WEST BENGAL – DAY 3

JAN 27th

BIDAYA MURSHIDABAD

There is a chill as dawn breaks, but turns into a pleasant breeze as morning descends. The gentle Bhagirathi is enveloped in a slight mist, though the breeze will soon carry it far away. As the morning proceeds, the warm sunshine will take over. But right now, the cool breeze, the rustling of leaves, the colourful butterflies flitting from one blooming flower to another, the peace, and the quiet make it the most agreeable place on earth.

As always, the charm will break soon and the time to bid goodbye will approach.

A RIVER GETS CROSSED & A GRAVE GETS VISITED

The adventurer in Sabir has taken over. He has made a list of places to show before it’s back to Kolkata. So, there is yet more adventure before moving on.

As au revoirs get said, Sabir informs that the river will have to get crossed. On a bamboo raft. He drives along for a few minutes and the river bank gets reached. As the passenger queue gets longer, all eyes are on an approaching raft. First, the passengers from across get ashore and then it is time for vehicles to enter. Sabir also parks in the centre of the raft, of course, sans the passengers. That is not allowed. The single boatman brings the diesel-equipped engine to life and the 5-minute journey begins. Sabir continues to sit in the car, looking very much like a little Maharajah off on a royal boat ride and the rest of the passengers, his subjects.

Siraj-ud-daulah remains the epitome of Murshidabad. His presence is everywhere, even though it is almost 166 years since his death now. A final goodbye to the young king is on the agenda. Sabir drives on a narrow road, along the river for a few km and Koshbag gets reached. It is the final resting place of the young king and several other family members. Its simplicity is its elegance.

THE BORDER GAMES

“We will first visit some other places and then move to Calcata”, informs Sabir with an air of mystery. He has been working on an itinerary and is excited to take the visitors there. He is no longer shy and restrained in his conversations.

And so crossing several villages, hamlets, and small towns, asking directions along the way, Behrampore gets reached. And from there to Jangani. Several high-security zones and tall and impersonal government buildings dot both sides of the road. The road ends abruptly. It is the village Chorikuri.

Surrounded on 3 sides by agricultural fields and dotted by tall Machan-like structures amid mustard growth is the Indo-Bangladesh border. A 40 min walk from one end of the field to the other, and Bangladesh will arrive and vice versa. There is no physical border here, only a few tall Machan-like structures dotting the field. Inside them are the BSF guards securing this fluid border.

Idris Mondal, a local farmer voluntarily shares interesting anecdotes. All villagers have an ID Card with which only they can enter their fields. They must hand over the ID Cards to the guards on duty and collect them back while returning home. “The women guards are from Kerala” he continues, “the men are from all over India.”

Idris grows mustard, mainly for self-consumption. “The rains”, he continues “bring havoc on us. The fields get so flooded with water that we are unable to walk in them.” He raises his hand high above to show the level of water flooding the fields. “No crops, no food,” he says nonchalantly.

Far away as the crow flies are corn fields, now shining in the mid-day sun. “That is Bangladesh” points Idris. Beyond the fields, on the horizon can be seen habitations, probably a village or two. There seems to be no difference from one end of the field to the other. Nature never did decide on any boundaries and partitions.

Sabir is not happy with this visit. Perhaps the lack of any action, a la Bollywood style disappointed him. He proposes, after a brief conversation with Idris, a visit to another border area, 14 km from here.

New Shikarpur seems more border-like. It has heavy barbed wires running several km, a BSF outpost complete with sand-filled gunny bags, and a rifle-holding sole soldier manning it.

There is a gate, barbed and locked which opens only during certain scheduled times of the day as per a handwritten notice posted on the gate. Beyond it are agricultural fields and forest areas, deep vegetation, and thick undergrowth. It reminds of the final scene from the blockbuster Bajrangi Bhaijaan. In the field works a single woman wearing a red saree. Her head and the saree pallu covering it keep bobbing as she works on cutting the grass. On the pathway dividing the fields from the thick overgrowth sits a man next to his parked cycle. An everyday scene in any part of India, except it is the point of demarcation between two countries.

The guard on duty begins to look suspicious. He can tolerate civilians for a few minutes, giving them time to fulfill their curiosities, but beyond that, his training takes over.

‘CALCATA’

It is time to move on. There is a long, almost 7-hour drive to Kolkata. The time expands several folds, delayed by hazardous road constructions along the way, congested highways, and slow-moving traffic. A random police check-up of the vehicle takes place twice in the journey. Sabir remains unruffled. He is used to such contingencies.

A fish curry, rice, and prawn pakoras late lunch at KD Dhaba is the only halt.

As the metropolis approaches, horn-blaring vehicles add to the traffic congestion and long jams. The only diversion which has remained steady along the way is several marriage halls that fly by. Colourfully decorated, shining with twinkling lights and music galore, well-dressed guests walking in and out offer some spark to the weary passengers. The tranquility of Murshidabad is now left far behind.

This is truly a different world. And it arrives close to midnight.

Once all transactions get worked out, Sabir is given heartfelt thanks. He is offered an apple and some savouries for his return journey. Sentiments run a bit high. “Ma’am”, he says, “I will retain your mobile number. Next time you visit Bengal, I will drive you all over the State.”

A final wave and the car moves on. Sabir will drive nonstop now and reach back home before dawn. His mother surely must have kept a meal for him.

—————

For West Bengal-related videos, please log on to YouTube Channel – @gitanjalikhanduri314