the village

7th Jan 2014

Sometimes, the memories long gone, appear to meet you someday, suddenly. The day lost in years, moves vividly in front of you. As if driven by an occult power.  Today was one such day.

The day which appeared in front of me was my friend’s wedding. The barat was to go from Jharkhand to Bihar. Some ten years ago, there would be no “and” required. But thanks to these honest politicians and their politics, no one knows how many “ands” are waiting?

We were four of us, in car. We were almost 50 kilometers away from the interstate border, when we stopped at a small rickety eatery. All of us needed a nature break.

 By the time we had relieved our self, and lit some cigarettes, we decided to have a look around, just out of curiosity.  There was small village nearby, which started some 50mts from the eatery.

With the mid June sun sweltering, the slanting rays hit the face directly. As we entered the village, the first thing which struck my mind, the first feeling, was the stark contrast between me and the surrounding.

The lane we had entered had not a single piece of stone or brick. It was only the ground under our feet. The ground layered with a layer of dust and a small plume of dust formed as we put our feet forward. No one was as dressed as we were. Even the women had greater portion of their bodies uncovered than us. They were sitting in the shade of their mud houses, some of them busy with their infants. Malnourished kids of all ages, were ubiquitous on the street.

It was as if I were a foreigner for them. And we also behaved like one. All of us had taken our mobile phones and, and got something to capture. May be something different and unusual for facebook. They all looked at us with excitement, and curiosity. I also tried talking to the kids, but many of them didn’t speak. Few tried and exhibited their smartness. They spoke to us, trying to speak in “shudh hindi”.

The next thing which came to my mind, was, I had hardly seen any adult male till now. Surprised I asked one of the kids, who was talking, about this absence.

All of them have gone out. Surat, Dilli, Kalkatta.

Hmmm.. I agreed and asked, “ isn't there anyone?”

There are some, but they are in the fields. He answered promptly.

Do you have shop here? I inquired, because we were short of water.

The eater is the only shop. Otherwise there is a haat on Friday. He informed me. I asked someone to click a snap of our’s. The chap and me.

When we were back at the same eatery, I asked him if we could get some drinking water? If possible a bottled one.

The only drinking water is in the pitcher, and I can only give you a mug of it. He answered apologetically.

Why? Why do you say that? I asked with a concern.

There are four wells in the village out of which three have dried up. There is pond which has dried up too. The whole village has a single well to depend upon. Everyone is eking out water from the same well, but we don’t know how long this modicum supply last? Few kilometers away there is a big pond, which still has some water stuck to its base. But that can be used only by animals. We have to take our cattle daily, there, to keep them alive. We don’t know, when the rain will come. Stoically he finished and glanced up at the sky.

My thirst and the need for water vanished by the time he finished. And guilt took me over. The way I had treated the village, the feeling of being a foreigner, appeared cruel and hypocrisy reeked out of it. But would I have made any difference to it, had I not behaved as such. How should I have treated it?

this poem is about the village from the villager.

तिनका तिनका, बिखरा हुआ घोंसला.
ज़मीं पर बिखरे हुए पंख.
ठन-ठन, सूखा तालाब.
तलहटी मे फटी दरार.
ये गाँव है मेरा,
और हम इसके गँवार.
टुकूर-टुकूर देखती हुई माँ,
रोते-बिलखते, लुढ़कते बच्चे.
उजड़ा, फूंस का झोपड़ा,
जिसमे, टूटे बर्तन है दो-चार .
ये गाँव है मेरा,
और ये इसका परिवार.
धू-धू कर, जलती हुई दोपहरी,
कुछ जूझते हुए लोग.
फटे, टाट की दुकानों में,
बिकता है नून-अचार.
ये गाँव है मेरा,
और ये इसका बाजार.