Of travels and more

A hamlet in the midst of my heart

I have a small Indian town stored in my cluttered mind. Now growing, then again having traces of rural beauty and though it is my paternal home, I cannot call it my own. I did not, until now know the most untraceable by-lanes, mudded roads onlooking small streams and ponds, green-beautiful within and grey-dull without. And so, how can, a tourist like me...who is made to call it home due to the accident of birth call it home in the first place ? But then, I have to satisfy my ancestors and elders by calling it my "ancestral" home.

As I said earlier until now, I was not one of them.

The source of life for this growing village is a small river dearly called Kunur who like any other young child is obedient in the presence of the Sun but the Rains make it wild and notorious. It gives birth to life and livelihood alike, the grains that grow from its water are nothing short of a blessing but during the monsoon it sweeps away all that it had earlier given, and the unfortunate lifeless bodies that people gather to see. The people watch in horror and angst and the river realizes that it is no longer loved.

But it does not care anyways.

On its bank is the abode of the Mother Goddess, not heavenly perhaps and made of concrete. But lo, once you wander into its vicinity, you will find Peace unreasonable. Look around, and do not expect a garden full of flowers or an orchard of devoted fruit-trees. For you are surrounded by a grave. Such is the Nature of the Mother -she binds you to her with life but keeps Death nigh lest you shall feel immortal.

If you take a short walk around the place, kindly, have mercy- do not limit yourself. Roam about freely, alone or maybe with the company of peers or stray dogs (or goats who are less shy) and the Mother Herself shows you a glimpse of her glory in the form of natural splendours- ponds, fields, gardens (not tended by humans, of course) and all that speaks of Purity and Love.

Yes, you may walk freely and mindlessly around, but not on the metalled roads. Here, the constantly moving trucks too feel a sense of freedom and wilderness. And who knows ? Maybe they understand the value of your life, or they don't!

Stride carefully, but perhaps not all the time ?

Every settlement, no matter how old or young, well known or forgotten has seen the time that has went by. Few events do take place in its domain and people take great pride in preserving this rich(or maybe poor ?) history involving noble ( or dishonorable?) deeds of their ancestors. This little town too has seen the violence and destruction of a war, The Terrible WWII during the period 1944-45. Now abandoned, this innocent hamlet had a terrible purpose during the Burma Campaign. A small strip of the earth turned into an airfield* served the US Air Force which ruled the skies in its hayday.

This was a rather uncomfortable arrangement for the Redhawk and our American friends, but Thank God, it gave our people an element of pride in rich history.

History that is fit to be forgotten but remembered at the same time.

And yes, a town is not a town without its set of colourful people who come in various sizes and shapes (or rather manners and speech).

The idea of communal harmony here, like in other parts of the region is out of question since here , the people did not learn to discriminate (or dominate) on the basis of religion! A saffron-clad monk finds Salvation at the same time the maulvi loudly pays penance to his Creator. A muslim child joins his little hand to pay respect to an elder while hindu friends demand a feast from their muslim friend on the occasion of Eid.

And all of them follow their own beliefs on their own accord.

If you are someone like me, a young teen who lives in a faraway city and visits the town only twice a year- relations (and even the unrelated) ply from far and near to talk to you and see you.

I never worry about my meals while roaming around like a vagabond. Whenever I feel hungry, I , without shame ( and a pinch of foreign pride) enter the nearest home (which always houses some distant or close relative) and demand food. They too, feel a sense of honour in feeding a child from the city, and stuff me with more food and snacks than I can take.

And dare you! Never say no to their pampering, they will just take it for granted that you are a shy lad and pamper you just the same.

But, I do not know what particularly makes me love this place so much. Nor does The Goddess in the Temple on the banks of the river does, but She , for one thing, knows how to love.

I yearn for this the sight of this town when I am away, time and again and back come the memories of past visits, like a floating boat on a small stream...A stream that is obedient under the sun and notorious in the monsoon.

Perhaps it was love that made me mindlessly rave and write about this town. A hamlet which lies in the midst of my heart.

Seldom forgotten, often remembered.

* https://images.app.goo.gl/THKiT1ve7cs6WcFr6