Maa (Mother)
(1)
Sometimes some emotional thoughts bubbles up to our outer conscience and lead us to feel that the world - the human world in particular - we live in, is a real wonder, out and out mysterious. Human life, as a whole, experiences this wonder, this mystery throughout its life time, from the cradle to the crematorium. Here someone from no where might get close to an unknown, whereas some might get separated so far-off, as though they never existed.
Some blessings become curses and vice versa too, are being felt. These are beyond the jurisdiction of astrologists or the philosophers belonging to even the school of the modern "Charbaks".
The life of Purbasha is an example of such a mystery and I am afraid, if any of her well-wishers might reveal the mystery of her life before her, it will tear her whole self into broken pieces as thrown-away earthen cups (Bhand) in the station platforms. To catch an up or down train you might reach or will surely reach one day - one of the busiest stations of West Bengal - Durgapur. Here, there is a bus terminus at one end and just on the opposite, there is a big market called Karanga Bazaar, - linked by an over-bridge apart from the inter platform bridges. This bridge not only has connected two sides but also helps the stream of passersby cross conveniently avoiding the hazards of level crossings.
Miss Purbasha, a quiet looking, lanky young lady of twenty five is now crossing the bridge from Karanga bazaar side and when she is just stepping down a few stairs she is hailed, welcomed by a gang of five old, beggar women like half burnt, slim logs of wood collected from a pyre, in the expectation of the daily offer they have been getting for months to enjoy their breakfast - "Kachuri" and "Chai".
Purbasha is in a hurry, she takes out a fifty rupee note from her wallet and hands it over to one of these women and swerves swiftly towards the bus stand to catch a bus to Barjora - a half an hour journey.
Yes, she daily (except Sundays) crosses the very bridge, daily she gives that amount of money to these beggars who have been driven out from platforms and found their refuge just around this end of the bridge. Their begging bowls set up in-line, they scream "Babu Babu", sometimes even keeping their eyelids closed. And when a sound - 'Bang' - comes out from any of these bowls, all these five, as if arising from trance, look at their own bowl and at four others' too, to see which one has earned and how much - a coin of fifty Paise or a one Rupee coin. But the arrival of Purbasha creates a steer in them as the reason you know why?
Among these gang of five, one cannot stand, keeps seated a few steps behind on a shabbiest torn-out cloth, with a sulky stare and open mouth expressing a queer emotion of her countenance - stretching one leg horizontally forward, for she had her left leg amputated ; when and why she herself has failed to remember.
She keeps staring until Purbasha disappears in the thick crowd and at last she puts her folded arms on her forehead, nobody knows why, and murmurs. But what she murmurs and why she does such "Namaskaar," does she herself know? God knows.
Her comrades, in the meantime, having wished lot of blessings for their God-sent daughter gets busy in arranging mugs, earthen cups thrown-away by the consumers around tea stalls. They shower plenty of ill words upon the wretched, one-legged "Budi" for her self earned mis-fortune; but yet they serve her two pieces of Kachuri and two cupful of hot tea with pity mingled with compassion.
Purbasha bears a dim complexion. Yet, she is good looking, slim and looks slimmer and slender in synthetic Sarees. Her face is sweet and eyes are long, black and deep, that shine a light of sympathy. It is now about a year that she is in service - a junior teacher of a higher secondary school at Barjora - Bankura and teaches mathematics. She has been a brilliant student throughout. She secured first class in M.sc. made a good result in WBSSC and earned, by her own right, the post of an assistant teacher.
She, along with her parents live at Sukanto Palli - one and half kilometer away from Karangapada bazaar. Her father Bibek Roy was an officer in the Durgapur steel plant, now being retired has shifted to his own house at Sukanto Palli. Her mother Dharitri Debi was too a school teacher but left her service the day Purbasha came into her lap.
Purbasha comes up to the station from Sukanto Palli by Rickshaw and goes back from there by the same. But off and on, her friend - Shankh Shubhra Sen - waits with his bike for her at a certain place near the bridge to give her a lift. This is known to and accepted by their parents.
Purbasha leads a smooth sailing disciplined and successful life with a hope of being well settled in very recent future. She feels happy, yet sometimes an unexplicable fear rises in her heart. Why? She neither herself understands nor is able to make someone understand.
(2)
Bibek babu and Dharitri Debi had been under the treatment of a famous gynecologist in Bardhwan town and the day before their fourth marriage anniversary they were sitting across the doctor's table. The doctor, Sunirmal Samanta, finally declared that Dharitri Debi would never be able to conceive. The couple almost broke down in frustration. Bibek Babu somehow managed to keep himself restrained but his wife could not. She kept on sobbing and shedding tears even in the train compartment on their way back to Durgapur. The compassionate husband tried to console his wife citing the examples of Mother Teresa, Sister Nivedita, Ma Sharada only to bring about more tears rolling down her cheeck. Bibek babu felt nervous and apprehending some miserable consequences he got totally upset. By then the local train reached Durgapur Station.
It was evening and raining outside.
Bibek Babu had his quarters at Jaydev colony. From Durgapur Station to Jaydev colony there are mini buses plying one after another within very short intervals. But today Vivek Babu and Dharitri Debi had to stay standing at the end of the number three platform as the rain started falling heavily accompanied by lightning and rumbling. To make it more grievous light also went off. Only two emergency bulbs were dimly lighting the platform.
The passengers who had their umbrellas with them left the platform and a few young, careless ones got out drenching themselves throughly.
Bibek Babu, already depressed in melancholy stood waiting holding his wifes' hand firmly as their journey of life suddenly came to a halt.
As the platform got vacated and the din of the crowd was slowly receding, a faint but shrill wail continually coming from the last corner of the shed, was being heard distinctly enough to attract the attention of the couple. And a plaintive cry was supplemented with sound of slapping strokes.
Bibek Babu said to his wife,
"Come, let us see who is crying over there and why?"
Bibek Babu did so thinking wisely that the grief and morose Dharitri is now suffering from, would be lessened and lightened seeing the misery of these people destined to live on station platforms.
But what they, in reality, saw was more horrible than Bibek Babu had thought of.
An old, skeletal beggar woman, sitting on heap of squalid rags, trying, in vain, to quieten a new born baby which having opened its dry lips was crying so shrilly that one could easily imagine that the 'End of its' was coming nearer and nearer. The helpless "Budi" was also wailing and with her boney hands she was striking her forehead again and again, murmuring some almost inaudible and unintelligible words. Bibek Babu stood speechless and Dharitri Debi gripping tightly his left hand was shivering. Collecting himself, Bibek Babu, after a while opened his mouth and said to the woman, "What has happened? Why are you crying so much and beating yourself?"
The old woman turned her head to look at them for it was beyond her belief that someone would call her "Tumi, Tomar" instead of "Tui, Tor".
And when the wretched was confirmed that the persons were not RPF she, in chocked voice, put in, in brief the situation she was thrust into:
"The dying baby - by heaven, she should have died by now - is her grand daughter ! It was born there, in that abandoned, dilapidated Railway warehouse (she showed that building by raising her finger) which is the only labour room in this station where 'Barobhatarira', (women of their kind, having dozens of mates) get pregnant and give birth to creatures of this kind (she again shows the baby on her lap).
This happens because this is a common and habitual occurrence. But what has happened yesterday evening was a curse. Her daughter, neglecting her anaemic body (Nirakta sarir), climbed up a goods-train-rack to steal coal, slipped and fell down on the rail track. Her right foot got smashed - flesh, bones severed.
The station babu, a real God, has sent her somewhere and admitted in some hospital that she doesn't know but knows certainly that she would surely be a handicapped for good or would not come back alive. After she was taken by some coolies our patroness (the leader of the beggar gang) came and has given me ultimatum that this baby should be thrown in to the DVC canal by this night. With this verdict all my comrades left this platform leaving me alone."
Having completed this briefing she again slapped her head and burst into saying,-
"Now, O Babu, O Maa, tell me what could I do, what should I do with this illegitimate offspring of my daughter, a lecherous prostitute ? The shoe-polish boy who was her last mate has been absconding since the accident she met with."
For a very brief period of time there was an eerie silence descended down and prevailed over them. Then Bibek Babu slowly sat down on his hip and said in slow and subdued voice to the old woman,
"Masima, don't throw this baby away. Give it to us. I am now giving you a small amount of money which I have with me. Tomorrow, in the evening, you, please keep waiting here, I will come and give you five thousand - or whatever you are in need of."
The woman stared at him fixedly for a moment or two. And then, putting up the baby on the heap of half-soaked rags turned around, threw herself on the feet of Bibek Babu and exploded,
"I do not want money, neither I am in need of it now. Please, please take this "Jamer aruchi" (obnoxious object that the Hell denies) away. Babu, Maa, I strangled my first, new born baby boy and buried it into the pit dug by my own hands (she showed her hands) in that marsh over there.
Babu, don't let me kill my grand daughter, again ........ "
She raised her eyes and fixed them at the face of Bibek Babu.
Bibek Babu and Dharitri Debi stood bewildered. The woman drew herself to the baby, wrapped it with the rags and brought it to them and laid it in haste, just between the feet of Dharitri Debi and took a turn and started scattering her 'shelter' on the platform, throwing away mugs, bowls, plastic sheets, bottles, as if she got furiously frenzied on her own being and belongings.
Just by then another local train arrived. A wave of passengers inundated the platform.Pushing, pulling, clatter, chaos grappled the whole station as there was paucity of light and it was still raining outside.
The old woman was found no where. Horrified, Dharitri Debi took the baby up to protect it from being stampeded at this darkened and chaotic platform.
(3)
Walking about aimlessly, I felt I intruded myself into an unknown lane. I pulled myself backward in search of the point where from I started my journey. Fortunately enough without much toil and trouble my gaze fell upon Purbasha. Yes, it is she who is now descending down the stairs of the same bridge as I was talking about.
She is coming back from her school and will catch a rickshaw in no time. Her routine life has resumed its journey, the long Puja vacation is now over but today she looks a bit more introspective than before.
On the way back home for a while, before on the other end of the bridge she, as usual,cast her eyes towards those crones and they hailed their feeble hands in joy as today morning they had from her hand a hundred rupee note to celebrate "Bijaya Dashami". Everything goes all right but what about Puja gifts, she was to offer them before Puja? Yes, this is the cause of her being introvert.
Purbasha enjoyed her Puja as she had been enjoying for years. But there was a slight dissatisfaction this year. She, having joined her service, was thinking of giving new clothes to her unworthy A admirers ; but there stood an unsurmountable bar of hesitation between her instinctual inclination and her social relation.
Her mother does not allow a beggar, specially a woman beggar even to stand at their gate. On the other hand Sankh Shubhra's family live in a gorgeous apartment where "Trespassers are liable to be prosecuted." If they come to know about her intention of donating clothes to those destitute 'beasts', they will definitely laugh not only at her intention but also at their destitution, terming the proposal as ridiculous. This is intolerable and she suppressed her thought. But now, seeing them in rags and feeling the winter wind, she, of a sudden, indulged in an idea of giving them new blankets. As soon as the thought flashed in her mind she, before catching a rickshaw entered into a cloth emporium nearby and ordered for ten blankets with terms and conditions.
She said to the manager,
"I won't take these blankets right now. Tomorrow I have to take them across the bridge. Please provide me a helper for half an hour or so.
"Yes Madam, we surely will do that" - was the reply.
Next morning she rose early and felt herself very lively. She is going to do something humane in reality. After having sent an information to her school about the probability of her reaching late, she felt more relaxed and dressed herself in white. Yes white - for she loves the picture of the great Florence Nightingale,Mother Teresa , Ma Sarada in white - which is, forever, a soothing colour that softens and mitigates pain of suffering souls. As if it was a mission, divinely appointed service of her life, so with a spirit of enthusiasm she got out from her house a bit early and directly to the cloth emporium. Everything was arranged, settled accordingly and an elderly man followed her with a bundle of blankets, well wrapped, on his head.
She put on goggles (though she does so rarely) and thought that she would not be recognised by them from a distance. Seeing her standing in front of them they would be sweetly surprised - it would be a fun. But her plan got derailed as from halfway on the bridge she noticed that the one legged "Budi" raised her stick showing others the arrival of Purbasha.
"She only, probably, recognises me with her blurred vision, in this crowded planet," calculus expert Purbasha uttered inwardly with a merciful smile.
Today morning six similar heads are standing and the "Budi", as she does everyday, is sitting with her eyes open. The other women stood silently as students do when their teacher arrives in the classroom. Purbasha told her helper to put the bundle down and untie.
Now she said, looking at each, individually, "Listen, I have brought these blankets for you. Here are ten. Each one should take one and keep the rest with that Mashi (she indicated the one who remained seated). Do not pique a quarrel among yourselves over these blankets. If required, I will bring a few more for you."
"Yes, yes, we will do what you have told us to do. But Ma you yourself deliver by your own hand.
By then, the one legged "Budi" somehow managed to stand with the help of her stick and was spattering very lowly. Realising her anxiety, Purbasha told one of these women to go and give a piece to her. The woman did so, but the "Budi" refused. Purbasha now felt that the "Budi' too wants to have her quota from Purbasha in person.
As soon as Purbasha, with a piece of blanket in her hand stood before the "Budi', she leaving her stick tried frantically to grasp Purbashas' hand along with the blanket and as she, in doing so faltered. She was almost falling down when Purbasha caught hold of her sickly, half naked body by both hands and in a fit of fright cried out "Maa..a...a....", while the gang collectively rushed towards them howling, drowning the last part of the word ".........shi" exclaimed by Purbasha.
All ragamuffins, noisily and righteously reset their elderly disabled comrade with an intention to show how they were efficient and how they helped a lame 'bitch' (like this) over stile.
Purbasha for a very few seconds stood there in a trance and then turning back trod her familiar way to the bus stand with a feeling in her heart so far unfelt, with an emotion so far unknown, smelling an unpleasant smell mysteriously turned pleasant - coming strongly out of her white Saree.
On the other hand here, on the foot of the over bridge all six old women, left not a single word of praise for their God-sent "Laxmi Mai". While the "Budi", with a wide gape, kept her eyes fixed on the way - her daughter trudging, head bent, to the bus stop - draining out water from her eyes incessantly as if to exhaust the reservoir of tears that she had stored for years only to see this day when she, only she, heard distinctly her daughter's call "Maa".
(Republished)
Dulal Chandra Bandyopadhyay.
03-10-2024
Bangalore.
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