Manasi - Chapter Three

A strange procession made its way into Rani Sasan. Leading the way was Shinga, clutching Shankar’s valise in one hand and a black bag in the other. Four men carried rest of Shankar’s stuff. Shankar brought up the rear, striding behind them heavy overcoat slung over his shoulder, too warm for the gentle Orissa winter.

The farmers cutting the ripe rice into heaps on either side of the road paused to look at them. At the village pond the women and children stopped bathing to stare. They recognized Shinga and the others, of course. But who’s that man walking behind them, who looked like a foreigner? Couple of villagers even asked Shinga. He strode past them, not feeling the necessity to satisfy their idle curiosity.

Shankar looked at the houses of his familiar village. Most of the houses were concrete now with sloping tin roofs, very few earthen houses remained. Before he realized they were approaching his own house. The wide raised verandah on which he used to run around on as a child was now made of cement. A shiver went up Shankar’s spine as they approached the house. A wooden bench and a simple folding chair made of canvas made up the Spartan décor. There was an air of emptiness about the house. Shankar bit his lower lip and vowed to change that.

Shinga dropped his bags with a thud on the veranda and yelled loudly enough to be heard in the neighbouring village “ Babu, Ma…come quickly! See who’s here!”

People poured out of the neighbouring houses startled by Shinga’s loud proclamations. From his own house came out a sweet little boy of about five – smartly dressed in t-shirt and shorts.

“Call grandpa and grandma” Shinga told the little boy excitedly.

“ Grandpa is at the field. Granny is is in the kitchen” the boy replied. A female figure appeared behind the child. She stood by the door, the pallu of her saree covering her face and her head.

“Ma” shouted Singha as he nearly dragged Shankar before the lady “ Can you recognize him?”

Shankar slipped out his shoes quickly and bent down to touch her feet “ Ma… I’m your Budha"

His mother didn’t believe her ears. Peered at him closely from behind the Pallu of her saree. Can this be her long lost son, her Budha? This strapping, handsome young man of twenty seven or so, smiling at her through his tears?

“Budha, my Budha..my baby…my darling” She hugged him tight. She was a flood of tears after that. She dragged Shankar to the inner courtyard and ran her hands feverishly over his forehead, cheeks, through his hair. She hugged him tightly and covered him with kisses scarcely believing her good fortune. Again the unending streams of tears started.

She pulled Shankar to the little room filled with pictures of Gods and blew the conch shell in gratitude. “ Pray” She ordered Shankar. Shankar obediently got down to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground.

When they came out to the inner courtyard again it was teeming curious women and children, who had come out hearing the sound of the conch shell. His mother told Shinga. “ Run to the fields and inform his father” Shinga left in a hurry. Shankar paid off the men who had carried his stuff home.

The little boy who had come to the door was looking at Shankar with his mouth open. Who is the brown haired guy Grandma is happy to see? Could it be his eldest uncle? The one whose stories he’s heard from everyone? The prince charming who had gotten lost in the woods?

In the meantime Shankar, with folded hands was greeting the elderly female members of his extended family, aunts, grandmother. They gave their blessing, pulled his cheeks, congratulated his mom on her good fortune.

The younger women, married and um-married, kept their distance but stared at him – their eyes full of amazement and wonder. He thought he recognised one of the young girls in that crowd. But she wore a white saree and no jewellery, the attire of a widow.

Bamadev Satpathy, his father arrived from the fields, a little out of breath.The women receded to the back ground. Shankar went up to him and bent down to touch his feet. His father grabbed him and clutched him to his chest. His missing first born, about whom he had so many dreams.

“Budha! Shankar!” tears of joy blinded him “ So you came back, my son!”

“Please forgive me, Baba! Punish me the way you deem fit” sobbed Shankar.

“Haven’t we all been punished enough already?” smiled his father.

Bamadev fought to control his feelings and said gruffly to his wife, Shnkar’s mother “ Are we all going to just stand here and stare? Our eldest son is back after so long – how about offering him something to eat?”

“ Oh, how thoughtless of me!” exclaimed Shankar’s mother as she wiped her tears and scurried away towards the kitchen. Bamadev put his arms around Shankar and led him to what was his room a decade back.