THAT S LIFE Sanjoy Kumar Satpathy
The Bangriposhi Ghat road was deserted. No trucks, no cars, no bus ….
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Sub inspector Narayan Nanda was returning to his home, Pandhda, by bicycle after completing a murder investigation at Jashipur. It was a cold wintery evening – the intensity of which many of those of the present generation might not have experienced.
Due to the thickness of the Similipal forests and the many waterfalls, winter months there were, in those days, very cold and exciting. People from West Bengal knew it and used to visit those places, as also streams of locals.
The Bangriposhi Ghat was a special attraction for the young and the old. A single Murom road without sidewalls was the only road to cross over to Bisein through the Bangriposhi ghat. There were a few dangerous ghats those days, like Salur and Kalinga of Koraput, Kailashkota of Phulbani, Kanjipani of Kendujhar and the Bangriposhi ghat of Mayurbhanj. All of them boasted of thick jungles heavily infested with wild animals, reptiles and Royal Bengal tigers. These are now reduced to wall-hangings of some forest officers and the kings’ new generations of relatives.
SI Narayan Nanda had to cross that deadly ghat as the Sun was fast disappearing in the Similipal Hills. Night was approaching stealthily as he lighted one Meghna bidi before the odious climb of the ghat road.
The sub inspector sahib was a peculiar character. He was very slow to react to any impending danger of a tiger or snake. He would try going into the depths of meanings about whatever he heard. He would have been nicknamed Tube Light Aja by the present generation of youths. He believed in the proverb, “The one who laughs the last laughs the best.”
The Bangriposhi Ghat road was deserted. No trucks, no cars, no bus. Only a few BDO jeeps passed through it a day and a bus at night. The bus used to take about 90 minutes to cross the serpentine narrow, single Murom ghat road.
Nanda Aja, as people used to call him fondly, had fixed his two-celled torch in the center of the cycle handle but it was more of a psychological reassurance than it being of any practical use. The power in the Eveready battery had been squeezed out and it was difficult to make out which one was the bidi light and which one was the cycle head light.
Aja was calculating how many more miles remained in his journey. His wife and his country dog Thusa would be waiting for him for the night meal. A minimum of two hours, he calculated to himself.
The SI crossed a few hyenas on the road which he could spot in the moonlight peeping through the tall trees. His quota of bidi was getting exhausted fast, as also his stamina, when he reached the famous “Ghat Goddess”, known as thakuranisala or ‘Dwarsuni’.
Aja took some rest at the thakuranisala for a breather. There was not a soul but the Goddess.
After that, the road was sloppy and one hardly had to pedal. The descend would itself roll the cycle to the end of the ghat if properly manoeuvred. The cycle’s break condition was like his headlight. Being tall, however, he used the police boots as breaks to slow down the cycle.
He could see some light at a distance. It was neither a car light nor a bus light.
As he was on his way down, a tiger jumped over him and fell with a thud on the grassy ground down the other end of the road. It roared and disappeared into the jungle, somewhat disappointed. Aja stopped. He realised that something had jumped over him. There was pungent smell of a carcass. Then he realized, as usual a little late, that due to the moving cycle and his police hat, the “Royal” miscalculated the jump.
The SI got down from the bicycle and slowly started walking towards the light which was coming closer, and getting sharper. He saw three tribal men enjoying country liquor mahuli near a camp fire.
Aja kept his cycle in an inclined position on the hill, as it had no stand for a parking. He lighted his last bidi from the camp fire and took a few deep breaths. Those tribals stood up seeing a policeman in their midst.
Aja asked, “Are there tigers in this jungle?”
“We have only heard of their roaring but have not seen them yet in this place,” was the slurred reply from one of those men.
“But a few minutes back I escaped from the jaws of death from a huge tiger!” Aja replied with a wry smile while taking a few more puffs of warm smoke inside.
“What did you say, giriha (master)?” One of them asked him, bewildered.
The men quickly poured the rest of the alcohol into the camp fire and vanished from sight. Aja felt sorry for himself. He who would have been happy to get a few partners as a moral support for the rest of the ghat road travel. The men were clearly scared by his tale.
Narayan Aja reached Pandhda village a few hours before midnight when the village people, including his four children, were fast asleep. The howling of jackals was disturbing the night’s silence. To Aja’s utter surprise, his wife Priyamoni opened the door. Thusa was already barking at the top of its voice.
Priyamoni had not taken her food and was waiting for her husband to return, so also the obedient and faithful dog Thusa. Those were the days.
