Memoir of an afternoon
Last night’s showers have washed
the hills of Dungkeklangso clean. The whole environment around the Forest Beat
Office also seems quite new and fresh. Even the song of the birds seems to be
sweeter and more melodious. Inspite of my attempts, I could not go home during Bohag
Bihu. When I was at Diphu, there was not much problem in communication. But
since coming to this place, I find myself tied down, unable to move out There
is nothing but thick forest all around completely isolated from the outside
world. How remote the place is! Was it the reason behind Bakul Saikia’s
disappearance?
Yes, Bakul Saikia
disappeared from this Dungkeklangso forest plantation. I started my own
investigation from the day I had taken charge of the office but unable to trace
anything I left it at that. But last night’s dream has brought him back to my
mind. He loved the hills and its’ lives. It boosted his artistic temperament.
How could he disappear? It’s still a mystery.
Sahab! Sahab!
While sipping my
morning cup of tea and still ruminating on the dream, I heard someone calling
outside and coming out I find the village headman, Sarmen Timung.
“What is it
gaobura, coming so early in the morning?”
“Kardom, sir.”
“Kardom. Is there
anything serious?”
“No sir. I found
this book in my field. Not knowing what it can be, I brought it to you.”
“Come up,
gaobura.”
Scratching his head, the man
climbs up to the bungalow. With scanty facial hair, the old man gives me a
diary with a nervous look. I ask him to sit on the bench. Sitting down, he says
slowly-
“Sir my eyesight
is not good. I don’t know what is in there. I’ve found it lying on a big rock.
Thinking it to be previous forester babu’s book, I bring it here. I could not
sleep the whole night.”
I turn the pages of the diary. As
it had been lying on the rock, the worms could not reach it, but some of the
pages are spoiled. Yes it is Bakul Saikia’s diary for sure. How surprising! I
just hope that it will reveal something about the man.
“It’s good that
you have brought it here, gaobura. I’ll have to read it. But don’t tell anyone.
There might be problem. So be careful.”
“Good day sir,
kardom”
“Good day gaobura,
kardom.”
After seeing off the gaobura, I enter my room and lighting a cigarette, start
reading the diary. In the personal profile, in beautiful handwriting is his
name and address entered- Mr. Bokul Saikia, Forester, AFD, Kamarbandha,
Golaghat, Assam.
There are some departmental notes and some odd romantic feelings also,
jotted down here and there. A heading attracts my curiosity. It is- My diary of
a day at Dungkeklangso. Puffing at my cigarette, I read on hoping to unravel
some mystery.
“After passing over many nameless hills,
I look towards the sun. It looks red. I never thought Dungkeklangso to be so
far. The roads are mere tracks in the woods and walking the whole day, I feel
tired and weak, unable even to carry my airbag. My trekking shoes also seem
heavier. I long for a break.
Chandra Tokbi walks ahead, leading the
way. He is carrying my bedding and suitcase, climbing the ups so easily. No
trace of tiredness in him. It may be because he is habituated to the hills.
Chandra Tokbi is a forest guard. He is accompanying me from Longnit
bazaar to Dungkeklangso. After completing my forest training at Jalukbari, I
have reported at Diphu East Division and been posted at Dungkeklangso as
forester.
This is my first introduction to Karbi Anglong. I’ve always loved
adventure. Life as forester means life of adventure. It should be unique. A
life without adventure has no meaning. It is comparable to a desert without any
oasis.
Thus I accept this unknown Dungkeklangso. Thinking about the place, I trudge
forward following Chandra Tokbi, slowly and carefully.
Reaching a plain area on the top, I look around. The hills are covered
in green vegetation. At the onset of spring, they look delicate and make me
feel refreshed. Nature at this period is always a source of inspiration for me.
The far-off grey uneven line of hills fills my mind with emotions and the hills
resembling innumerable waves lift up my spirit. I want to shout HELLO to get
back its echo. Being so preoccupied, I stumble on some stones and cry out in
pain. Tokbi turns around and seeing me holding my foot, asks-
“Are you hurt,
sir?”
“No, I just
stumbled on a stone. The shoe has saved me.” Though painful, I feign otherwise.
“Better to walk
slowly on these hill tracks, sir.”
“How far is it to the camp?”
“Not much. We are
almost there. Are you tired, sir?”
“Yes. I never
imagined the hills to be so steep.”
“Sir, let’s take
some rest.”
“Yes. The hills
are really very steep.” I put down my airbag on a rock. Tokbi also places the
bedding and suitcase on a rock nearby. Agreeing with me he also says-
“Yes sir. The
hills in this area are very steep.”
“What is this hill
called?”
“It is Monjir
Anglong.”
“What does it
mean?”
“It means-
(scratching his head)-monjir means the wind and anglong means the hills.”
Relaxing with a
cigarette, I think aloud-
“Monjir Anglong
means the windy hills, am I right?”
“I don’t know sir,
but the air feels cool here.”
“Yes. Cool and
soft breeze. I feel it too. I am refreshed by the air. Pass me the water
bottle.” I gulp down some water.
The area on the top is quite
even. A few edi trees are seen scattered. A run-down tree-house is beautifully
lighted by the afternoon sun. It must have been a jhumfield before. The
abandoned tree-house and the empty field suddenly bring a sense of decay and
destruction to my mind. I get up and look down to a stream below, where shadows
and lights are playing together.
“Tokbi, isn’t it a
stream?”
“Yes sir. It is Dungkeklangso”
“Dukeklangso? Then
we’ve reached the place.”
“Yes sir, we’ll
have to walk a little bit to the camp.”
“What does Dungkeklangso
mean?”
“It
means a stream with ferns, sir.”
“A stream with
ferns! It’s a nice name.”
“Yes sir.” He
agrees with a smile.
“Let’s go. It’s
already three o’clock. Can we get there before sunset?”
“Of course, we can,
sir.”
“It would have
been impossible for me to get here without you.”
When we walk on slowly, breaking the stillness of the hills, my mind
again fills up with the love and admiration for nature. On joining the forest
department, the necessity of the ancient relationship between men and the
woods, has been deeply implanted in my soul. So when I see men plundering and
destroying the dumb woodlands, it becomes unbearable to me. I feel it a greater
crime than molesting the fair sex. Passing all this way from Longnit, I notice
the destruction of forest on both sides of the track. The woods at Dungkeklangso
bear the same marks of destruction. So I ask-
“Tokbi, the hills
around here have no trees, they are mostly naked. Is it because of shifting
cultivation?”
“No sir.”
“What then?”
“It is because the
Council has given lease to the saw mills and timber companies.”
“I see! The real
problem lies somewhere, whilst we always blame it on the jhumias.”
“The hill people
won’t have any food without shifting cultivation. We don’t have big paddy
fields like in the plains.”
“You are right.
Without jhum people will have no source of food. Our government should have
tried to rehabilitate the people through some planned scheme. Our forest cannot
be saved by blaming on the jhum system. What do you say?”
“Yes, but we are
government servants only.”- says the simple man. I agree with him and walk
towards our destination. While climbing down the monjir hill my eyes catch hold
of some jhum fields nearby. The evening light covers up the whole place in
almond colour. What a lovely scene!”
I wonder at how stable the
jhum dependent economic foundation of the people can be. I have no idea at all.
I think about their society, culture, language, literature, views on life etc
and the exploitation incurred upon them by outsiders to strengthen their own
economic conditions. I can only watch as a helpless forest officer, custodian
of the woods. Disturbing my thoughts, a song strikes my ears. Though the words
are not legible, the prevalent pain is distinct. Out of curiosity I ask-
“Have we reached
the village?”
“Yes sir.”
“Was that a song?” “Yes sir. It’s a romantic song.”
“What does it say?”
“It says-----.”
–he shows uneasiness.
“Can’t you tell
me?”
“Sir it says-
Beloved, there is none as beautiful as you on earth.” Tokbi is ashamed of such
romantic words.
“It’s beautiful!”
“These are sung by
love-struck youths, called ove alun. The songs are not allowed inside the
village.”
“Yes our bihu
songs are also sung in the fields, under the trees. The song has taken away my
tiredness.” Tokbi smiles and pointing his finger says-
“There is Dungkeklangso,
sir.”
“It’s good that
we’ve reached before sunset.”
We reach the stream. The water flows softly hitting against the rocks in
the stream. My heart soars high looking at the clean, transparent and dancing
water. I lose myself in the gloriously lighted surrounding under the setting
sun.
“Sir, you wait
here, I’ll carry the things to the other bank.”
I return to reality to discover that there is
no bridge.
“Can we cross it
safely?”
“Yes sir, the
water is not that deep.”
“Go ahead, then.”
Tokbi carries the things and without any awkwardness finds his way in
the friendly water, among the rocks. I sit on a rock untying my shoe laces.
Then I hear the voices of girls laughing and talking. They are coming down the
hill, carrying small baskets on their backs. They are walking carefully down
the hill but seem to lose their grips sometimes. I become so immersed in
looking at them that I forget about my shoe lace. How could they move around so
freely in the woods? It may be because they identify themselves with the wood
and feel close to it. How romantic is their life!
Seeing me, the girls have
stopped. I realize that my khaki uniform might have frightened them, taking me
for a policeman. I stand up to talk to them but Tokbi too arrives at this
point. The girls seem relieved to see Tokbi and start talking in Karbi. I just
stand there, listening, understanding nothing.
“Sir, this is
Dimi, this is Kasang, my niece and this is Rupline, my cousin sister.”
While the introductions have been going on, I notice
their dresses, all colourful reflecting their simple yet energetic life of the
hills. The girls might have been looking for herbs and fruits in the woods.
After being introduced, they offer their kardom. Offering my kardom, I also
introduce myself- I am Bokul Saikia, your new forester babu. It’s nice to meet
you all.”
“Babu it is not
proper to offer kardom to girls.”-Kasang says.
“Oh, I didn’t know
about it. I hope you all will not mind.”
“This Kasang
always talks too much.”
“Tokbi, she’s done
nothing wrong. It’s good that I’ve learnt about your social etiquette.”
I have not noticed Rupline before. Very
quietly, she is listening to our talks. She is a gem. Her beauty creates a
storm in my heart. I find the real worth of my coming here.
Kasang has noticed
my reaction to Rupline. So while going away, she shouts from the stream-
“Sir, the rocks of
Dungkeklangso are very slippery. Take care. To us, you are not Bokul Saikia but
one of our own hill-men.”
Giggling, they all cross the stream. They make such a perfect picture
that I look and look as if I will never see such a thing again. I contemplate
on what Kasang has tried to mean and called me a hill-man. I too cross the
stream with the help of Tokbi with Kasang’s words ringing in my ears. I can’t
say anything about my future at Dungkeklangso-----------.”
Here the writing stops. This
diary of Bokul Saikia is not an ordinary diary at all. It’s quite impressive.
He might have wanted to write more. But he could not .What could have happened
to the man? The diary gives no clue at all. I feel sad, thinking of him, such a
good man with a soul as pure as gold. The description of his love of nature,
the woods, the hills and his sudden attraction to the girl called Rupline gives
a glimpse into his sensitive and artistic mind. Do these people mentioned in
the diary, really exist at Dungkeklangso? Who is Rupline? I have never heard of
such a girl since my coming to this place. Are these all creations of Saikia’s
imagination only?
No. No. There is no use thinking about
these. All that matter is this- the man called Bokul Saikia has disappeared in
the woods he loves, for ever.
But---the things written in the diary---- shall they ever disappear from
my mind? #
# Translated from
Rongbong Terang’s original Assamese short story “Abelar diary” by Kache Teronpi. Donkamokam.
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