How A Night Of Horror Turned Into A Day Of Joy

By Meenhaz Imran

Life gives us many surprises. The sweetest of those are the one that come wrapped in a shock. Before that night, I never believed that life can present us with such beautiful moments just when we feel the road in front is full of darkness

I had been a lone traveler throughout my college days – it could be my unsocial being – I am not sure but I always loved travelling alone. Many times I just made some plans and started. Even my roommates in hostel had absolutely no idea where I headed. I simply felt fun in accepting all challenges on my own and finding solutions for those. And one night I found one of the biggest surprises while travelling alone.

I think somebody posted in Orkut, yes - it’s that old a story, a list of unexplained mysteries about the Sri Jagannath Temple of Puri. I was in total disagreement with the claim that flags on top of the temple flatter against the wind direction. I decided to have a crosscheck myself. Anyways, Puri had been on my bucket list for a very long time. It was a Thursday afternoon when our student Union decided to stay absent from classes the next day – they had some issues with the administration. It was a good excuse for me. It did not take much time to finalize the itinerary. There was a night train going Puri that night and another returning the next night – the most suitable and affordable for me because I would not have to stay in a hotel.

I went to Howrah station and bought one general ticket and then waited for the train to arrive on station. The reservation list was hung well before that and I found that S9 had some unreserved seats. Now it was time to hunt for the TTE for S9. He was nearby. He tried to pretend that there are many people still in waiting list but eventually gave me a seat number and told he will be coming later. That was a big success because the plan B was to seat near the Door on a newspaper. The train was mostly full. In my coup, the other five were a family of five – a baby girl, her parents and grandparents. The side berths had a two curious guy who looking suspiciously to everybody. They spoke to almost all the vendors who came, enquired about their product and unanimously decided the quality was poor.

Soon, the train started rolling; the family brought their dinner and soon started having it. I got a middle berth but they were happy to leave one of the upper berths to me. They were having some challenges in feeding the baby because she was playfully denying eating her dinner. The girl was otherwise very frank and jolly except her lack of interest in eating. All four were trying with little success. Eventually they said that the Uncle, pointing towards me, is a police man expert in arresting little kid who doesn’t eat. I made a funny looking scary face to prove their claim but I guess the girl was smart enough to catch the trick. I felt little uneasy and went up on by berth to have some sleep. Suddenly felt that the train was not moving - it was that half sleep condition where the eyes are closed only when the train moves. It was just past midnight. I looked below, the family was sleeping and I felt my movements could disturb them so I tried to sleep again. Rolling over and over in the berth could not make much improvement. I finally decided to go down. I found the TTE was near the toilet along with few others. I glanced outside. It was middle of nowhere and nothing could be seen outside. Soon more people were awake and all felt very curious about the sudden stoppage. I returned to my coup to find the grandparents, too, were awake. The grandfather was whispering about possibility of Maoist activity on the train line. It was true that in those days many such incidents were happening and the area from where we were going was infamous for these but the thought of finding me in the middle of this was really scared.

For almost an hour there was no movement of the train which made people started to speculate uncountable types of theories. We were starting to lose our patience Soon RPF guys started making patrols but were not ready to share any information. The whole compartment was awake by the time. As we're starting to fear of something dangerous, the train started to roll again.

It was a big relief for all of us which lasted only for a few minutes, and then it stopped again. It was a lonely village station. At first, we thought things are normal and the train will start anytime but then a tea-porter arrived with the information that the train will not move anytime soon. We all went outside on the platform and there was an announcement on the loudspeaker - due some suspicious activities on the railway track on our route, all trains have been suspended for the night. The station master, in his sleeping clothes, was alone sitting in his room. He looked helpless as a crowd of passengers were trying to get some clue from him about possibility of the train starting.

I was confused. The train is not going to start before dawn and when it will finally reach Puri was totally unknown. I walked towards the station building - it was dimly lit and totally deserted. The name of the station written on the benches read - 'Balichak'. I walked towards the exit gate. There was no one on the road but I could hear a faint music somewhere near. It was a radio playing old Hindi songs. I followed the music and saw a small tea stall nearby. A shabby looking stall with an earthen oven, few dirty benches and, stacked in order, a series of glass jars filled with cookies of various shapes and sizes. The owner was seating and was not expecting any customer at this hour. He was lighting the oven and was probably planning to boil the eggs.

The passengers of the morning train come as early as 4 o-clock and the preparation for that starts hours before that. He asked me to sit and put the kettle on the oven. He was sure I would be having a cup of tea. His shop was dark – only a 40 wall bulb was lit but layers of oil got rid of most of its transparency. Despite the darkness, my eyes fell on a fantastic painting. It was the painting of the Leela of Lord Krishna. Krishna in blue was at the centre of the picture Gopis were painted around him. The greens in the background suggested that it was Vrindaban. I was amused. It was hand drawn and I had absolutely no idea about what was it. I asked Mr Debdulal, the shop owner, about it and he said with no surprise that it was a Patachitra and almost all houses and shops here have these in plenty. He said there is a village nearby where most of the people are engaged in this art and they are living on that. I have heard about Patachitra but never saw one. This was a gem - a hidden art of Bengal.

I made my mind - I knew it right then - the dots were connected. The stopping of the train was for a purpose - it was taking me to a totally unknown world - the world of the Patuas - the painters of the Patachitra- I just had to say yes to myself. It was still sometime before the sun will come fully. I said to Mr Debdulal that I will go there. He was happy to know that. He said, the first bus will come by 6:00 am and till then, I can wait in his shop. He showed me the corner bench inside and asked me to get some sleep there. I couldn't sleep at all. The thought of the night kept on coming to my mind. How my plan got completely changed and how I was about to explore something I never planned for. It was going to be blind date with a place. The fun of an unplanned exploration kept me awake all the time. As soon as the bus arrived, Mr Debdulal called me. I jumped on the bus and bid a goodbye to him. It took about half an hour to reach 'Naya' - the village of 'Patachitra'.

From outside, it was no different from any other village in the state. There was no bus stop but a giant banyan tree is used as the bus stop. A few elders were seated under the tree and were chatting among themselves. They spotted the outsider on me and asked me to come closer. I understood that a lot of people come to see their village and they are quite pleased to see visitors.

• Naam ki? (Whats my name?)

• Kottheke asa hoyek? (From where I have come?)

• Ki kora hoyek? (What do I do?)

• Ki Kaaje asa? (Why I am here?)

That was a migration interview sort of which I successfully completed. At the end, one of them directed me to a yellow building where I may get refreshed and have something to eat. The shop is run by a Patua himself- Abinash Chitrakar and I saw that two female members of his family already started working. After having my breakfast – Bread omelette & Tea - at his shop, Abinash told me about Chitrataru – a artisan’s cluster formed by the Patuas for promotion and marketing of their products and to my surprise, they have done that globally. I was shocked to know that some of them have visited foreign fairs. I realized how our indigenous products get so much appreciation in other countries despite being neglected locally.

While we were having a chat – which lasted few more cups of tea, suddenly Abinash shouted

• Oooo Mantuuu (He called someone named Mantu)

The curious face of Mantu Chitrakar appeared in front of us. As he entered the shop, his bright white teeth flashed as he smiled at me. Mantu was one of the founder members of Chitrataru. He also sat beside me as I offered a cup of tea to him. These earthen cups add an amazing flavor to the tea and I have a romantic attachment to that. I took a cup for myself. Mantu, had been a frequent traveler to many fairs and had been to Kolkata many times. He started sharing his experience about Kolkata, Delhi and London. Their accent is very tough to understand, even for pure bongs (Bengalis). I tried to understand as much as possible but could not make out all of it.

I felt he was trying to emphasis that, In Bengal, their work does not get much notice but elsewhere they get appreciation. In UK, someone saw them working and was so mesmerized that she bought plenty of work. Few more customers have come and some even left. I was feeling little uncomfortable now because, every new person was repeating the migration interview. So, I insisted Mantu to take to me to his workshop. On the way, Mantu said how much he fought for Geographic Indication GI tag for Patachitra. How many offices he had to go and how many officers he had to meet. He also told me their name and a bit of their character certificates also which I completely ignored. I was glad to know that Patachitra of Naya has received GI Tag for being an indigenous and excellent form of art exclusive in this area.

We entered the office of Chitrataru which also had a workshop along it where I met Anwar Chitrakar.

Anowar explained to me that there are three main types of authentic Patachitra;

• 'Gotano Pat' or reel Pat is more like a photo album where 10-15 pictures are painted in a series to narrate a story.

• 'Aarelatai Pat' or rolled Pat is a large size picture which is rolled and

• 'Chouko Pat' or Square Pat where the picture is drawn on a smaller square canvas.

Traditionally the main subjects or stories have been - the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, the Mangalkavya (medieval Bengali literature) and the Krishna Leela. The Patachitras have traditionally been used by the folk singers who narrated these stories through melodious songs and with that, they show the Patachitras - a kind of cinema in the ancient rural Bengal. Soon, Rani Chitrakar joined and she pointed her figure towards a big canvas which was hung from a rope to dry. She asked me to look carefully and try to figure out the theme of that. I was amazed by their drawing skill and the work of colors. I looked very carefully – frame by frame and understood it was about birth control. Rani smiled at my answer and said it was actually about men using condom for birth control and prevent aids. Now, that was a big surprise - an ancient form of art spreading such a bold and modern theme.

Rani then introduced me to Rahaman Chitrakar, who was making a paste on a stone Haman-dista (Mortar & pestal set). Rahaman said - all the colours they use are all organic and they themselves make these colours from plants and other natural ingredients. To increase its longevity & stickiness, they add plant extracts with the colours. Rahaman soon finished his work and took me to other houses – all had earthen wall and thatched roof. The low entrance gates opened on a courtyard which was surrounded by a high balcony which had series of similar low doors – to access the rooms. The rooms were all dark and nothing could be seen inside. The courtyards were neatly cleaned and in every house I found a corner where the women of the house sat on a mat and made Patachitra. These mats, another beautiful handicraft of these areas was made of very thin sticks woven with cotton thread.

It was good to see that the Patuas of Naya are dealing well with the changing market. They are making saris, tops, t-shirts, kurtas with patachitra on it to survive. This was a handicraft practiced in the entire region but now has been concentrated in this small village but they are fighting. The village where all the families have same surname - Hindu or Muslim – is bearing the legacy of one of the finest art form of Bengal and trying to save it for future. With all praises and a bagful of Patachitra, I returned back.

While returning back, the face of the baby girl kept on coming back in mind. I laughed to myself that last night I almost played the role of a very strict undercover police officer who sees all babies are well fed before they go to sleep.

I am still to visit Puri to actually check the flag on top of Jagannath Temple but that night which could have been full of anxiety and uncertainly thought me to never lose hope. Life gifts us with situations and life also keeps fun hidden in all of those.

By Meenhaz Imran