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Stories
The Flood
by Bhaskaranand Jha
It was more than
ten years since I had been to my village where I spent and enjoyed my
childhood and had my primary schooling, the plinth of which paved the
way for me notching up a lucrative job in Kolkata. While living here I
never felt cut off from my native village; I always felt quite at home
here. But unlike the calm and serene atmosphere of the village I am not
untouched by the hectic lifestyle in the hustle bustle of the metro. It
is to me, and everybody must agree, a rural metro � a village in the
town and a town in the village. However, as I am a man of soil, I
sometimes get swayed and overwhelmed by the nostalgic feeling
transporting and dropping me again in the whirlpool of village
activities: running after the dragonfly, doing pranks of all sorts,
playing "gulli-danda", "kusti", "kabaddi" and many more things
not happening now in the village. Several times I was tempted to visit
my village but couldn't because of time constraint. The reminiscent of
the village still keep haunting and running after me as I was running
after the dragonfly those days.
When I was a small
child living in my remote village, I always had the strong liking for
swimming in the pond and the village river and because of this fetish my
happiness used to get doubled during the flood time. Like other rustic
children I too always longed for the beautiful glimpse of the flood -
the water inundating everything on the earth - the fields where the
villagers grew different crops and sustain their families , the roads
connecting the village with the nearest towns and district headquarter
crowded with those shouting slogans only to be given the relief offered
by the government , the small huts and cottages on either side of the
roads which could be found in any backward village of India, different
animals like cows, oxen, buffalos floating on the current of water, the
snakes and the many of the insects I didn't know that name by that time.
The tamed and those untamed used to become the friends, let alone the
people. During the flood time the tall trees withstanding the swaying
slap of the flowing water would spread their branches to provide the
shelter for many birds and animals including the snakes and would
provide to the tired travelers the soothing and refreshing shade. It
seemed as if they were boasting and airing that they were mightier and
more sympathetic than the human beings under the sun. The frogs were
croaking at the top of their voice tearing the eerie atmosphere of the
countryside caused by the moaning and bewailing of old helpless and
hapless mothers whose sons were devoured by the flood. But these moaning
sounds were quite incomprehensible to us.
Those days I was quite unaware of the havoc caused by the flood; in fact
it was to us a fountain head of childish enthusiasm and happiness. The
dead bodies being carried away by the current used to give bad stench.
Nevertheless, without caring for all this we would enjoy our swimming
and bathing to the fullest until one day I other children also, would
catch a cold and start sneezing inviting the doctor with aalla
(stethoscope) to my home for my treatment. Once I recovered, I would
start again doing this. My parents would get anxious and worried about
my health hampering my studies. The scenic beauty of the village during
the flood time was fantastic and mesmerizing as well. Some of the
villagers would be sitting, some squatting and some standing along the
road untouched by the cruel hand of the flood and fish out; some for
their entertainment while some for the meal to be cooked at home and
tasted with great taste. Finding myself in this scenario I would not
restrain myself and tempt to buy a fishing rod and catch like a veteran
the fishes, but for the childish amusement, not for the food as in my
family everybody was vegetarian. In this game of fishing in the flood
water sometimes some children would get injured for the banshi would get
pierced into the fingers of the children and my papa, as the medical
practioner of the village and Salim Chacha, the snake catcher used to
take out this little weapon with the great tact and experience they had
over the years. I still remember my younger sister while observing this
little operation being performed on a victim child had once got fainted.
One day I was sitting to take my breakfast; my wife was in the kitchen
preparing something for me. While waiting for something to come to
satisfy the stomach I switched on the TV and began to change channel
after channel only to glue my eyes to the TV screen. The news channel Aj
Tak was highlighting the dreadful situation of the flood engulfing
entire North Bihar. To see the alarming flood situation I was
dumbstruck; I had never seen such a devastating flood ever before. I
fell into a pensive mood. Flood seemed to me a monster creating all
kinds of holocaust. when the water receded and everything was normal
with the transport plying on the roads not touched by the flood and
particularly the train I could not help catching the train to Darbhanga
my hometown; this train was sure to connect me with the imaginative and
unfelt happiness of the future when I would reach the destination and
meet all and visit the thing quite worth seeing. Mine was there on the
upper berth everybody desires to occupy for trouble free journey and
also for the germination of thoughts. The Gangasagar Express streamed
off with a loud horn declaring its intention that it is going to the
place recurrently washed away bit by bit by the slow slap of the flood.
I after keeping the little belongings I had, prepared myself for sitting
and then lying down on the reserved seat. I closed my eyes and let my
mind pregnant with infantile thoughts taking the wings of the
imagination roam free wherever it wanted to, in the sky of vast universe
sometimes sitting on the tree of philosophy, sometimes chirping in the
echo of Vedantic mantras and sometimes touching on the wounds of
humanity waiting to be healed up by the goodness of heart and social
harmony until loud fish selling noises made by the passengers mixed up
with the potters looking for the customers who could hire them for
carriage, woke me up all on a sudden. I got up in helter skelter, as the
train arrived on the last destination. I got down with my belongings and
headed towards the platform where I could board the narrow gauge train
to my nearest railway station.
Somehow or the other I reached my village. By that time it was drizzling
as if it were giving me a red carpet welcome. In conformity of the
custom in vogue in the village, I touched the feet of the elderly people
coming on my way and thereafter had a few words of welcome. As soon as I
was visible to my bhanja and bhanji, they ran towards me,
whether for the chocolates and sweets or out of love and affection I
didn't know, and both of them again ran back shouting" Mama aa gaye,
Mama aa gaye" as if they were competing with each other to tell
first of my arrival, leaving me wonderstruck.
But what I had thought before arriving here was shattered to pieces
resulting in my continual repentance over my act. Now it seemed to me
that with the modernization of lifestyles in towns and cities even the
country life has undergone radical transformation in terms of cultural
and social values. I was under the impression that the people here are
as innocent and simple as they were I had seen them in my childhood,
with interest for fishing, meeting, getting together in social
functions, and so forth. I had never thought that they became quite
urban in their language, behavior, thoughts, and customs. What I have
found is that they are utilitarian, thinking of everything in terms of
profit and loss. The tulsi in the corner of the courtyard, which was
once worshipped like god with great reverence, has now longer any
importance for them. Offering pranam to the rising sun and
mothers showing deep in the evening and then giving ashirbad to
their children are no more there in the village. Bhajans and
kirtans, ashtayaam and nawah (nawahna) are
nowhere to be seen. After all, why should anyone waste their precious
time on all these silly things? They don't fetch them any direct and
material profit. During my childhood in every village there used to be
two- three "kansars" (mud-made hearths) for frying "bhujia",
"chura", "murhi" to be relished in the evening by children
and also adults. How fun it was to eat these things from the pocket made
up of the towel! But they were nowhere to be seen.
At the night that I passed in the village I was not able to sleep and
hence kept tossing up and taking turns on my bed kept at my dalaan
with vast openness for the wind to come into, as I was wondering at how
the rapid urbanization had carried away the people and whither nobody
knows? The idea and interest for enjoying the fantastic view of flood
and getting associated with the village people I knew for reviving the
experience of childhood days was drown into the teary pool and my idea
to be rooted to the culture and rural tradition submerged into it, only
not to come out of it alive. While in Kolkata I always touched upon the
good things of the village for being a true and good human being
.Sometimes I had heated exchange of word with my friends with liking for
the town life; I was always in favor of village life but for the
cultural, social and moral betterment of people. I began to think that
flood has not done any harm and damage to any property in particular.
Instead it has destroyed the framework of rural heart and devastated the
goodness, innocence, sympathy, cooperation, brotherhood, and above all
vast fabric of society and carried them away from the heart to the
infinite ocean of oblivion. I found myself all alone in the crowd. It
seemed to me that flood washed away and eroded the heart of village ,
leaving it quite barren .The village appeared to me a barren land with
no seeds of love , compassion, cooperation and friendship to grow for
the sustenance of human relationship in society. The fabric of society
was so shattered. The flag of symbolic meaning of village that I always
hoisted in Kolkata laid crestfallen right before my nose but I could not
do anything but kept staring in the dark.
August 30,
2009
Image under license with Gettyimages.com
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