Ch. 9 - A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA - DARK SHADOWS - Palghat Tales

I             “My dear Appa,

 It has been a very hectic month. There have been casualties coming in regularly, civvies and uniforms. We have put up extra tents. The Colonel has cancelled all leave and the nurses are doing a tremendous job, hats off to them! You must have read the latest in the papers, but don’t believe everything you read, our boys are giving as good as they get. The food is much better than it was when I arrived. I am getting a lot of valuable experience, glad that I volunteered for this posting. Please tell Amma that I will try to call when I can. I spoke to Gowri, she told me you had called her. She is feeling morning sickness but that is normal. I may not get leave, so it is fine that Amma is travelling to Delhi next month. Thanks for making the visit to Hanuman mandir for me. I have to stop now. Will write again soon. 

Yours respectfully, 

Papa”

 

Dorai and Manas

It was late in the evening when his secretary, Basu shuffled into his room and told him a man was insisting on meeting him. He wouldn’t say who he was, just that he had “something important to discuss about a personal matter”. Should he send him in? He had tried to tell him Vaithy was busy, but the man was adamant, and had been waiting since four o’clock. The staff had left and he was still waiting. Vaithy told Basu to let him in.

Gangaram Agrawal, alias Bhaiji

The man introduced himself as Bhaiji. “Please ring Lalbazar, Party office, anywhere, they know me:” So what did he want? “I am a social worker. I give protection. You are an important person.” Vaithy looked puzzled. “Why am I am important? What do you mean by protection?” Bhaiji leaned back, smiled and swallowed paan masala from a tiny silver spoon, before he continued. “We know about your account in the bank, we know about Mrs. Chater. She was giving us donations for many years. She used to be under our protection. We don’t want you to lose that protection. Please do not get me wrong. I am being friendly. Please think about it. I will come back next week.”

When Vaithy spoke to MD, things became clearer. MD knew the man by reputation. Bhaiji was a notorious enforcer. Extortion, racketeering, gambling – he was known to be a kingpin of them all, and his political clout was legendary. He had links to the underworld in Bombay. For decades, businessmen and traders had been forced to pay him off to avoid trouble. He was untouchable. MD was clear about what needed to be done. First, Vaithy had to find a safe house. Next, he had to get some muscle. “I think you should go home and pack for a few days. I’ll tell Biren to drive you. I have a place where you will be safe. Tell Thangam you are going on a business trip. There is no need to worry her. But first, we will pay a visit to Daw’s. There is something you should have. Let me make a call.” He picked up the phone and dialled. “Daw babu? I need to come around. Yes. Now. You will be in the shop?”

Nursing Chunder Daw & Co. B.B.D. Bag

Nursing Chunder Daw & Co. has been in business for two hundred years, the oldest arms and ammunition dealers in the city. It now resembled a museum. Muzzle-loading rifles from the days of Plassey. A monogrammed cutlass from Dutch Serampore. A strong-room at the back full of small bore rifles and assorted arms, the owners of which had long ago stopped paying their rentals. Calcutta was once the capital of small arms in India. The trade shifted to Kanpur after the government virtually stopped giving permits after the Naxal troubles in the seventies. MD and Vaithy walked into the shop, where Ashoke Daw, the sixth generation owner was waiting, looking forlorn and haggard. The man nodded at MD, they went inside the strong-room and emerged with a wooden box. Inside it was a .32 revolver and twelve cartridges. MD tucked the box under his arm, paid the rental and they walked out. He handed the box to Vaithy. “Keep this. For your safety. Don’t open it until you reach the safe house. Biren will show you how to load and use it. Take it! Not the time for iffing and butting, please!”

II     Vaithy was at a loss as to what he should tell Thangam when he came home. He did as MD had told him. He was going on a business trip. Something had come up, and he had to rush to Indore. Biren rang the bell at 2.30 a.m. sharp. As usual, Naik Birendra Bahadur Gurung (retd). was not very talkative as he placed the luggage in the boot, silently shutting the passenger door and placing himself in the driver’s seat. They set off, making good speed through the eerily silent roads, as Vaithy dozed off. When he awoke, Biren was shaking him by the shoulder, “Chai shaab”. He got out of the car and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to five and they were by a ramshackle, wayside tea-stall. They drove for another hour and stopped. The ferry arrived and they crossed to Sagar Island and reached the Lighthouse keeper’s bungalow a little after 7 a.m. Biren knocked on the door and they were led inside. The keeper introduced himself. “I am Bishnupriyo Das. Please come in, I was waiting for you. Your room is upstairs, there is a bathroom. Please sit. Will you have tea? You can use the telephone downstairs. There is nobody to disturb you here. Please sit, please sit.”

Keeper's bungalow, Sagar Island Lighthouse

After an hour, the telephone rang. It was MD. Was everything all right? There was only one ferry every day, so Biren would stay with him until tomorrow. The light-keeper was a trust-worthy person, so he was safe. How long? Well, that would depend. Anyway, just relax and take it easy. Did he have some books to read? In a day or two, he would bring a visitor. Until then, he should just sit tight. Yes, could he please talk to Biren about the revolver?

That afternoon, they went out with the box into the garden and Biren showed him how to load and unload the revolver. How to cock it, point it and squeeze the trigger. 

III        It was the following weekend when MD brought the visitor. When Vaithy came down the steps, he found a man in a canary yellow shalwar kameez, occupying the entire sofa in one corner of the downstairs room. “This is Daoud Khan”, MD said, his tone casual. “He is going to help us. Fight fire with fire. He wanted to meet you. Tell him about everything.” Vaithy felt hesitant. The man leaned forward, his voice raspy. “Speak. Tell Khan”. He cracked his knuckles. “You trust sahib? Then speak, make Khan your friend”.  MD put his hand on Vaithy’s shoulder. Slowly, he narrated what the man calling himself Bhaiji had told him. When he finished, Daoud Khan spoke almost in a whisper. “Khan is giving his word. In my tribe’s name. This man is now my enemy.” He raised his finger. “Our enemy.”

Daoud Khan, head of the Yusufzai clan in Calcutta

As they stepped out for some fresh air, Vaithy aired his concerns with MD. They were brushed aside. “I know the man, KV, trust me. Daoud Khan has been helping the family since our father’s days. A situation like this is very complex. We cannot take it lightly. We have no choice. Bhaiji is a dangerous man. But even snakes can be made harmless. Leave it to me. Now, before I forget, I have told Thangam you will be away for some time. She has sent some books and some food. Pickles, I think. You like pickles?”

'The Illustrated Weekly of India', 12-18 May, 1985

Three weeks went by and Vaithy was chafing at the isolation. Biren would drive up to him, with files from the office. He brought letters and cheques that needed his signature on them. Snacks and his favourite condiments from Thangam. She knew he liked her freshly ground green-mango-and-ginger chutney. Her fried lotus roots and rice crisps were a comfort. He kept ringing MD for news, who kept telling him to be patient. 

As the days wore on, he became increasingly restless. The nights seemed to grow longer and he was frequently awake. The slightest noise outside his window would startle him. He became aware of the shadows moving in on him. There was something strange about the walls. They seemed to be closer than before. He began to get hot flashes, his sheets wet with perspiration, his heart pounding. He would wake up, feeling dizzy and groping for the pitcher of water. When Biren arrived the next day, he was curt, then snapped at him for having forgotten to bring along an old issue of The Illustrated Weekly of India.

Two more weeks went by before MD rang and told him that things were back to normal. The next day, he came to fetch him, and Thangam was with him. Together, they stopped at Birla Mandir, on the way back home. Bhaiji had agreed to accept a token, a face-saving gesture. Vaithy was curious. Why was Daoud Khan so keen to help? “Our grand-father used to purchase ‘hing’ from Daoud’s cousins in Afghanistan. Once, he had advanced money for a large consignment, but a tribal feud broke out. There was blood-shed and grand-father’s agents fled to Calcutta. They came to him, empty-handed. Grand-father wrote off the debt and helped them to start again. In return, the tribe swore their loyalty to him. Daoud Khan has kept the pledge to our family. He is the head of his tribe in Calcutta. They are like diamonds. You know, shiny but hard, very hard. He helps us when we need him.” Would the debt be ever paid off? MD shook his head. “Never, never. It is no longer a debt. It is a matter of honour. For him, not us”

IV   It was a rainy day and Thangam and Vaithy were looking at photos of their youngest grand-child. Manas was now a year-old and Dorai had written, asking them to visit him and their daughter-in-law at his posting in Kuttanad. He had been promoted and was well into his term as Collector. The photos were pleasing, but the day would be memorable for entirely different reasons.

Shiuli flowers

After breakfast, they drove to Ballygunge to pick up their lawyer, and then to Shiuli village and were met by the broker. Together, they arrived at the registration office. The owner of the land was waiting. They exchanged various documents for signature. Around 2 p.m., the ‘pattas’  to 102.5 ‘cottahs’ of river-side land had been transferred to the Shiuli Education and Welfare Trust (SEWA).

The next decade would see SEWA transform the lives of thousands of children and rural women in the area.

A month later, Thangam rang MD. Could he please come? Vaithy was in the living room when MD arrived. Vaithy had not attended office the previous few days. His situation had become worse. The racing heartbeat, the sweating and hot flashes. The feeling that the walls were moving. He was jumpy and irritable. The episodes had started soon after he had returned from ‘exile’. They would go away, only to return. Last night, he had frightened Bhagyam. He had got up in the night and started talking to her of throwing himself in the village pond.

Vaithy was perfectly calm when MD arrived. They drank coffee and spoke. Discussed the latest projects. After a while, Vaithy admitted feeling anxious. It had started when he was in Sagar Island. At first, he had tried to ignore it. Thought it was temporary, but it kept coming back. It was strange, it was almost like it was happening to someone else. It was embarrassing.

MD with his daughter. Mrs. MD in the background

“Don’t worry KV. You need rest. Take the week off. I will arrange an appointment. Don’t say no.” MD took them both to the Clinic the following Saturday. First, the doctor spoke to Thangam, and then he spent a good hour with Vaithy. “It’s Post Traumatic Stress. Nothing serious. But we need to treat it. Face it, and it will go away. It will take time. How long, depends on you. First, you need complete rest. Stay away from the office for a few weeks. I will prescribe some sleeping tablets. And some other tablets. For about six weeks. They will have side effects. Maybe some therapy aftwerwards. A change will be good. Is there any place you like? Puri. Gopalpur. You should leave Calcutta for a few days.”

MD made sure the arrangments were made and they left for Puri the following Monday. Vaithy was relieved as he and Thangam entered the sanctum for the Lord’s darshan. They stayed for two weeks. He could not remember the last time they had spent so much time alone together. It felt good.

Text by Shankar A. Narayan​  Photo credits: Moska Najib, Sean McLain, Pablo Bartholomew, Director General Of Lighthouses and Lightships and ANI