Atlas

By Prabir Kumar Datta

Prologue: 

Although this is a personal story of my childhood, it also reflects a unique history of the state of Bengal in India just after its independence in 1947 which, I felt, is worth presenting before all.

Bengal was a culturally rich and economically developed state whose capital Calcutta (Now Kolkata) was once the capital of India under the British rule and the epicenter of all cultural and political movements. At the time of independence of India it was divided into two parts on the basis of religion and its eastern part was given to the newly formed Pakistan causing series of political turmoil that later gave rise to formation of another independent country named Bangladesh.

Millions of families were suddenly displaced from their generation old settlement leaving everything behind them after the bloody communal riots that followed and one big ethnic group of Bengalees who once initiated the freedom struggle became the victims of the political decision that overnight turned them into refugees in their own country when it became free. After independence many opportunists grabbed most of the benefits and powers whereas a few selfless idealistic people who fought the freedom struggle for whole life were thrown into dire humiliation.

My father belonged to the second group and our family hailing from that eastern part of Bengal (now Bangladesh) came and settled in India after that division leaving behind their entire properties. In spite of his lifelong sacrifice for the nation at the cost of his career and wealth my father had to settle with a humble job of a school teacher in a remote village with lot of discomfort where I had to spend my childhood.  But although we faced poverty and adversities I enjoyed my childhood with simple friends and serene environment of the village that gave me power of imagination and lot of new experience.

Similar tragedies happened in the history of mankind in different ages whenever some political action victimized a big group of people and made them homeless. So according to me, it has a universal appeal. 

The story

The vast expanse of water on the western end of the village Bairampur, known  as ‘Baro Beel’ (‘ Boro’ in Bengali means big and ‘Beel’ is a Bengali word for a large waterbody ‘) was possessed by Mr. Roy, a man of huge wealth and by far the richest man in the entire locality. His awesomely vast physique was quite in keeping with his enormous house, a palace like building standing on a few acres of land on the eastern bank of the ‘Baro Beel. Mr. Roy and his ‘Baro Beal’ were so synonymous to the people of the entire locality that they called him ‘Beel Babu’(Babu is a respectful address to a gentleman in Bengali) forgetting his real name.

In one autumn afternoon, my friend Nanda and I were walking on the earthen embankment of the ‘Boro Beel’. I was still new in the village. Only about a year back I had come here and got admitted in class eight of village junior high school, where my father had joined as mathematics teacher.

From the day one, I became branded in the village as a brilliant boy. In all the tests the first position became secured for me, by far above others. I even tutored the students of higher classes at times. They used to come to me to solve difficult sums. Teachers considered me differently from others. 

            Nanda was two years older than me and had no tag of a good boy. Getting the pass mark was a big thing for him, not to talk of good result. But he had expertise in various other fields, like swimming, fishing, climbing tree etc. and had himself taken the charge of the mentor cum friend of the innocent newcomer in the village i.e. me.          

            He had of course many obstacles. After independence of India and division of Bengal, their family had shifted from their native place in East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) and had settled in this village. But his parents were still then in East Pakistan. Nanda lived with his uncle and aunt who always misbehaved with him. They constantly pinched him with harsh words and made him do lot of household works and odd jobs so that he hardly got time to study. But he had lot of other qualities.  He was simple and generous at heart. Moreover he loved me very much. 

           Nanda had to depend on his uncle for every penny he spent and whatever little he got was always given to him with lot of insult. For that reason my father used to teach him free of cost at the request of me. Nanda was extremely grateful to my father for that and often used to say, ‘Sir is God to me.’

           Today we were discussing about Ram, our classmate who was suddenly missing a few days back and no trace was found after lot of search and even reporting to the police. We all were very much upset in that incident as we loved him very much. He was the son of a rich man and used to spend lavishly for us.

Nanda told, ‘Do you remember the great fight between Atiyar and Ram?  Atiyar knocked down two teeth of Ram. Ram’s father went to Atiyar’s house to complain to his grandfather.’

‘Yes, that is difficult to forget. Atiyar is now repenting for that.’ I told sadly.

Nanda smiled, ‘Actually Ram was constantly teasing him that day. But Atiyar is also a headless boy.’

Both Atiyar Rahman and Ram were my class mates and good friends.  Ram was a nice boy, but always teased others for fun. Atiyar was the grandson of Rahman Saheb, the Moulavi of the village mosque. The northern part of the village was inhabited by about twenty five families of Muslims who were living there for generations. But there was no discord between Hindus and Muslims. Everybody took part in the festivals of Hindus and Muslims alike. I myself had on so many occasions been affectionately entertained in Atiyar’s house by his grandmother who loved me very much. But Atiyar was a bit eccentric and used to get angry very soon. That day he was punished by Rahman Saheb on receiving complain from Ram’s father, who was a big shot of the village. 

‘But I really don’t understand what could have happened to Ram.’ Somu said.

I also was thinking that. In fact the sudden disappearance of Ram was extremely mysterious and created lot of excitement in the village. The regular afternoon games of our friends had been stopped from that day. All of our friends kept on discussing about him always during past few days. Today too the topic made our hearts heavy and we became silent for a while. 

That moment I could see Krishna uncle coming from opposite side carrying something on his head. He waved his hands at me so that we had to stop. He belonged to the lower fishermen class and was a great athlete once upon a time. One day he was being mercilessly beaten by a mob led by Beel babu on the suspicion for a theft in some household when my father rescued him from that torture displeasing Beel babu. From that incident he used to have huge regard for my father. I saw that he had become very frail and appeared sick. I asked, ’How are you uncle?’

Krishna uncle smiled and said,’ Don’t ask me that. My days are numbered. Due to my sickness I could not meet Sir for a long time. Convey my regards to him.’

These poor people were considered untouchables by the upper class of the village. They used to work hard in the farms or households of the rich men like Beel babu and were victim of their exploitation. Also in case of any theft or crime they would be tortured merely on suspicion. My father was trying to fight for them at the cost of tussle with the power lobby. I really felt bad for Krishna uncle.

 After Krishna uncle went away we started walking back towards home along the embankment when Nanda told, ’Do you know, this is the biggest beel in the district. It is Beel Babu who has made this embankment for the benefit of the villagers.’

I recalled what my father had told about it. Actually Beel babu had illegally captured much land for his beel and started a rich and profitable business of fish cultivation. But I did not react to the words of Nanda.

            It was still sometime left before the darkness to set in. The red sun was setting on the western bank of the beel. After a short afternoon shower, the sky was fully clear now. The crimson ray of the setting sun was playing with the water and the blue sky together. A small boat was floating far away in the clear water. A large rainbow had arranged for a grand feast of colors across the sky. The beauty of the landscape touched me and my eyes remained fixed at that. 

           After a while Nanda told, ‘The day was spent well today, isn’t it? In the morning we really enjoyed the function at the school.’

           I agreed. It was the year 1967, the twentieth anniversary of India’s Independence. A big function was held at our school. I recited a patriotic poem. Nanda was a volunteer there. In the morning there was flag hoisting and before that a procession was taken throughout the village roads, where Nanda was shouting patriotic slogans with all his might.

           Year before last there was Indo Pak war. All the memories of independence were still very fresh in people’s mind. Head Sir was repeatedly referring to various incidents of freedom struggle in his speech. He was telling about contribution of Bengal in freedom fight. 

           In fact Bengal and its capital Calcutta (Now Kolkata) was the hub of learning and modern thinking in India. It was also the birth place of the Congress party that was later led by Mahatma Gandhi and after independence ruled India for more than five decades. Bengal produced many great men including religious leaders like Swami Vivekananda (famous for Chicago address), big leaders like Subhash Chandra Bose( who raised the first Indian National Flag), Scientists like J.C Bose(famous for wireless telegraphy and invention of life in plants) Ronald Ross(inventor of Malaria drug) S.N. Bose (contributor in the theory of relativity of Einstein), most of the Nobel  prize winners of India (including Rabindra nath Tagore and Mother Teressa) and many social reformers like Rammohan Roy and Iswar Chandra Vidyasagar.

           Bengal was a land washed by many rivers and was full of greenery due to its fertile land where both the Hindus and the Muslims had same Bengali as their mother tongue and used to live together happily for generations.  Being the centre of freedom movement, Bengal was always causing headache for the British rulers and once in 1905 they wanted to divide and weaken it, but had to revoke their order following a strong mass movement. But at the time of independence in 1947 it was mercilessly divided into two parts on the basis of religion causing a permanent bone of contention across the border between two hitherto friendly communities. 

           Western part became the state of West Bengal of India and the eastern part became East Pakistan as part of an Islamic country.  But huge number of Hindu families like us had ancestral house and properties there for generations and thought that to be their own country. By a stroke of pen they became intruders in their own country overnight. The division caused bloody riots and religious tension causing millions of people to run for refuge across the border. The flow continued for decades and after two Indo Pak wars in 1965 and 1971 ultimately the East Pakistan became Bangladesh, although the scar of the tragic division still remains in the heart of millions of Bengalees .

            Following the Indo Pak war of 1965 lots of refugees were pouring in from East Pakistan. Relatives of many people of the village Bairampur had escaped from that country following Hindu- Muslim riot there and had taken shelter in various places in India near the border. Some of them had to leave back their properties there, while a few fortunate ones had been able to sell their properties at throw away price.  Parents of Nanda still could not manage to sell their properties in East Pakistan and were waiting for a chance to come here. Nanda therefore remained worried for them very often.

           But he had one extraordinary quality. He never held any sadness within himself for a long time. When everybody thought that he was worried, suddenly he laughed loudly and used to tell ‘Leave it.’

The occasion of four day long worship of Goddess Durga, the biggest festival of Bengal was knocking at the door. It was scheduled to be held in October and practically less than two months was left. In the shrine of the house of Beel babu, the construction of large idols of the deity had already started. The frameworks were being erected in the bamboo and straw. The famous idol makers had already arrived there and were working late night to build images.

           The way to village from the embankment was through the courtyard of the house of Beel Babu. The courtyard was like a small football ground. On one side of it there was the shrine and on the opposite end there lied the office-cum-drawing room of Beel babu.

           Nanda said, ‘Let’s have a look at the images being built there’.

           I tried to avoid, ‘We are already late. Better come tomorrow.’

           Nanda said, ‘Just for two minutes. We have still time.’

           But as we were proceeding, we heard a big shout, ‘Who is there?’

           Nanda looked back startled, froze in fear and uttered, ‘Oh my god!’

           Turning back, I could see none other than Beel babu sitting on an armchair in the court yard with few others. We could recognize him immediately by his huge tummy, mouthful of betel leaf, scanty short trimmed gray hair on a round small head and flabby face almost hiding two little eyes.

           There was no young lad in this locality who was not afraid of Beel babu. Nanda replied in a trembling voice, ‘It’s me, Sir.’

           ‘Who is me?’ The voice roared again with double intensity. ‘Come here. Let me see which household you belong to.’

            Like deer in a lion’s cage, we stepped slowly towards him and could see the other persons present there. They were Beel Babu’s regular companions. I could recognize Kali Sir, geography teacher of our school, among them.

           We were very much scared, but suddenly to our utter surprise, Beel babu burst into loud laughter. Betel leaf juice was about to flow down his leaps along with his laughter and he somehow managed to prevent them from falling on his white shirt. He said in a voice choked with laughter, ‘I thought of some miscreants. But these are mere kids!’

’ Kali sir was a great sycophant of Beel Babu. Every evening he attended the gathering in his house and was always a yes man before him. But he was very unpopular among the students as he used to tease them for nothing. 

            He asked Nanda pointing to me, ‘So, you want to spoil every boy of the village.’

            Nanda fumed inside, but remained silent. Beel babu turned to me and said, ‘What about this one?  Have I seen him earlier?’

           Kali sir replied enthusiastically, ‘He is the son of our new mathematics teacher. You awarded him that day for standing first in class.’

           I could well understand that he tried to please Beel babu.

           Beel babu’s two small round eyes stared at me for a while. Then he said with a voice of neglect, ‘I see! The son of the new teacher! Complexion is quite bright. But why is he so thin? Looks like, the teacher does not feed him properly.’

           My father had joined the school almost a year back, but he was still known as the new teacher. I did not like the disrespectful comment about my father. I had seen Beel babu earlier in the school. He was the secretary of the school and gave away the prizes. But this was the first time that I was meeting him so closely.

           Beel babu suddenly took my thin arm into his flabby big palm and drew me closer. A repelling mixed smell of betel leaf, tobacco and other things inside his mouth caused nausea to me.  Beel babu tried to be light, ‘Yes, Mr. Hero, Is only study enough? You have to be strong. Drink one liter of milk every day.’

           Beel babu ended his words with loud laughter which was echoed by his followers.

           I was feeling uneasy in his grip. This man was notoriously powerful in the entire area. People discussed about him from a safe distance with fear and awe. Very often big personalities from city came to his house. Once even a minister came to the village and was entertained by him. That event caused lot of stir in the village. All the kids were extremely afraid of him. That very person was catching hold of my hand and laughing with me. 

           Beel Babu told to Kali sir with my hand still in his grip, ‘Convince the new teacher. Tell him not to spoil the child’s future by his erratic acts.’

           Kali sir began to rub his palms in token of obedience and told ‘You know everything Sir, He is not a man to listen to good advice.’

           Beel babu released my hand and giving a mild pat on my back told, ‘All right, go now. But come definitely at the time of Durga Puja. Big operas will come this year. Even if your father doesn’t permit, don’t listen’.

           I did not reply. My father was a quite different person. He never attended the gathering of Beel Babu every evening. Many people came here to have free tea, cigarette and snacks. Sometimes drinks were also served. In exchange they all flattered Beel babu.

           I knew that my father was deadly against all these sycophancy. He was an ex freedom fighter and hated the company of Beel Babu and his men. He had already protested against his exploitation of the poor farmers for being in power. Wine was like poison to him. He had never responded to the repeated request of Beel  Babu to go to his soiree. While others would have been obliged to get invitation, father had earned his displeasure for having refused the same. I could well understand that Beel babu’s comments bore his feelings about father.   

           After returning home when I told father about Beel Babu’s remarks he only advised me to ignore such small things. Then he told the story of Robinson Crusoe who struggled alone for life in a lonely island and said,’ At least we are better placed than him.’

In the village father wanted to uproot various superstitions deep in the people’s mind and had naturally to face a lot of troubles like many others who did similar things. He even once proposed to hold worship of goddess Saraswati ( Goddess of learning) in the school without the help of any priest. Those things coupled with his other progressive ideas gave rise to lot of criticism to which of course he did not care much. He once told me that even Galileo had to face lot of heat for telling the truth that the earth revolves round the sun.

Father had also started a small library where he arranged for daily newspaper. At every evening he would assemble people of the village and spoke on so many topics like history, science, current events etc in very simple language. He himself was an ardent lover of books and sincerely wanted to share his knowledge to the common people of the village to make them culturally developed.

Initially the response was encouraging. People would assemble in mere curiosity. But gradually they lost interest. The village elders were accustomed to evening gatherings with country liquor and some lighter jokes. They were not ready to attend such serious discussions.

The library was ultimately closed, but he continued the discussions at home. Every night after dinner we requested father to tell the stories of his past life. We surrounded him and listened with undivided attention the real life experience of a revolutionary. Father also narrated about Russian revolution, stories of great personalities and from various classical books of the world. I got my first acquaintance with ‘Jan Christopher’ of Roman Roland, ‘Les Miserable’ of Victor Hugo, ‘Mother’ of Maxim Gorky and many others from my father. 

In our small hut there was no costly furniture or other ambience for luxury living. But there was a huge collection of world famous books ranging from works of Karl Marx to books on Vedanta philosophy and history of Second World War to writings of George Bernard Shaw. In the dim light of the kerosene lantern under the thatched roof our house in a remote village turned into a temple of learning in such evenings.

            After dinner while I was thinking about today’s events lying in bed, a tune of a religious folk song and sound of beating of khol ( a folk drum of Bengal) coming from the Baul para( the locality where a sect named Baul engaged in devotional songs  lived) pleased my ears. These things were never possible in the din and bustle of the city and I felt myself lucky for having come to live in the village.

Here I got the experience to walk through the paddy field. The nature here was full of greenery, pleasing both mind and eyes. At the juncture of rainy season and autumn the vast expanse of green paddy or jute plants remained spotted at places with bright patches of yellow mustard flowers or dark blue teel (a kind of oilseed) flowers. I liked that nature’s bounty very much. At that time the vast paddy fields looked like precious carpets.

I felt excited remembering that the festival of worshipping the Goddess Durga , was coming near. Our village was of course a small one where arrangements were not as big as in the city. Still its attraction was much so that I had started loving it.

But it was only the second time that I would be enjoying this festival in the village. Only about one and half year ago we had come here. Earlier, since birth, I was brought up in the city, where there were lot of big buildings, buses and taxies. In the festivals, a lot of decorations with gorgeous lighting were erected there. But I felt that those were not at all comparable with this village festival, which, in spite of its pretty simple arrangement was full of warmth and involvement of all the villagers.

I closed my eyes and went down memory lane to think about the series of happenings in my life leading to our coming to the village.

It was fresh in my memory that in our family there was a lot of turmoil on our coming to the village. Grandfather, uncles and even my mother did not like the idea of my father bringing us to village leaving the city life.

There were, of course, reasons for that. We were accustomed to city livelihood. My grandfather, apart from being a famous lawyer in East Pakistan, was also a big congress leader. There our house remained always full of guests. Even many famous personalities visited there. Grandfather had earned a lot and spent even more generously. He used to provide the expense of studies of many poor students. He was imprisoned many times by the British Government for his freedom straggle. Every time when he was released from the jail huge crowd of people used to receive him with garlands in hand.

He was a large figure in all sense. His six feet height was quite in keeping with his high sense of self respect. After the independence, when his own homeland become a foreign country to Hindus he left that country immediately and came to India to settle at Calcutta leaving huge property behind. He even did not wait for selling his properties and left them in the charge of a distant relative.

At Calcutta too, he had a roaring practice as a lawyer. Even at the age of eighty, when he walked straight on the road, people bowed down before him. But in spite of being rich he had no attachment to wealth. He had refused to apply for the freedom fighters’ pension which others were fighting for. He felt that the struggle he had done for the country was his moral responsibility and should not be priced like this.

His logics were not understood by others, except one person, his eldest son, i.e. my father.  There was huge ideological difference between grandfather and father. While father was an active revolutionary who also suffered imprisonment several times and an ardent devotee of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, grandfather was a great follower of nonviolent movement of Mahatma Gandhi which he used to carry out as a Congress leader. Both of them sacrificed for the freedom struggle of the country, but in different way.  There used to be hot and frequent debate between them on politics. While grandfather felt that the revolutionaries were mere terrorists, father’s idea was that Congress leaders only begged for independence. Both of them had strong claim that independence was achieved by the path followed by them only. But in spite of those debates they had one great resemblance, father also refused to apply for freedom fighters’ pension following grandfather. I had a feeling that notwithstanding all differences grandfather loved father most out of his children. I felt proud of being born in the family of two such selfless men. Although my father spoiled his education and career for the sake of freedom struggle he never rushed for any benefit after the independence. Even when many of his juniors had stood and won election to grab coveted posts in independent India, he preferred to continue his humble way of living. After coming to India too he was involved in many movements for the land and resettlements of the refugees in India, but never cared to keep one piece of land for himself.

But one day we were surprised to see a serious altercation between them. Grandfather was shouting at father, ‘You should have kept in mind that you have a family and responsibility towards them.’

Father was also excited, ‘Yes I know that. But do you mean, I should compromise with everything for that.’

The quarrel was not this time merely theoretical which we were used to see. I was too small to ask anything to anybody, but could well understand from the conversation that father had resigned from his job.

Grandfather was talking furiously with father. His other two sons were well established. They had gone for higher studies, got big jobs and happily maintaining their family. Only my father remained exceptional. Firstly, he scarified higher studies for the sake of freedom fight. After independence he got a job in a British firm which he lost due to his past revolutionary records. Now he had resigned from his second job of a reputed American firm fighting with the management. Grandfather was really worried now for him and his family. He said, ‘It is easy to be emotional. But   what will you feed them now, air?’

Father replied, ‘You know everything. Still you are telling this. It is you who taught me that money is not above principle. Now you are telling me to compromise.’

I saw that grandfather became silent. Later on I learnt that father had fought with management for the rights of the poor labors who were highly exploited and had to pay the price.

Mother asked that day, ‘What will you do now?’

‘No more job under anyone. I will go for practice.’

He had studied Homeopathy on his own earlier and was quite good at that. He opened a chamber at house and started practice. The practice was not going that bad and in leisure time he started engaging himself in study of the works of all great authors and writing his own book. Mother was a soft spoken lady and never disputed with father. But she that time became scared. On her own she approached her maternal uncle who was a big officer in education department and prayed for a job for her husband. The present job was the result of that. That also was not readily accepted. But mother said, ‘You must take it for the sake of your children.’

I saw that father could not object in front of mother’s calm but strong approach. But he put a condition, ‘Then I will take you all to the village. I don’t like to leave my family at the financial mercy of others. They will have to live on whatever I earn’

Mother knew that the salary of a teacher was very meager and she would have a hard life at village, but hoping at least for some stability she finally agreed after a lot of discussion.

Grandfather reacted sharply at the proposal of discontinuance of my study at city school. Father tried to convince him ‘He will do nicely there too. Some struggle in life is not bad.’

Grand father did not agree. He said ‘Are you worried about expense?  His uncles are there. They are earning a lot. After all, once when they were small you looked after their studies.’

He was too simple a man to understand the complexities of life and therefore said so. But mother was intelligent enough to anticipate things. She knew that all affections were related to money. So she came forward and assured his father in law ‘Please don’t worry. I am there.’

‘Yes that’s my only hope. Otherwise I cannot depend on that fool. He is no better than me.’

I understood the worries of grandfather. I myself was also feeling extremely bad at the beginning. But I gradually started loving the village. Moreover I had been famous in the entire area as an extra ordinary student.

We had never lived in a village earlier. After coming to village my mother had to do all household works by herself.  But she was not a complaining lady. She accepted the poverty and adversities calmly even forgetting that all her ornaments were used up in the marriage of her sister-in-law leaving no security for the family. 

She wanted in life only one thing, to support the family. Even in the village, far from town, among the rural illiterate people and in the teeth of a plethora of adversities, she had no serious complaint about her husband.                                        

I was in deep sleep when I woke up at the call of mother. She was telling with panic, ‘Get up quickly. See, there is a great storm.’

Father had by this time got up from bed .A continuous hissing sound of strong wind startled me. A rumbling noise of swaying branches of trees was coming from outside. The sound was getting stronger and stronger every moment and the bamboo grove at the corner of our house seemed like falling down on the earth.

Our thatched house were supported by bamboo poles which were already worn out and I was afraid whether they can withstand the gusty storm. Father told,’ Let us bring down all the heavy goods from the upper racks fixed with the poles.’

That moment the door opened with a bang with its hinges breaking by a sudden spate of wind. I hurriedly closed it by pushing it by all my might. Without further delay I started bringing down the huge stock of books from the racks hanging from the poles to reduce the load on the structure. Father also extended his help in keeping the books one by one on the table. In no time it was full of different kind of books, the text books, father’s collection of world famous books of Indian and foreign authors and a bundle of exercise books containing father’s writing for his whole life.

A big flash of lightning and the huge cracking sound followed and I saw that rain started to add to our misery. It started mildly but in no time turned into a heavy downpour. The wind kept on competing with the incessant drops water falling from sky.

Mother started chanting prayers with eyes closed .Almost simultaneously I felt the touch of cold water drops on my body and became panic stricken. Father told, ‘Keep something quickly there or else the earthen floor will be muddy.’

We ran to the kitchen and brought bowls to keep under the drops. But meanwhile water was dripping from a few more places. It was clear that the dried straw of the thatched roof was unable to hold water any further. There was no sign of improvement of the weather outside. In the village the houses were few and far between so that it was very difficult to inform anyone in case of emergency. Moreover it was very risky to go outside in the storm as broken branches of tree or cocoanuts could fall on anybody.

I started arranging the articles as far as possible on the cot as the earthen floor had meanwhile been muddy. The storm subsided a bit but rain continued incessantly with regular flash of lightning.

We could see water drops falling on the books and before we could cover them by a polythene sheet some of them were badly drenched. Those were rare and valuable books and I knew their worth although to outsiders those were nothing but useless garbage.

After a while the situation became extremely precarious. Almost the entire floor was muddy by rainwater. On the table the books were covered by plastic sheet and on the cot there were the household articles. We stood at one corner of the room on a small dry patch of floor shivering in cold in almost drenched condition with wet ground below us and worn out thatched roof unable to hold water above our heads.

Mother was more concerned for earthly things than those books. She told, ’This time we have to repair the house at any cost, whether we starve or not. If this collapses where shall we go in the whole world?’

The rain subsided a bit by this time, but already it had left so much injury to the whole family that it was like a broken boat in the mid sea which could sink anytime. Mother murmured,‘ I don’t know what more test God will take. We are going to have no shelter and no support if the structure of our house falls’

Father was silently feeling guilty for our misfortune and was clearly the target of mother’s lamentation. After sometime gathering all his energy he told, ‘Everything will be alright. Keep faith on Him.’

I did not know how he could remain so cool in the midst of great crisis. Seldom had I seen anyone like him to be truly dedicated to God although people called him a nonbeliever of God as he used to defy all rituals.

The rain ultimately stopped at the end of night. There was no question of sleep any more. Searching for a semi dry portion on the cot we sat closely together. I was feeling that mother had enough reason to be aggrieved with father. Father was sitting helplessly like a lost captain in the battle of life. Looking at him I had pity.

The man could have led a luxurious life only if he would have compromised a little. But he did not do that. What crime had he committed in that? He only wanted to tell and follow the truth and did not want to bow down to injustice. It was right that he had responsibilities to his wife and the children. But why should one have to make compromise at every step to feed one’s family. When he had not shown any insincerity or dishonesty in his duty, when he had surrendered to God in all actions, why was his way of life so rough? I was having lot of grievance with the Almighty.

 Father told, ‘We shall have to arrange for money for repairing the house.’

I told,’ We have lot of unused metal utensils. Can we not sell those for money?’

Father objected vehemently, ’No, No, those are gifts received by your mother during marriage. We cannot sell that.’

Mother reacted, ’What is so great about memories. He is right. Those things have never been used so far, whereas the repair of house cannot be deferred at any cost. Those may fetch considerable amount.’

One by one, all the ornaments of mother had been disposed of. On hearing from mother I felt guilty in myself as without caring for her sentiment I only had given the proposal. I quickly tried to change the topic. I told, ’Can we wait for the arrear of fixation of pay due to you which you are expected to get soon?

Father replied helplessly, ‘I have my reservation. I heard that people in the office are claiming bribe for releasing that amount. After the independence brought with so much struggle and bloodshed it is sad that the administration is full of corrupted people.’

‘But, the Government must take action against such people.’ I said.

‘Earlier I also had such a feeling, but now everything has changed.’ Father said with despair.

‘If that is so, what will the common man do! ’ I thought.

After some time everything appeared to have subsided and we tried to take a nap. But  we had to again wake up with a sudden cracking sound of thunder with a big spark of lightning simultaneously accompanying a fresh strike of strong wind. Opening eyes in fear I clearly saw that the poor bamboo poles of our house was about to give in and the entire structure was swaying.

We all woke up with a jerk and in no time stood against the bamboo poles to save our only shelter on the earth. We, the members of the family, a few panic stricken creatures, with all our might tried to resist the fall. That totally uneven fight between the outrageous nature outside and some weak human beings inside a dilapidated structure having nothing more than strong determination was witnessed only by the cold dark night of a little  remote village of Bengal. Moments passed by, time became lengthier and lengthier tending to infinity. We did not know when and how the battle would be over, but we had no other alternative. 

Even in this hour of extreme crisis the story of the great mythological Greek hero Atlas punished to hold the heaven on his shoulder came to my mind. It seemed to me that each one of our small but coherent family was shouldering our only shelter like Atlas.

In the nice morning that followed with bright sunshine it was difficult to believe the last night’s rampage of nature. Only the lush green trees thoroughly drenched in last night’s rain and their broken branches here and there bore the signs of the mad storm but they could never remember the teething fight of a few innocent human beings against all odds keeping their feet on the ground and uncompromising heads lofty in the sky.

Today even after having covered huge ground in life and leaving that poverty stricken but eventful and lovely childhood far behind, I still carry the vivid memory of that deadly night and the moments of joy and sorrow in our remote village that taught me lot of lessons in life and witnessed the story of an unfortunate group of people victimized by history.

By Prabir Kumar Datta