On the suitcase bought by Ramen there was
hanging a blank card for writing the name and address. On it Jatin Mazumdar carefully
wrote in nice, intact letters ‘Jatin Mazumdar, Gandhibasti,
Guwahati3, Assam.’ Of course he wrote in English: while outside
Assam, who would understand the sweet Assamese alphabets? Of course
the Bengali would, but they’d spell his name wrongly yes, the ‘r’
of Mazumdar would be spelt as ‘b’. Still he remembered, many days
ago, while he had been standing beside a long-distance bus waiting to
catch another, a young boy of around 10-12 years, from a Bengali
family, had painstakingly pronounced the words written on the body of
the bus, ‘Assam Chabkabab Motob Charvichh’ instead of ‘Assam Sarkarar
Motor Service’ and then almost fell to the ground with laughter.
It seemed they had been new to Assam, but even then Mazumdar’s face
had turned red with rage as if he would slap the boy’s face! You
would come to our state, feed yourself, stay, get permanently settled
here, snatch the jobs from our boys but would never learn our
language; would live here for generations after generations: but let
alone the Assamese ‘Dainik Assam’, wouldn’t even touch the English
‘Assam Tribune’, but read only your ‘own’ newspapers published from
Calcutta, say ‘Anandabazar’ or ‘Jugantar’ unbearable!
Still, though the Bengali people
won’t recognise ‘r’ or ‘v’,
they’d naturally recognise the other alphabets. But once you cross
the border of West Bengal, your Assamese language would be like Latin
or Greek to the other Indians. So there’s no way but to write the
address in English. However, while in Assam he always used Assamese.
In his notebooks his address was in Assamese, on his books and
periodicals it was in Assamese, the addresses written on his letters
to his friends and relatives were in Assamese in short, except for
unavoidable reasons Jatin Mazumdar never used any written language
other than Assamese.
But recently he was having to
spend most of his days outside
Assam. His son Ramen worked for a national organisation. Ramen was
his only son, so the situation forced him to move around with his
son. Both of his daughters got married, and his wife died after the
first daughter’s marriage. So for a period Jatin Mazumdar became
alone at his house at Gandhibasti. ‘Nowadays the difference between
sons and daughters has ceased to exist: daughters go away from the
home, so also the sons, so the two old people have to become the
support of each other; but I am unfortunate to be left alone by my
old woman too’ thus he would lament in front of his friends.
Yet he had managed to live
alone at the Gandhibasti house for
two to three years, using the services of domestic helps. But
gradually it became impossible to live in that way. He kept suffering
from asthma; on the other hand it was getting hard to find faithful
and sincere helpers, even on payment of a lot of money. Seeing such
a plight of the father, one of the daughters had asked him to stay
with them the other one being unable to because of being in a very
large joint family but he couldn’t imagine living with his
daughter and son-in-law: after all he had a son too, although he may
be residing abroad (whenever Jatin Mazumdar remembered about Ramen
residing outside Assam, the word ‘abroad’ invariably came to his
mind); still that meant that there was a home of his son where he
could live in his own right.
For a long time Ramen had been
asking his father to stay with
him, but Jatin Mazumdar had always refused. Own home, own relatives,
own environment of living in other words all these ‘own things’
were too strong attachments to be forsaken in lieu of a unknown
place and an unknown environment. He felt he would be exactly like a
fish out of water.
But at last the situation forced
him to leave his home. His
illness was increasing as were his troubles with the domestic helps.
The last one finally vanished with some money and a bag given for
marketing. Fortunately, he committed no other theft or robbery!
Yet Jatin Mazumdar would have
searched for a new helper, and
would have continued with a patch-worked life similar to his
patch-worked body. But just then an incident at East Sarania, where
the wife of one of his acquaintances was robbed of money and jewelry,
and was even murdered by her domestic help at her house, cracked his
determination no, really he could not live alone any longer.
Nobody knew on what day which domestic help would slit his throat.
‘Days are becoming very bad. Nowadays people are killing people just
as one kill insects. Open the morning newspaper and you’ll see
there terrorists are killing people, there parents-in-law are killing
their daughters-in-law, there members of one political party are
killing members of another one, there the police is resorting to
firing at the slightest provocation, there servants are killing their
masters really, the people have become bloodthirsty. Previously
one used to be scared to move in forests because of wild animals, but
now even in the modern cities full of diverse amenities offered by
scientific discoveries one finds it difficult to live safely because
of the two-legged animals.’ such a trail of thought engulfed his
mind.
Jatin Mazumdar was finally
compelled to leave his Gandhibasti
house to live with his son ‘abroad’. House! So old and related with
so many memories was that house! In that paternal house he was born,
he was brought up. Into that house he had brought his newly married
wife. Here had been born Maadhaan, Edhaan (Ramen) and Bhanti. Then
one by one the children had left this house, the wife also had left.
And then he, the last creature guarding the house like a mythical
yaksha, was also going to leave.
He had become old enough, and
like his withered frame his
heart and soul had also withered a lot; yet while leaving the
house, two drops of tears appeared on his sunken eyes.
But still Jatin Mazumdar
belonged to Assam, his permanent
address being Gandhibasti, Guwahati3, Assam. Wherever he
stayed, and for whatever period of time, that address was eternal.
Till recently Jatin Mazumdar
used to travel with an old
leather suitcase, but this time Ramen bought him a polymer-made
V.I.P. brand suitcase. It was so convenient to write the name and
address there! Holding the card in his hand, Jatin Mazumdar felt
delighted like a child getting a new toy. Then on it he carefully
wrote in nice, intact letters ‘Jatin Mazumdar, Gandhibasti,
Guwahati3, Assam’. While writing he kept murmuring to himself
‘After my death let me be born here again’ he used to remember
this poem by Nalinibala Devi frequently particularly whenever
Ramen wrote letters asking him to live with them ‘abroad’.
After opening the new chapter
of his life at his son’s home in
Jaipur, where Ramen was posted, old Jatin Mazumdar started to
critically observe first Ramen’s house, and then the place and its
people. ‘The house is not that bad, but it seems the other family
sharing the house hobnobs with you a lot. I don’t like that much of
hobnobbing with neighbours.’
On hearing about such reservations,
the daughter-in- law Ruby
smiled and said "But father-in-law, the Mehtas are a very nice
family. Mehta’s wife is the daughter of a minister, but she is so
unassuming, well-behaved and simple that she doesn’t seem like a
minister’s daughter. Before I came here, when your son was residing
in this house alone, both the husband and the wife took very good
care of him just after he got up Mr. Mehta used to come with a cup
of bed-tea my husband used to say that with such a cup of tea made
in milk he used to feel fresh throughout the day. And, at the
beginning, what a lot of pigeons’ droppings did they clean! You’ll
see afterwards, there are a lot of pigeons in Jaipur, in the old
castles flocks of pigeons are there our vacant house was also a
den of a lot of pigeons the Mehtas themselves carried buckets of
water and scrubbed with brooms, finally getting the house cleaned!
They didn’t listen to his many protests instead arguing that he
was new to their place, didn’t know the lifestyle there, he must have
been already facing a lot of difficulties, without cleaning how would
he stay here, he didn’t also have the tools for cleaning, they always
had to clean pigeons’ droppings and so they are accustomed to that,
and so on. And father-in-law, their three-year old daughter Parley
is so lovely, you’ll see she will make you feel like her own
grandpa."
"My daughter-in-law is like that
once she opens her mouth
she won’t shut it! What sort of a house did Edhaan take! As far as I
understand the family occupying the other part would spoil the thing
called privacy ......" thought Jatin Mazumdar.
After hearing the father’s
objections Ramen said, "Father, the
pleasures, comforts and advantages of one’s own house how can you
find that in a rented house? A house like the one we own in Guwahati
would here require a very high rent but however, you needn’t
worry, the Mehtas are very nice, they don’t give any disturbance.
Sometimes the little girl comes, but she doesn’t give any trouble,
and on being asked leaves immediately."
After staying for two or three
days with the son and the
daughter-in-law, Jatin Mazumdar got rather bored. There were no
friends and acquaintances could one live like that? Naturally he
started to roam around the city in the mornings and in the evenings.
The son and the daughter-in-law also encouraged him to walk around
the city of Jaipur is very beautiful, the roads are wide, almost at
every home a carefully maintained garden is there it is a land of
deserts, so to keep the dry summer under control the people here take
care to plant trees so he would find it very nice. There were also
many important sites to visit on a holiday they could board a
tourist bus together. Did he know that this city was renovated two
and a half centuries back, with drains and wide footpaths etc., by
Maharaja Jay Singh, enabling it to easily compete with any European
city of that period?
But whenever he felt that Assam
was being belittled in
comparison with some other place, Jatin Mazumdar would say something
supporting Assam, irrespective of whether that was necessary or not.
Here also he said, "Oh these are dry places; not like Assam where
rains come at every season, ruining the streets and the monuments.
Yet within those limitations our Ahom kings constructed such
matchless palaces, castles and temples some six hundred years back
that the storms and the heavy rains of Assam has not succeeded in
destroying them, not even the negligence of our archeology Department
has .......".
On another day Jatin Mazumdar,
after completing his morning
walk, remarked "I have noticed from the beginning that even though
the streets are beautiful, the common people here sit down to ease
themselves by the side of the streets, even the womenfolk not
excluded. Our Assamese poor are however not like that, among all the
classes of our people there is culture and good taste."
Against this opinion however the
son and the daughter-in-law
could not protest. But on another day, seeing the Amer Palace, the
Jaigarh Fort, the City Palace etc., Jatin Mazumdar gaped with wonder,
saying to himself "I cannot but admit that in comparison to the
hugeness, lustre and expertise of construction of these palaces and
castles, our ancient monuments look rather like flies in front of
elephants". Then seeing the flocks of pigeons flying away from the
castles against the background of the setting sun’s rays, a childlike
smile appeared on his face. The description of this ‘Pink City’ by
Aldous Huxley, who had come here as a visitor, came to his mind it
seemed as if those flying pigeons were coming alive from Huxley’s
description. It was written so long ago, describing this
architectural wonder which was crafted like some immortal verse even
hundreds of years before the essay though the architecture
remained immortal, its inhabitants had long been to their graves
Jatin Mazumdar felt like an obsessed man, a sort of sad compassion
filled his mind. Some stanzas from the famous Bengali poem ‘Shah
Jahan’, which he had almost got by heart in his college days by
simply hearing his Bengali co-boarder Animesh Ray practicing for
recitation in a college-week, came to his mind from the grave of the
past and stroked in his heart "The jingle of bells from the
anklets of your city-beauties / Has died, only the crickets now make
the night-sky weep ...... ".
After coming home from that visit,
Jatin Mazumdar asked Parley
to come near. After his arrival the child did come several times and
peeped at him, but finding no response, she had to return content
with the display of affection only from his son and his
daughter-in-law. Now on being called by the old man smiling at her,
she at first hesitated, but didn’t move away from the doorstep
either. After that, when he called her again, this time holding out a
packet of ‘gems’ candy, she came haltingly, and sat down on his lap
without any objection. Opening the packet she took a ‘gems’ to her
mouth, and started the introduction "Should I call you grandpa?"
From that day Jatin Mazumdar almost became a real grandfather of
Parley. Coming at any hour to him, having various childlike chats
with him, considering gifts of gems, toffee, cadbury’s etc. from him
as her birthright, detecting mistakes in his Hindi pronunciations
despite being such a young child (don’t say ‘antha’, say ‘anda’,
don’t say ‘sof’, say ‘sonf’ etc.), having walks with him holding his
hands, offering biscuits to the neighbours’ dog from his lap as
she was afraid to deal with it alone and giggling with merriment
at its taking the biscuits away all these had got so entangled
with his life that when Ramen was transferred to Calcutta it became
hard to severe that bond. Parley’s mother prepared soft Indian breads
and vegetable curry for him for his journey to Calcutta, so that
Parley’s grandfather might avoid taking food from outside as far as
possible. At the time of farewell they presented a brass-made
candle-stand engraved with Jaipuri handiwork, "We have heard that in
Calcutta power cuts are quite frequent; whenever the lights go off at
night, light the candles here and remember us" Parley’s mother
said.
"But I needn’t remember them by
lighting candles; the
eternal lamp that has been lit in my heart by that family will always
be glittering in my soul!" he thought.
A few days after getting
established in Calcutta Anando got
the news of their arrival and came to visit them. His name was Anando
Mukherjee, who had gone to Guwahati to work in a bank, and on being
strongly requested by a friend Jatin Mazumdar had once rented out to
him a room of his house.
Anando didn’t come alone but had
brought his newly married
wife Bandana along. Both the husband and wife showed their respect to
him in the Bengali way by touching his feet, and then presented the
sweetmeats they brought.
After that, there was unfolded
another chapter of life filled
with heart’s warmth. When Anando had been in Guwahati he had
conquered Jatin Mazumdar’s heart with his various good qualities,
notwithstanding Mazumdar’s racial dislike against the Bengali. The
young man had learnt Assamese only within a few months, and even had
got somewhat acquainted with Assamese literature and culture. Then
Jatin Mazumdar had once told Anando with grief "If your brethren
living here for many decades had shown such interest like you for
things Assamese, then possibly the relation between the people of
these two communities wouldn’t have been so hostile."
After being transferred to
Calcutta Anando got married, and
Jatin Mazumdar gradually discovered with delight that the Bengali
‘daughter-in-law’ was a step ahead of even Anando regarding the
various qualities of heart. The Mazumdars went to Calcutta during a
summer. When the days were becoming colder, Bandana one day came with
a woolen scarf which she had knit herself, and said "As you have
asthma I have made this two-layered scarf for you. One of its ends
can even be used like a cap. You’d possibly need it during the
morning-walk."
Feeling the comforting warmth of
the scarf, Jatin Mazumdar
said in his mind, "Even if I wouldn’t have got the warmth of this
scarf, the warmth of your various kind gestures would always have
kept my heart warm."
Next time, Ramen got transferred
from Calcutta to Delhi. For
the first several days Jatin Mazumdar compared the people of Delhi to
that of Calcutta and grumbled; calling them impolite, heartless and
so on. But one day a friend of Ramen from Delhi, Sushil Bhagat, who
was working in Jaipur, came and started rebuking Ramen "I wrote so
strongly to you that our home is not far from this residence of
yours, so I asked you to visit our home and express whatever
difficulties you might face to my parents but no, you have never
come to visit them". The next day Sushil brought his parents for a
visit, and invited all of the Mazumdar family for a lunch at their
home. On that day, when Sushil’s mother came to know from Ramen’s
wife that they hadn’t yet got a gas connection, that it was likely to
come only after a month or so, and that they were cooking on kerosene
stoves with kerosene bought from the open market, she became very
sorry for them and exclaimed "Oh, in the controlled market we get
so much ration of kerosene oil, you know it is hardly ever brought as
we cook with cooking-gas, so this quota of oil can be bought by you:
a lot of money will be saved. And do you want the rice sold in the
controlled market? We mainly have breads, so the rice is almost never
brought, but it is rather O.K. ......"
On that day Sushil Bhagat went
back to Jaipur, and the next
morning Sushil’s old father came with a can of ten litres of kerosene
and a bag of ten kilograms of rice on his two-wheeler. As the
Mazumdars made a hullabaloo on seeing that, he said with a meek smile
"No, no I am not having any trouble while doing this, only you
must be having trouble, you have come to a new place so many types
of difficulties you might be facing, you are our guests it is our
duty to take care of your troubles!"
In the period of the Mazumdar
family’s stay in Delhi, the
Bhagat family performed their ‘duties’ to these Assamese ‘mehman’s
(guests) in many other ways. Jatin Mazumdar once said in his mind
"Mr. Bhagat, even if we wouldn’t have got the warmth of your
kerosene, the many other displays of the warmth by all of you would
have kept us warm for ever."
From Delhi Ramen was transferred to
Guwahati. This time Ramen
had tried for this transfer. The father had already become quite old,
how many times should he be carrying his old frame from here to
there? The last period of his life was coming near during this
time his mind must be longing for his own home, own friends (whoever
still remained), own relatives. However, Jatin Mazumdar had never
mentioned to his son any such desire, but Ramen knew the attachment
that his father had to his home state. For the last ten years,
wherever they might be staying, Jatin Mazumdar had kept the emotional
connection with Assam intact. Ramen sometimes told his wife that his
father read so many newspapers and magazines from Assam that even the
people staying in Assam probably did not do so. "The other day father
even sent a letter congratulating a journalist who regularly writes
reports in a weekly ‘You deserve to be congratulated for the
report on the Bengali school of Nagaon that you have rightly written,
despite being a Bengali yourself. For a journalist this impartiality
is very important’, he wrote". Ramen smiled, "Even sitting in Jaipur
father kept himself aware about the illegal occupation of land
belonging to the tribal belts by some non-tribals."
A few months after Ramen got
transferred to Guwahati, Jatin
Mazumdar died of old age. The relatives talked "The soul of the
old man was enclosed in his cage till now just to be freed at his own
place. Why, when in the last year his father became extremely ill in
Delhi, Ramen did say that he was afraid of losing his father then."
After the funeral was over, one
day, while trying to rearrange
the earthly belongings of his father, Ramen was going to open the
V.I.P. brand suitcase that he had bought for his father several years
ago. Just then he happened to look at the card hanging from it; he
remembered that there his father had carefully written his address in
Guwahati. Taking the card in his hand Ramen slowly read the blurred
letters inside the plastic cover ‘Jatin Mazumdar, India’. Jatin
Mazumdar, India? Being somewhat astonished Ramen turned the card back
no, there also the address ‘Jatin Mazumdar, Gandhibasti,
Guwahati3, Assam’ was not written with the nice, intact English
handwriting of his father; there also was written ‘Jatin Mazumdar,
India.’
Taking the card in his hand Ramen
sat motionless. His eyes got filled with tears.
