Visarjan

By Prantik Mandal

Part 1:-

On The auspicious noon of Murti Visarjan the sun shone gay and warm in the azure canvas, stroked with patches of cotton cumulus clouds all gathered to witness and, if allowed, join in the communal commemoration and loll in the rapture of the beguiling melodies of numerous dhaks and ullulating women topped off with sindur khela, thereby intermingle together with the living souls and form a metaphysical living and breathing entity. The mahanagar sporting club had arranged the best visarjan procession in town that attracted people from all over and the place was flooded, all intended to kill the day to its fullest. It was 3 in the afternoon and despite the indefatigable efforts and the arrangements intensely planned out, it took the committee members so long to organize and mobilize the phalanx. Once settled, the club leader ( also the leader of the local municipality ) took upon the mic and gave a ‘brief’ information about the few constables employed to safeguard and ensure the peaceful procession and many other things with connotations of political motive; and exhortations to maintain and not cross the line formation, which was specially emphasized repeatedly as if they were the same people who maintained the line while waiting to touch the new and crisp pink notes outside the ATMs few years back. The superfluous speech ended with the leader cueing loudly the phrase “bolo Durga Maa-e ki!” to which the all the people in unison chanted at the top of their voices “JOY!”. And the dhaks started playing the people started screaming shouting shrieking roaring, every kind of sounds they could possibly make, and overall plunging and swimming in the heavenly ecstasy. The cumulative roar was so passionate and full of life that it was too hot to handle even for the earth which first shuddered and then began oscillation together with the masses. Thus began the odyssey to the mahananda banks.

Part 2:-

On the other side of the town beside bank of Mahananda, polio-stricken Abdul, his disability stretched down from below the hips to the end of the toes, lay on his bed flat looking up at the ceiling where the fan clacked monotonously. It was a holiday so his day off in the mechanic shop. The clock struck 3 pm. He usually does not sleep late but his mother and brother who were the only living members of his family were visiting his uncles’ home where they were to stay for two weeks. So there was no one, no work or no motivation to spur him to wake up. He was hungry and wanted to eat but was too weak to cook. So at last after vacillating for about 40 minutes he decided to go to Govinda sweet shop up across the road, the most famed in the vicinity, and treat himself with some delicious nerve melting puris and sabji with side of two nolen gurer rosogolla. So, with much of both physical and mental effort, he propelled himself up with his two working limbs and placed himself on the wheelchair and circled off to the bathroom to freshen himself up. After he got ready he put on his TUPI and drove off. He liked the day outside rather the evening which was slowly shading itself in wide and pronounced saffron and encompassing the whole world in it. He reached Govinda’s shop and was waiting outside. It was a tacit deal that whenever Abdul pulled up in front of the shop, the owner Shyam, who was also his friend, would bring him his usual puris and sabji. Shyam came out with a full plate and an affable smile to him.

“subho bijoya, abdul” greeted Shyam handing the plate to Abdul.

“subho bijoya brother” greeted Abdul.

“ the sky is so brilliant today” remarked Shyam and seated himself on the ground beside Abdul’s wheelchair.

“hm! and the weather is so warm. It feels nice to be outside” said Abdul eating.

“when is your mother coming back?”

“14th morning”.

They sat silent for next few moments while Abdul was eating and absorbing the exhilarating ambience and Shyam took pictures of the sky on his phone.

“what’s your plan tonight?” asked Shyam.

“oh nothing, will watch the ipl. Yeah I have lost lots of money in this, I need to recover them”

“great! we have plans to watch together, me and my friends. Join us in my house we’ll watch together” proposed Shyam

“ ha, that can be done but I will have to stop by the counter first to ask the rate”

“why you meddle with this betting wetting? You’ll go broke, it’s such an addiction. It took me two years to j….”

“I know you have told me that before. I don’t have a stable business like you; I have to go ahead in life too” made Abdul the material statement.

When it comes to money everything is exempted.

Abdul after finishing his breakfast cum lunch was waiting for Shyam, when Shyam came out presently instructing his workers in the shop to close it up early. They then went to Shyam’s house which was just 10 minutes walk. It was almost 7 pm when they reached his house. Abdul had to be carried up the stairs, his wheelchair also, to the roof where a big screen had been arranged for the match. Shyam to free his hands of those heavy bags of maida and sugar went into the kitchen. While Abdul was waiting outside he saw a glimpse of glossy “Harley-Davidson Fat Bob” deadwood green denim model which was parked just a few yards down the gully. Overwhelmed by its beauty he couldn’t resist but rolled over and was presently in front of it. He was a huge admirer of cruiser bikes and was always enchanted by them even in photos. He never got a chance to see one in real life and so up close. The bikes which comes for repairing in the shop where he works are not really of his style. Perceiving he might never again he put his slender fingers upon its voluptuous body to feel its charisma. As he was going through with it a guy leaned out from the small alley between two houses and ran at him shouting “ayy!! What are you doing?!” he reproached arresting Abdul by the shoulder.

“Nothing……I was just looki…” said Abdul with trembling.

“shut up!! You bastard. I know your tricks. You guys whenever…..” was saying the guy, when his friends, about five-six of them, who were also in the alley came running out with bottles of beers and rums. Abdul realized now that he has to play it safe for he was against people who were not really in stable state of mind.

“where is your home?!!” asked one guy.

“Mirchok” said Abdul “I’m here at friends house. I was just watching the bike.”

By this time the commotion had created the members of the neighboring houses to come to the balcony and look upon the matter.

One of the friends suggested the leader to leave the matter and go join the procession. ( They were the members of the mahanagar sporting club who went ahead of the procession to buy some time for carousing and building up potential energy for the visarjan ). So deducing they were under surveillance they decided not to get into trouble and they rode out making unnecessary grating sounds from their bikes to assert dominance.

As they left loud and noisy, from the smoke left behind by their vehicles projected out Shyam who came running.

“what happened?” he asked concerned.

“nothing. Its nothing. They thought I was scratching their bike” assured abdul.

“who were they?”

“nobody. They were wrong so they fled. Let’s go now. We already missed the toss.”

“RCB won. Fielding first.” Said Shyam.

So then they went on to watch the match in Shyam’s place.

Part 3:-

It was around 11 pm. On Shyam’s roof everyone was waiting for the climax of the thriller. RCB needed 12 runs in the last over for Abdul to get 4 times the value of his money. Yes, Abdul did profited a lot that night when the target was chased down with three balls remaining. Abdul applauded out in triumph in the end and was hauled up by Shyam’s friends in jubilance. All equally shouted and screamed in Abdul’s win. Now he felt he can have a peaceful dinner after many days. So the night of party was over and everyone went for their homes. Abdul was the last to go as he had to be carefully shifted down the stairs. Before parting Shyam said “should I walk you to your home?”

“no no. The roads are clear at this time. I can easily cross them”

“ok then. I want party tomorrow”

“what party?”

“aare! You won so much today. Won’t you treat me.”

“not tomorrow. Some other time. I have to work late. Next Sunday. Make a plan.”

“ok. Bye then”

“bye bye”

And away Abdul went solitary with the beautiful dark sky above him and a silver shining pearl to aggrandize the beauty of the night.

As he was rolling up to the main road, he was suddenly waylaid by those guys from the evening. Two guys pulled his wheelchair and thrust him on the side of the road where the other guys were waiting. Abdul gave loud cries, not of help but of frightening bewilderment, but was heard by no one. All with staggering movements of their limbs rained down blows and batters and kicks and slaps and anything that they can possibly contrive to do. The stench of the liquors from their breaths was enough to make Abdul feel nauseous and the hitting just send him off to a daze not to mention the constant cursing on him with words like “pig” and “cripple” and many much worse.

He did not get to speak one word in any of the two languages he knew. A few minutes of this when a middle-aged man in bike who was passing by the road saw them and stopped and in menacing voice said “ ayy. What is it?”

One somewhat stable guy from the group said in as calm and sober a voice he could “this guy is a thief. He has been doing this for quite a while now.”

“yes and even after warning he just doesn’t listen” added another guy.

Abdul tried his best to speak but was in no condition. He did not know how many teeth he has lost, how many bones broke, how much blood spilled, how much skin flayed. He just knew he did not deserve that.

Even after extreme effort he could not shout out “help” but mumbled into oblivion.

“this is a quite and respected neighborhood. We don’t want any trouble here. Take him away.” Said the other man from the road.

The gang quickly grabbed his wheelchair and started rolling him away to a safe place. Away across the road they took him on the desolate banks of mahananda river where they visted earlier that day for visarjan. As he was being driven along the soft fine sands of the bank, blood drooling from his mouth, mind delirious, body too numb to feel anything, he saw the scintillating dancing moon glade on the wrinkled surface of the river which enkindled a thought in his head.

“I should have eaten the nolen gurer rosogolla” he thought quietly.

By Prantik Mandal