Chapter 7

The next morning, Shrikant woke with a searing pain in his ankle. He propped up his leg on the pillow and was reaching down to apply the cold press that Moni da had given him when he heard the knock on the door. Shrikant limped across to open the door to find Moni da standing outside with an anxious look.

“How are you feeling today sir?” he asked Shrikant

“Better” said Shrikant weakly.

“But you don’t look so Sir?” said Moni da peering down to look at his ankle.

“It is just that the ankle is bothering me a bit” said Shrikant wincing as he limped back to the bed.

“That is why I got this for you.” said Monu da as he turned round to shout out to somebody “Come on get it here fast!”

“Comiiiing” came a shout from downstairs as Shrikant witnessed a whirlwind hurtle into his room.

“Have come” said the whirlwind with a broad grin proudly showing off rows of betel stained teeth held happily between two shiny blobs of chubby cheeks.

“Stop grinning like an imbecile and start applying the paste on Sir’s ankle.” said Moni Shankar sternly.

“Yes Sir” said the grinning whirlwind and set about doing what he was told without wiping out even an inch of the grin he so obviously treasured.

“This is Dhoomketu Sir,” said Moni Shankar.

“Who?” said Shrikant with surprise tinged with amusement. “What a funny name?”

“Oh! The fun is in more things than the name alone Sir. Just you wait and watch!” said Moni Shankar smiling indulgently.

The source of all this merriment however was oblivious to this discussion as he was now fully focused on applying a yellow paste on Shrikant’s ankle. As he scowled with concentration pushing his tongue out slightly while dutifully completing the task assigned to him, he did put up quite a funny picture. Both Moni Shankar and Shrikant started laughing. At the sound of their laughter Dhoomketu looked up and immediately broke into a wide grin again.

“Done Sir!” he said with the air of having accomplished a great feat.
“Listen, Dhoomketu!” said Moni Shankar in a serious tone “You will have to be with Shrikant Sir from now on”

As Dhoomketu nodded, Shrikant looked up surprised

“Why this security arrangement Moni da I was attacked by elephants not terrorists!” said Shrikant jokingly.

“Sir, this is jungle country. Laws here are different. Moreover, it is always better to be safe now than be sorry later. Dhoomketu is the best bet. He may look like a dimwit but he has many tricks up his sleeve. Moreover, he is loyal to the core. He knows the jungle and its ways like the back of his hand. I feel Dhoomketu will be your best guide”.

Moni Shankar looked meaningfully at Shrikant as he continued.
“I am a government servant Sir. I am like the cow in the shed that remains tethered because that is all she has ever known. However, our Dhoomketu here is different. He is like the wind. Free and unshackled. He flows wherever he wishes. He can be mistaken to be just a breeze but can very well turn into a gale when required. Take him with you Sir. You will need him.”

Shrikant smiled at Moni Shankar and looked at Dhoomketu with renewed interest. It was difficult to match this simple village man with hair flattened on his head, an unkempt stubble sprawled across the wide expanse of his square face and his wide eyes with the picture that Moni Shankar was painting. However, something in the older man’s voice and tone made Shrikant accept his offer without objection. He somehow felt the man was trying to prepare him for greater things yet to come.

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It was almost noon by the time Shrikant got off from the Toto. The three-wheeled vehicle, a larger version of the auto-rickshaw, was a recent innovation in the country and had gained popularity as the preferred mode of transport in the rural districts. The villagers, till date, had relied on the bicycle or largely travelled by foot. The Toto had made things and people move faster. Young men in the village either purchased one of their own or worked as hired drivers for other Toto owners.

Shrikant limped out leaning heavily on the walking stick Moni Shankar had insisted he carry with him.
“Wait here will you?” asked Shrikant politely.

“Of course he will” said Dhoomketu roughly “As if he has a whole train load of people waiting for him. This is not tourist season Sir, so no problem.” He said smiling at Shrikant.

“Come on now, park here somewhere, we will be back soon” he said scowling at the boy.

The boy scowled back but did as he was told sullenly.

Shrikant turned and looked at the village that lay before him. There was not much to look at. A cluster of few houses made up the entire ‘village’ as they called it. Most of the houses were single storeyed and were made of asbestos walls and corrugated tin roofs. Every house had a little open courtyard that was fenced out with criss-crossing bamboo sticks. The fence ran all around the house and met at the gate which was usually a corrugated tin sheet tied to the fence with ropes or twine.

There were a few houses which were two storeyed, which Dhoomketu told him was the traditional style. These houses looked slightly older than the rest.  Earlier all houses were two-storeyed. However, in recent years, owing to paucity of funds, most people preferred to make only a single storeyed and accommodated their meagre assets within it.

As Shrikant walked down the narrow lanes between the houses, he could feel an air of hostility pervading the area. Though the village had picked up their threads and rebuilt their houses, remnants of the destruction were still visible in mutilated crop-fields, and broken sheds.

People peered out from within their houses to stare at the duo. Dhoomketu called out to a few people. Some waved back, others ignored him while some stared at Shrikant suspiciously.

“They are still not able to come to terms with that night, Sir” said Dhoomketu apologetically to explain the strangeness in the air.

Shrikant nodded in understanding. They soon stopped in front of a single storeyed house. Dhoomketu lifted the rusted metal wire at the top that formed a latch for the door and stepped in.

A middle-aged man was sitting on the outer balcony of his house applying oil on his body. He was bare chested and had a green and white checked lungi[1] wrapped around his lower body. He had his back towards them and turned around as they entered.

“Bishnu da” called Dhoomketu.

The man looked up and smiled as he saw Dhoomketu.

“This is Shrikant Sir, from Kolkata” said Dhoomketu introducing Shrikant.  “He wants to talk to you and a few villagers regarding the incident. As you are the head of our village I brought him first to you.”

Bishnu smiled as he got up and brought a chair for Shrikant to sit. “Our village is just a few group of houses Babu. We all live here as a family. I know how terrorised the people of my village are. We have said what we had to. There is nothing new to tell you.”

“Yes all that you have said is there in the papers and I have read all of that. What I need is the story that you did not tell the others” said Shrikant thankfully sinking into the chair. His ankle was beginning to trouble him if he stood for too long.

Bishnu stared at him with a confused look. “I do not know what you mean Babu[2]?” he asked.

“Well Bishnu da, why do you think the fire happened?” asked Shrikant looking at the man intently.

“As I said earlier, there were some people in the forest who had lit a bonfire and it must have caught on to the trees?” asked Bishnu.

Shrikant stared at him for some time before he said, “Are you sure?”

Bishnu looked at Shrikant blankly “I do not understand, what you mean Babu?”

“I mean are you sure it was a bonfire? Did you see them light it?” He asked simply

“I?” Bishnu looked incredulous. “How can I see them? I never go into the forest after the dark.” he said.

“Well, then who does?” asked Shrikant probing deeper “Who goes into the forest after the dark, Bishnu da?”

Bishnu stared at him not understanding what he meant.

“Look Bishnu da” said Shrikant talking slowly to not antagonise him “if you did not see them light the bonfire, then somebody else must have. Somebody who went to the forest after dark and saw them light the bonfire and came back and told you. Or it may be somebody who lit it himself? Maybe it was not a bonfire at all. Maybe it was something else more heinous. And if that somebody did it, maybe he is more dangerous than you know. So who do you think it could be?” asked Shrikant looking directly at Bishnu.

“Not a bonfire? Well then what else could it be? I don’t know Babu” said Bishnu beginning to look uncertain.

“Hmmm” said Shrikant grimacing as he got up from the chair “but who led you on to thinking it was a bonfire?”

Bishnu bent his head trying to recall who had come to him with the details of the fire.

“Lalu told me,” said Bishnu nodding his head hard as he remembered “Yes he was the one who came up to me first. In fact, not only me, he was running around telling everybody that somebody had lit a bonfire in the forest which had led to the calamity. We were all so disturbed that night we never thought of asking him how he came to know of it. Now that you tell me I find it strange too.”

“Lalu?” asked Shrikant looking questioningly at Dhoomketu.

“That’s Netai Kaka[3]’s son. He lives two houses after this” said Dhoomketu.

“I think then we should have a little chat with him. bonfires are beginning to intrigue me suddenly.” said Shrikant wobbling towards the door.

“Are you from the police?” asked Bishnu looking suspiciously at Shrikant for the first time. “Will Lalu be in trouble now?” he asked.

“Not if he knows, how the bonfire was lit” said Shrikant smiling “Don’t worry Bishnu da, I am not from the police” he said reassuringly.

Lalu’s house was another single storeyed one. It was of the same structure only smaller in size. Unlike Bishnu’s large courtyard it only had a small patch of land in front which accommodated a small makeshift pen for the chickens.
A half-dried Tulsi[4] tree, planted within a cemented structure lay forgotten in one corner of the small courtyard, an obvious indication of the absence of women in the house. The pen was empty as the hens were busily clacking around the house. The long necked elegant rooster was basking in the afternoon sun puffing up his red and brown feathers.
A man sat mending a fishing net near the house. He was around 50-55 years of age but looked older. His half-bald head was fringed with greying hairs that thinly covered the nape of his neck and disappeared completely around the skull leaving a shining pate in the middle of his head. Like Bishnu his upper body was bare. A red gamchha[5] hung around his neck. His pajamas, the only clothing on his body other than the gamcha, may have been white at some point of time but were now yellow with overuse.

“Netai kaka” called Dhoomketu “is Lalu home?”

“Inside.” murmured the man not looking up “Too early for him to be to be out I guess?” he jeered.

“Early for what?” asked Shrikant quietly.

The man looked up at the sound of the new voice. His forehead was lined with deep wrinkles which spread around his eyes. His cheeks and chin were covered with a dirty grey stubble that made him look older than he actually was. As he squinted his narrow eyes to look closely at who had spoken, his mouth opened slightly revealing a set of half-broken betel-stained teeth. His features were flat and his skin look wizened and weathered with too much exposure in the sun.

“Who is this?” he asked Dhoomketu suspiciously. “Police? Come to take him, has he?”

“Take who?” asked Shrikant realising the general hostility towards the police that the people of the village had reserved in their hearts.

“Me of course. That is what he keeps wishing all day.” said another voice.

Shrikant turned around to see a young man come out of the house. He seemed to be in his early 20s and was dressed in a pair of trousers and shirt that though a bit faded, looked clean. His hair was neatly brushed. He had the same flattened features like his father though not as weathered and wrinkled.

“As if my wish will ever be fulfilled” spat the old man.

“Lalu, Babu here wants to talk to you,” said Dhoomketu in a hurry to steer them away from the family bickering.

“Talk to me? Why?” asked Lalu shifting his gaze from Dhoomketu to Shrikant standing next to him.

“Just needed to know a few things from you Lalu?” said Shrikant as he noticed an edge in Lalu’s voice.

“From me? Why? And who are you?” Lalu looked questioningly at Dhoomketu.

“This is Shrikant Sir. He is from kolkata and has come to write a story about last week’s incident. ” said Dhoomketu.

“Paah” spat the old man again muttering to himself. “Story about the fire. That is all it is to you people from the city is it? A Story. The others who came also wanted to know the same thing. What happened? How did it happen? When did it happen? That’s it. If we knew how it happened would we have let it happen? Then what? Nothing. You all come, get that ‘story’ and then leave. What happens to us? Nothing. We remain where we were. Poor, deprived and hungry as always. Nobody cares for the real story. Our story.”

“Baba! Will you stop your jabbering?” said Lalu rudely. He lowered his voice as he muttered through clenched teeth moving closer to the older man “how many times have I told you not to open your mouth when other people are around in our house?”.

The older man spat out again and appeared to ignore his son’s warning tone continuing with what he was doing.
Lalu turned towards Shrikant and said in a changed tone.
“What do you want to know Sir?” he asked politely.

Shrikant noticed the stark difference in Lalu’s dialect. It was less rustic and had an urban polish to it indicating an exposure to a world different from the one in which Dhoomketu, Netai or Bishnu existed.

“Let’s begin with the forest Lalu?” said Shrikant smiling at the young boy.

“The forest?” said Lalu as his voice wavered slightly “What about the forest Sir?”

“What do you think about it?” asked Shrikant looking closely at Lalu.

“It is just like any other forest.” said Lalu shrugging casually.

“Hmm. Do you go there often?” asked Shrikant.

“Me? Why should I go to the forest often?” asked Lalu looking defiantly at Shrikant.

“But then how did you know of the bonfire?” asked Shrikant innocently.

“Bonfire? What…oh the one that started the fire that night. Well, I…..I heard about it?” he said suddenly beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch.

Shrikant followed his gaze to notice that the watch, though not an expensive model, was certainly not one he would have expected to see on a youth from a village which has recently faced a calamity.

“You did, did you?” He asked smoothly “But Bishnu da told us you were sure of it as if you saw it with your own eyes?” he said not moving his gaze from Lalu’s face.

“What does Bishnu da know of anything?” said Lalu beginning to look uncomfortable. “he just sits around in that big house of his doing nothing.” He muttered angrily.

“As if you have a lot on your hands to do?” cackled Netai. He had left his fishing net behind and was standing, listening to their conversation. He stood watching them as he spoke picking his teeth with the needle with one hand on his hips.

“You and that good-for-nothing friend of yours” said Netai sneering.

“He is not my friend and I go with him only when he has work for me. In fact, the day the fire broke out he had come with some work, but I did not accompany him. Later on it was he who told me about the bonfire.” said Lalu looking fiercely at his father.

“Who is this friend of yours?” asked Shrikant looking from father to son as they continued looking at each other with loathing.

“Shuddho” said Lalu without looking at him.

Shrikant raised his eyebrows slightly on hearing Shuddho’s name. He remembered the young boy who had come to pick him up at the station when he arrived.

 “He often brings me work and I do it for money. How else can I earn and do anything in this god forsaken place” continued Lalu muttering through clenched teeth.

“What kind of work does he get for you?” asked Shrikant hurriedly as he realised Netai was about to start another outburst with his son.

“Well, he often has guests from the city who come to visit the forest. He needs someone to take them inside for a picnic and so he asks me.” said Lalu shrugging casually.

“And he pays you for that? How much?” asked Shrikant

“He gives me 10-20% of whatever he gets.” said Lalu.

“So that day he came with another such offer. Why didn’t you go?” asked Shrikant.

Lalu shrugged “I didn’t want to. It is just not worth all the effort. Anyway, it proved a wise decision as he told me about the fire later. I would have been involved in this mess.”

“Hmm” said Shrikant thoughtfully “So these guest that come, do they stay at the resort?” he asked.

Lalu shrugged. “I don’t know. Shuddho arranges all that. He just comes to me when he needs me. I don’t know anything else” he said beginning to sound mutinous. Suddenly his façade of a suave youngster changed into the demeanour of a rebellious child caught at doing mischief.

He began to shift uncomfortably. It seemed he wanted to get out of the place.

“Baba” he said looking at his father and beginning to look busy “I am going out and will be late.”

“Yes…as if you are ever back early!’ muttered the older man in a sneering tone.

Lalu ignored the jibe and nodded at Dhoomketu and Shrikant before moving towards the door to leave the house.

As he brushed past him, Shrikant got a whiff of something familiar. It was faint but distinct.  It smelt urban and plush and something he did not associate with Chilapata. Then he realised what it was. It was the same brand of aftershave that he used. Curiously, he found that very strange.

Shrikant looked at Dhoomketu who had obviously not got the smell. He slowly walked over to Netai who had now got back to mending the fishing net. Shrikant stooped down carefully without putting too much pressure on his sprained ankle. He picked up one corner of the net the old man was working on.
“So what is your story Netai kaka?” he asked casually feeling the net run through his fingers.

“Our story?” he asked looking blankly at Shrikant “It has all changed. Every day new stories are being written that no longer includes us.”

“Who are writing these stories for you?” asked Shrikant looking at him intently.

“I don’t know” he said, “All I know is that these stories are dangerous and will bring us harm.”

“Dangerous? Why do you say that?” asked Shrikant.

Netai did not say anything as he continued with his work.

“So, you think the fire was a result of all that is happening?” prodded Shrikant.

Netai looked at Shrikant and moved closer, dropping his voice dropped to a whisper “The fire was just one of them. There will be more. You mark my words, there will be more dangers to our lives. Nobody can stop them because we have let them in to our midst.”

“Who? Who have you allowed into your midst” asked Shrikant looking at him urgently.

“People. Bad people. I don’t know who they are but I do know our village is changing. It has changed already. Our young men are moving away from our traditions. See this fishing net?  Lalu got that for me. He said it is a better way to fish than using our Burung[6] and Palao. Who knows?” he shrugged sadly.

Shrikant looked down at the net he held in his hands. He wondered if the narrow meandering Bania required a net as large as this to catch fish. If not, then what other mysteries would this net hold in its meshes? 

“The boy is not telling the truth Sir” said Dhoomketu.

They had left Netai’s house, having realised they would not be able to get anything more out of him, and were now walking down the narrow village path.

“Hmm” said Shrikant deep in thought. “So where are we going now Dhoomketu?” he asked.

“To Shuddho’s house. I thought you might like to meet him” said Dhoomketu. Shrikant smiled as he realised the sharpness this man kept hidden beneath his façade of a simpleton.

Shuddho’s house appeared to be the last one in the village. It was also one of the few double storeyed houses that stood as a weak reminder of the lost traditions of the village. Shrikant stood looking at the corrugated sheets rusted with age that covered the stilts to make up a makeshift kitchen where an old woman was cooking something on an earthen stove. A flight of rickety stairs led to the upper levels where he could notice two rooms.
Dhoomketu pushed through the gate asking Shrikant to follow.

“Owui?” called Dhoomketu. The woman turned around to see who it was then stood up slowly and stepped out to meet them. As she did so Shrikant noticed that she was of average build and had a lean and wiry figure. Her greying hair was dishevelled and untidily tied into a tight bun as if it hardly mattered. Her sari was wrapped around her thin frame in a loose manner. As she looked at them her eyes looked tired and her face was lined with wrinkles. Shrikant felt these were more from worry than with age. There was an air of resignation about the woman. It seemed as if there was nothing more that the world had to offer and she was alive only because her breath was still flowing. Shrikant could not explain the sudden sadness that pervaded his heart when he saw the woman.

Matongini looked at the two men standing before her blankly.

“Owui, is Shuddho home?” asked Dhoomketu gently.

 “Shuddho?” asked Matongini as if she did not recognise the name. She paused for some time and then suddenly remembering answered in a halting tone “No. No he is not. Why do you ask?”

“We wanted to speak to him?” said Dhoomketu.

“We?” asked Matongini surprised. She then noticed that Dhoomketu was not alone.

Shrikant stepped forward realising that the woman was oblivious to his presence. In fact, he felt the woman was moving in a trance. She did not seem to be in the present. There was an air of desolation and melancholy that she had wrapped around herself like a shroud.

“This is Shrikant Sir from Kolkata. He has come here to write a story on the fire that broke out in our village last week.” said Dhoomketu

“The fire!” said Matongini as her eyes widened with fear as she recalled the incident. “Yes it was vicious. Like a hungry snake it gobbled up everything that came in its way. It took my heart leaving me behind like a corpse” she said as Shrikant noticed tears glistened in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks unheeded.
Dhoomketu moved over and gently held her by the shoulders. He made her sit on a stool and let her cry for some time on his shoulders. As Shrikant waited patiently, Matongini wiped her tears and stared in the air blankly.

“What do you want with Shuddho now?” she asked in a grim voice.

Shrikant knew the question was directed at him, even though she did not look at him.
“I wanted to know who told him about the bonfire that led to the calamity?” said Shrikant.

“How will Shuddho know that? He was not even home when it all started. He came back a long time after it was all over.”

Shrikant looked at Dhoomketu knowingly who nodded in understanding. If Shuddho was not home when the fire broke out where was he then? And how did he know how it happened? It suddenly became important that they talk to him.

“When will he be back Owui?” asked Dhoomketu gently still kneeling down beside her.

“At night. Or perhaps later. I don’t know. He never tells me when he leaves. In fact, I hardly see him in the house nowadays.  I leave his food in the kitchen at night. In the morning when I see it is eaten, I know he was here.”

They sat in silence for some time. Matongini stared blankly into space. Shrikant looked at her. Without knowing what led to this desolation, he wanted to comfort her, tell her that things would be okay. However, he knew that she was beyond mere words of solace. She was going through pain so deep that nobody could help her come out of it. There was just one cure that could help her and Shrikant felt he did not have it. Not yet!  But he was determined to know what it was.

He soon motioned to Dhoomketu and they got up to leave.

“The fire started in the jungle Babu.” Matongini’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “I saw it happen. I was sitting in the balcony upstairs. It was quite late in the night. The village was sleeping. I was the only one awake. I saw the first spark of angry flames as it grew bigger and slowly approached our village. Then they came. Fear had driven them to madness. They thundered into our village, trampling our lives beneath their huge legs. She saved us Babu. But they took her away. They took away my Shamchik and I stood watching like a mute spectator.” She finished in her emotionless voice.

She suddenly looked up at Shrikant “You need answers Babu? The jungle has them! It has them hidden deep in its hollows. You will get nothing here. Nobody will tell you anything.”

“Why?” asked Shrikant gently.

“Fear! We are all cowards Babu. But the jungle is fearless. It has nothing to hide. It will give you all your answers. Go to the Jungle not because that is where it all started but because that is why it all started,” she said her voice dry with pain.

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[1] A type of Sarong worn by men in the Indian subcontinent

[2] A way of addressing a person who is assumed to be of superior status than the other person.

[3] Uncle. Usually used to refer to Father’s younger brother. Also a common way to address an elderly male acquaintance.

[4] Basil Plant worshipped by most Indian households mostly in the Rural areas.

[5] A scarf

[6] Traditional fishing trap used by the Rabha tribe.

Chapter 8