at climbing trees, to inspect what was going on outside the fort gate. The girl climbed at the top of a tall tree and was bewildered to notice a large number of Turuk soldiers approaching the gate of the fort. She immediately rushed back and alerted the leader who right away blew her conch shell and the young girl started beating a drum. This was the signal for the women to assemble near the house of the leader. Those who heard the sounds started making similar signal and soon all the women congregated outside the house of the leader. The leader told them about the impending danger and ordered them to get prepared to fight the enemies in soldier’s uniforms with weapons. The women left and started getting ready according to the directions of the leader.

  In the mean time the Turuk soldiers were trying to break open the gate of the fort. The passage leading to the gate was narrow and hilly and so only a few soldiers could approach it at a time. Some women soldier’s rode the tall turrets and through the holes started shooting arrows at the Turuk soldiers trying to approach the gate and they were immediately killed being hit by the arrows soaked with snake poison. Then the Turuks started backing out and women Kurukhs getting out of the fort through the secret openings started chasing and killing them mercilessly and ultimately all the defeated Turuks were compelled to give up the hope of capturing the fort.


  The same incidents were repeated twelve times. Then the Sultan consulted the Kurukh whore again and the woman informed him that the Kurukh women too get drunk during the Karam festival. The time was not, however, suitable for the attack because after the rains the fields become muddy and difficult to move across; but this time only the fort could be captured without any resistance from the Kurukhs. The Turuk soldiers were trained to fight in the muddy land during the rains and planned to attack this time during the Karam festival.’

  VI

  His work for the day was now complete and Nimu was likely to arrive within half an hour. So in order to avert sleep he leaned against the tree and continued his story in a stentorian tone. He turned himself into the tree and implored, ‘please tell me something about the Karam festival.’

  He assumed the role of Dhanesh again and began to explain the Karam festival. ‘Karam is a festival held during the month of autumn on the eleventh day of the phases of moon in the Bengali month of Bhadra (at the beginning of September) to worship the Karam god. The flowers, fruits and wood required for the worship are collected by young men from the forest. They enter the forest in groups accompanied by drum beats, songs and dances. During the festival the households plant in front of their houses karam trees which are symbols of good fortune. After the worship the entire locality becomes festive with dances and singing accompanied by loud percussions. During the Karam festival the young girls celebrate Jawa festival expecting good fertility and prosperity. They offer germinating seeds (symbol of fertility) in a pot and water melons (symbol of son). Both males and females take haria and get tipsy during the festival.

  So when the Turuks attacked for the thirteenth time during the Karam festival the drunken men and women could not resist them and they fled through the secret outlets and the Turuks could capture the fort without any resistance from the Kurukhs. Thereafter my ancestors traversed various lands and ultimately arrived at the land of the Santhals and Mundas both of whom accepted the Kurukhs gladly and in a friendly way.’

  ‘So you see that too much drinking is not good.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘What else did you do there besides learning about your ancestral festivities?’

  ‘I enjoyed roaming around across the hills and into the forests. In course of my sojourn something interesting and very important for the rest of my life happened. I came upon a Munda girl and soon we fell in love with each other.’

  ‘Oh, very interesting! Tell me please how it happened to come about.’

  The sun dropped low to the west and its crimson glow was visible through the branches of the distant trees. He noticed Nimu’s car and stopped talking to himself and decided to keep his love story for the next day.

  VII

  At night Dhanesh at first had a dreamless deep sleep. He felt aching all over his body because of continuous hard work for the last few days. He got up and went outdoors. The wind was humid indicating raining somewhere nearby and Dhanesh felt chilly. He made water, took a drink of water and went to bed again covering his body with the robe. He looked out the small window and watched the crescent moon peeping through the slits of the sooty cloud that now had covered almost the entire sky. Lightning tore through the sky in a serrated line and the following rumble shook the house. Dhanesh shut down the window binding the wattle shutter with the coir rope attached to it and after going to bed he soon fell asleep. He found himself climbing a steep barren and lonely hill along a narrow causeway and he came to the mouth of a dark cave. An irresistible force drew him into the cave and he saw the old tree-man beckoning him. The old man now looked very sick and he tried to say Dhanesh something but could not utter anything. Dhanesh felt sorry for him and his guilt consciousness returned again. It’s he who has done all these to the tree, he thought. Then he discovered himself at the edge of the hill and his feet skidded on the crags and he started falling into an endless dark pit. He was struck with horror as his fall continued with an accelerated pace. Then he was relieved to find himself in his own bed as his sleep broke and he felt feverish. From the dripping sound on the tin roof of the house he realized that it was raining. There was a strong wind that made the rain gush on the wall of the room. Dhanesh felt shivering as droplets of water started seeping in through the crevices of the walls of the room. He got up to collect tattered pieces of canvas heaped at the far end of the room and covered his body with them. He remained awake inside the heap of canvass, shivering with chill and the frightening rumbling of thunders, the monotonous noise of rain on the roof and the whizzing of the wind continued unabated.

  He felt a bit delirious and his head got clumsy and fragmented imageries of his childhood started racing through his puzzled brain. At last exhaustion put him to a dreamless sleep. He woke early at the right time to go out for the work as his instinct alerted him on time. It had stopped raining but the sky was still cloudy. Dhanesh left bed but felt feverish and a bad headache. He decided to postpone the day’s work and hoped he would be fit the next day. Nimu came very early and he too decided against the work for the day. He took Dhanesh in his car over to the gaddi and sent for an herbal doctor, their family physician.

  The Rajbonshi herbal doctor examined Dhanesh carefully and himself undertook to prepare medicine – juices of tulsi, amruli, mutha, basaka and thankuni mixed with honey in specified proportions. He told that the medicine would soon relieve the fever but he would have to take a few days’ rest to recuperate fully. Dhanesh wanted to start work right from the next day if it did not rain again, but Nimu advised him to take at least a week’s rest. Etwa and Saiba wanted to take Dhanesh home but Nimu decided to keep him in the gaddi at least till the fever and headache were gone.

  He felt better toward the evening and reminisced about his love and marriage with Sita. He again got obsessed with his fancied world and visualized himself talking with the old tree-man who now looked sick and emaciated. Dhanesh looked at him with tearful eyes. The tree-man smiled and said, ‘cheer up and tell me your love story.’ Dhanesh mopped the tears and returned to the love story again.

  ‘At Chhotanagpur, Mihirbabu remained busy with his official works and I used to roam around. One day while walking down a hillock, I noticed a girl at the bottom trying to pluck flowers from a domba tree full of white bunches of flowers. The flowers were beyond her reach and she was jumping up again and again in a funny way to get hold of the flowers but failed each time. As soon as I came close by she was alerted by the rustle of dead leaves and turned around. To see me she smiled and I thought I’d never seen such charming smile. “Hi man, I’ve not seen you before. Where have you come from?” She asked in Santhali.

  I felt my hands and feet shaking in nervousness. I mumble out, “I’ve come with a Bengali babu, a government officer from Bengal. I work at a tea garden there.”

  She giggled and said, “oh, then you’re a chamcha (a stooge). I’m Sita, a Munda girl and you?”

  Her voice was so enchanting that I was not at all offended at her calling me chamcha. I plucked up courage and replied “I’m Dhanesh Oraon.”

  “Chamcha Oraon, can you pluck some flowers for me?”

  I felt myself fortunate being asked by her to pluck flowers for her.

  I immediately leapt up and broke a large branch with many bouquets of domba flowers. Tearing out one bouquet I handed over the branch to her. She was very glad to get the flowers and started looking at them closely with great pleasure. Something happened to me and I suddenly became bold and tucked the bouquet in my hand into her chignon. She turned her mysterious looks at me and ran away giggling loudly sending tremors into my heart.

  At night I could not sleep for a long time. Again and again the beautiful girl, her enchanting voice, her charming smile and giggles and above all the looks of her eyes started invading my thoughts. I tried to convince myself that she’s a Munda girl and I ought not to entertain such thoughts about her but I could not resist.

  Next afternoon, while I approached the hillock my heart f
luttered to see the girl seated under a saal tree. I thought that if I go along this way she might think I was after her and take me to be a bad person. So I turned around to climb along a different track, but I was startled to hear the girl calling me, “chamcha, where are you going? Come here.”

  In a moment waves of ecstatic sensations invaded me. With palpitating heart I traipsed close to her and she giggled and said right away, “you’re afraid of me I suppose, and that’s why you were diverting your way to avoid me. And why should not you? I’m such an ugly girl.”

  I replied smartly, “who says you’re ugly? You look like the chando (moon).”

  She looked up, raised her eye brows and said sarcastically, “so you say these things to all your girls?” “I’ve no girls.”

  “Really! Married?” “No.”

  “Oh what a bad luck for the silly girls at your place! They have failed to recognize the prince. Now chamcha-prince why do you roam around like a fool in an unknown place? You may lose the way and enter the forest. There are wild boars in the jungle, do you know?”

  “I don’t bother. In the forest at our place in Bengal, there are tigers, leopards, elephants and other dangerous animals.”

  “So you seem to be a hero too. Chamcha-hero, would you mind if I like to be your guide in this new land. I’ll show you caves and beautiful springs.”

  “Are you joking?” I could not believe my ears. “Not at all.” The girl now looked serious.

  Since then I started visiting places with her and soon we started liking each other. She was the first to disclose that she had fallen in love with me. While I mentioned about the caste difference she told that unlike the Santhals, the Mundas do not impose any restriction on marriage of Mundas with Oraons. Moreover she told that her father was a Birshait and therefore did not subscribe to the tribal superstitions and caste rules. Then she became serious and said, “we love each other and that’s all and why should we bother about others? I expected some more courage from a chamcha-hero.” I felt ashamed at her admonishing and remained silent looking at the ground.’

  ‘What is Birshait?’ The tree asked.

  ‘Birsha Munda was a savant and from his very childhood he realized that illiteracy, superstitions and harmful religious rituals were at the root of miseries and disunity of his tribe. He felt a deep urge to propagate a new religion based on logic, brotherhood, rule of rational law and love for animals, plants and human beings irrespective of caste and creed. He explained to his tribesmen that superstitions and most of the rites in the name of religion were meaningless. They were but inventions of rich people to exploit the poor and these were the root causes of the sufferings, disunity and poverty of the Mundas. Soon the majority of the Mundas could realize the essence of the new religion which they named Birshait religion after the mane of its initiator and they started accepting the religion. They thought Birsha was an incarnate of the creator and called him bhawan (god).’

  ‘I saw your wife Sita when you two used to sit under me and talk of your love, family, future and many other things. She was a very charming and sweet talking woman. Now tell me the story of your marriage with the Munda girl.’ The tree implored.

  Dhanesh continued, ‘when I proposed to marry Sita to her father he gave consent right away and asked me if he could proceed to take preparations for the ceremony. I told him that I had to consult my parents who lived at a distant place and requested him to accompany me along with Sita to my place. He replied that it was not possible for him and his wife to travel to Bengal and he could not let her unmarried daughter go with me either. So if I wanted to take Sita along I would have to marry her first. This made me sad and thoughtful and I sought the advice of Mihirbabu. He advised me to marry Sita and assured me that he would convince my parents about the situation that had prompted me to marry without consulting them. He also expressed his wish to bear all expenses on my behalf for the wedding.

  So the marriage ceremony was held in the tribal way with songs, dances, rituals and drinking of haria. Sita and all her family members shed tears while she left her family and homeland with me. Later on in course of travel she looked very happy and jovial. She had never gone before out of her place and every thing she came upon raised her curiosity. Whenever I failed to answer any of her queries she would approach Mihirbabu and say in a jovial voice, “please tell me what it is. This chamcha knows nothing” and she would stare at me smiling as though I was a joker and it gave me immense pleasure.

  My parents were very happy to see Sita and soon with her dexterity in household works and charming behavior she won the hearts of my parents. She still called me chamcha when alone. I too called her chando.

  One day a funny thing happened. Sita liked to adorn her chignon with flowers every morning. There was a wasp-nest in a flower plant which she had not noticed and as soon as she tried to lower the bough she was stung by a wasp and she ran right over to me. I got puzzled to see her running in panic and thought it might be a snake and while she told she had been stung by a wasp I could not help laughing aloud. I had been stung several times while collecting wasp-larva for fishing and it was a trifle. But my laughter made Sita angry and she started crying aloud and abusing me. My mother came out and admonished me for my cruel behavior to the soft girl. She extracted the sting with a needle and treated her daughter-in-law with lime and herbal medicine. Soon she was relieved of the pain but did not talk with me for a few days.

  My parents became extremely happy when Etwa was born. A separate room of bamboo wattle was constructed at the corner of the courtyard of our coolie quarter and a Rajbonshi dhai (nurse for childbirth) was hired for the delivery. The child was named Etwa as he was born on Sunday. Mihirbabu and a Rajbonshi landlord, who loved me, bore all expenses for the parents of Sita to come over to our place to see their grandson.

  My old parents always remained occupied with the upkeep of the child and Sita could soon join her job of plucking tea leaves. My father died when the child was eight and my mother followed him after two years. Then after a few years when Etwa was fifteen, Sita came back from work at noon with severe pain in her head. Etwa informed me of her ailment and I hastened to my house and found her almost senseless and vomiting. I immediately called the garden doctor who advised after examining Sita closely that she should be immediately moved to the town hospital. I accompanied her to the hospital at Jalpaiguri town with the garden doctor and the Rajbonshi landlord. The doctors there could not do anything and her consciousness did not return. The afternoon next day she opened her eyes and expressed her willingness to the attending nurse to see me and Etwa. I went in and holding my hands she said, “look after my son” and closed her eyes never to open again. Etwa was now grown up and he had his new world with his friends and with Sita’s demise I became utterly lonely in this vast world.’

  ‘Why alone, was not I there to give you company?’

  ‘Yes, yes. You were then my only true friend.’

  ‘Every day you used to sit beneath me, talked about your wife and sobbed out of grief. I felt sad and could not find any words to give you solace.’

  ‘My lone friend, you too would perish soon simply because of my selfishness.’