McCluskieganj

by Vikas Kumar Jha

  McCluskieganj. He resigned and came lock, stock and barrel to McCluskieganj, but from then on began his decline. Although at first he would entertain in the evenings, with Western spirits, taking only mahua liquor himself during its season, he was so addicted to it, he found all other intoxicants paling before it. He had a projector through which he showed his guests many films. But in course of time, Mr Warden, because of his drinking habit, became poorer than a church mouse. The projector got covered in dust. Mr Warden’s servants evaporated like camphor into the air. People stopped coming and he took over the management of his house himself. But for how long? Soon his creditors took his land, his house, etcetera, and he was left on the streets. Then on, he started sleeping on the station bench at night. Still his addiction to mahua continued. His only companions were the pariah dogs of the vicinity. Someone or the other would give him some morsels of food which he would generously share with these dogs. When his sister in Australia was informed of his pitiable condition, she sent money for him to visit her, but that too he spent on drinks. However, even in his drunken state, he did one thing sensible. He had a beautiful coffin made for himself and, taking it to the church one day, he told the priest in his inebriated state, ‘Father, when I am dead, just put me into this.’ But the occasion did not arise because

  Mr Warden himself did the needful. One night when he was more drunk than usual, he went to the church and laid himself in the coffin. He told the priest, ‘Now I am going to sleep in the coffin and shall soon depart.’ The priest thought this to be one more declamation of an alcoholic. But the next morning he found Mr Warden lying dead in his own coffin.

  For many months, Mr Warden’s episode served as a salutary warning that kept the hard drinkers of McCluskieganj from the bottle. Yet with the passage of time and the arrival of the mahua season, they hit the bottle once again. Although at first, the Anglo-Indians drank only among themselves, keeping the locals away, ultimately the wall between them gradually fell. This resulted in a kind of free mixing of Mundas, Oraons, Ganjhus and Ahirs with the Anglo-Indian sahibs. Although the effect was one of conviviality, it resulted in some not such happy unions. Mr Meredith married an Adivasi girl.

  Mr Sherard married the Adivasi nanny of his children, his wife being dead. This was Somri, who was not exceptional to look at. But Sherard, for God knows what reason, was besotted with her. Then Mary, daughter of R.G. Sparks, married Ram Sevak who was a Sahu, that is, of the Baniya caste. This was opposed by both families, yet these marriages were solemnized. Some of these weddings were good in some ways with the result that the feelings of inferiority and superiority took a back seat and prejudices got ironed out. The sahibs and the Adivasis played many interesting matches together, be it hockey or cricket. Dennis remembered that the Anglo-Indian youth of

  McCluskieganj and the members of the ACC Cement Company located in Khalari often met at the cricket pitch. How well they were matched! At times, when in a good mood, Liza would reminisce, ‘Remember dear, the fancy dress ball? The first prize went to Master Gilbert, how well he had dressed as the snake charmer! And Eileen, do you remember? Dressed as a Punjaban, she was adjudged the best among the ladies.’ Eventually Dennis would smile and say, ‘So Robin, your mother too manages to remember McCluskieganj sometimes.’

  Then one day Robin told his father, ‘I had told you, I would like to write a novel on McCluskieganj. I think it might be wise to visit the place so that I have a first-hand experience of your descriptions’.

  Dennis was aware of his son’s literary talent. He understood the human mind well. When Robin spoke about his idea of a novel on McCluskieganj, his mother supported him and agreed that such a novel would indeed be a runaway success. However, Liza said that he would have to evolve some clever formula to ensure quick sales. To this Robin did not agree. He had no intentions of writing a best-seller. Dennis was overwhelmed by Robin’s response. He too had thought that his son should be known for serious writing. ‘You must include the shame of the Anglo-Indians in your novel. There is so much pathos in their lives. Take the case of Kitty. I knew her since she was a little girl, with pretty blue eyes and golden plaits. I remember her in a sky-blue frock with red ribbons. Kitty was so lovely and adorable. Yet time has roughed her up. I remember Kitty’s father and mother, Mr and Mrs Taxeira. Uncle was in the army. He took voluntary retirement and finally came to live in McCluskieganj. In fact, Taxeira Uncle’s father-in-law

  Mr E.D. Robert first of all purchased land in this village and settled down here after his retirement. You know, Robin,

  Mr Robert was PA to Assam governor, Sir William Reed.

  Mr Robert had only one daughter, Taxeira Aunty—Kitty’s mother. So, Mr Robert was keen that his son-in-law should settle down in this village to which Taxeira Uncle finally agreed. Apart from his father-in-law’s land, Kitty’s father bought himself forty acres of land in the first instalment and sixteen more in the area of the Kanka hills. They were well off. But when I went back after your grandfather’s death, I did not recognize Kitty. She was poorly clothed and her poverty was visible in every aspect. Her hair was awry. Her eyes too were sunken and lacklustre, as if the suffering had sunk its teeth deep into her.’ Miss Bonner had exclaimed, ‘Dennis, this is your childhood friend Kitty.’ A sob escaped my lips, and Kitty, well she just smiled sadly. I said in alarm, ‘Is this Kitty? Oh Kitty! What have you done to yourself?’ She laughed softly, then with a sob she quickly left. Miss Thripthorpe, who was taken aback, said, ‘She battles for her life every minute. She saw you after many years. Perhaps that is why she broke down.’

  ‘There are many such stories of suffering, of bitter humiliation in McCluskieganj. So, Robin, you have a rich canvas in front of you,’ said Dennis. Liza, while in the kitchen, had overheard the entire episode of Kitty and now chose to enter the discussion. She said, ‘Robin, your father was madly in love with Kitty. She was the butterfly of

  McCluskieganj so to say, and he wanted to marry her.’ Robin just smiled. Dennis had nothing to contradict her with except ‘Oh Liza.’ People like Dennis had left McCluskieganj under compulsion, but all life long they struggled with its haunting memories. Rite of passage is the truth of life that every man must necessarily face. Dennis, though he had come away from

  McCluskieganj, was painfully conscious of his link with it. He felt guilty particularly with regard to his father. Brian McGowan was an old man, and despite having a family he now lived all alone. No one felt this more than Dennis. Early while settling in Hong Kong, he asked his father to sell his house and come and join him, if for nothing else, at least to watch Robin grow. But Brian McGowan wrote back to say that though he appreciated Dennis’s offer, he would not be able to tear himself either from the village or sell the house as Dennis had suggested. He had lived long enough, probably he had partaken of the legendary crow’s tongue, but still, after his death Dennis being his only son had the legal right to sell the property. Brian McGowan had obviously been upset by the tone of his son’s letter. Never again did Dennis make the mistake of writing to his father about the house. But slowly his responsibilities towards his printing press and his changed lifestyle distanced him from his father, except for an occasional exchange of cards and inquiries about his health, Dennis hardly had any truck with his father. His past was an empty bottle of perfume that just contained a lingering smell.

  7

  Mukhia Mendez

  Ramagya Pathak’s family was known as the Mahadeva family

  in McCluskieganj. They had a Shiva temple at their very door. It had been constructed by his grandfather. The Pathak’s were practising Brahmins who were responsible for all the ceremonies noted in the Hindu almanac, both in

  McCluskieganj as well as around it. Although there was another Brahmin family in the village, it was the Pathaks who were looked upon for all religious rites. Ramagya Pathak himself was quite mystified as to how his family could enjoy so much importance in a place that was almost full of Adivasis and Christians. He was sure that the day
was not far when he would become redundant.

  The story in question revolved around the story of Annakut. Annakut is a festival that is celebrated the day after Deepawali in honour of Lord Vishnu who is worshipped with grains. Deepawali in Chhota Nagpur is celebrated as ‘Sohraie’, which is in fact a worship of animals. Many festivals fell in the month of Kartik, that is, October–November. As a result, Ramagya Pathak got very busy then. The Anglo-Indian community watched his antics with lively interest. On Annakut day, he had to feed five Brahmins, but as McCluskieganj did not have the required number, he would make do with stopgaps. So

  Mr B. Mendez got included in the guest list, because although the postman Bhola Tiwari was a regular, once the latter was away, Ramagya was in a quandary. It was then that

  Mr Mendez had said, ‘Why don’t you add me to your group? I am B. Mendez, B for Brahmin. Ha ha ha.’ Ramagya took his cue from this suggestion and from then on Mr Mendez became an invitee to the feast. This is why Mr Mendez had endeared himself to the people in McCluskieganj. He mixed freely and the residents felt that should they ever elect a mukhia, headman for the village panchayat, the obvious choice would be Mr Mendez. After all, it was his family which was perhaps the oldest in McCluskieganj. Although Mrs Mendez strongly disapproved of her husband’s involvement in local politics, it was difficult for Mr Mendez to be indifferent as he was very sociable by nature.

  All the problems of McCluskieganj seemed to find their way to him, whether it concerned the water supply for irrigation or disease and ailments that beset families from time to time. The village had no doctor on call and Mr Mendez tried ever so much to get the government to appoint one. Mrs Thripthorpe too took great interest in the affairs of McCluskieganj, conferring always with Mr Mendez whatever the problem. The chief crops of the village consisted of rice, corn and mahua. As these were heavily dependent on water, their growth would be good if the rains were sufficient. But more often than not when the rains failed … The other major problem of McCluskieganj was with regard to land feuds. The arguments that started during the time of the last headman, namely P.K. Roy Chaudhury alias Roy Babu, still prevailed. Everything boiled down to there being no headman. The panchayat elections had not been held for ages. God knows why this was so in Bihar. The power of the panchayat was now all in the hands of the block development officer (BDO) and the local MLA who were reaping a rich harvest of commissions and were therefore in no hurry to conduct the elections.

  It was the general feeling of Adivasis and Anglo-Indians alike that Mr Mendez, upright as he was, should stand for the panchayat elections. He was sure to win by a huge margin because most of the voters were of the Anglo-Indian community and were interrelated. Mr B. Mendez’s father, late Harry Mendez, was proud of his large family. In his time, Harry Mendez was a well-known figure and was the supplies contractor of the Ramgarh Military Cantonment. He also had a bus service operating between Khalari and Ranchi. His was the richest family in

  McCluskieganj having several sources of income. But like all good things, his good days too came to an end. With no resources for engaging a driver, Harry Mendez himself started driving his own bus. A story goes that Harry Mendez was also some kind of a hunter, and it is reported that should someone even mention while he was driving the bus, that a tiger had been sighted close by, he would just abandon the bus with its passengers. Wherever they may have been going, Mr Harry Mendez would just jump off, leaving his passengers in the lurch often for hours on end, while he himself would go off sniffing the tiger’s trail. Now to get back to Mr B. Mendez, he was in the Indian Air Force. Even then whenever he got leave, he would visit McCluskieganj with his children. So his proximity to the village was always maintained. At one point, after he and his family had settled in the village, Mr B. Mendez and his wife decided to use their retirement money and settle in England. They had almost clinched the matter, sold their furniture, house, etcetera; the goodbyes had also been said when suddenly in the midst of all these high emotions there was a change of heart. Mr Mendez turned and addressed his Adivasi servant, ‘Bumpkin Pumpkin, open the door. We are not leaving. This parting is too traumatic. Where there is so much love, how can we just go off to a totally unknown place? And why?’ So the Mendez family continued to stay in McCluskieganj, much to the relief of all around. Mr Mendez went to the extent of saying, ‘I have by the grace of God saved myself and my family from a

  great mistake.’

  Mr Mendez, being from a large family himself, became the patriarch of a family of three children. He was highly regarded by the Anglo-Indian community, among whom he found matches for his own children. Because of his warmth and pragmatism, both the Adivasis and Anglo-Indians wanted him as their mukhia. In fact, the clamour for him to become the headman was growing by the day. McCluskieganj had one menace greater than others, which was felt by the residents of the village, namely the presence of snakes. There were gehuman, rattlesnakes, kraits, all kinds of slithery reptiles, which were a source of great anxiety and fear. Yet Khushia Pahan threw a challenge to Mr Mendez saying, ‘Mendez Sahib, these fears can easily be handled, but what of snakes like Duti Bhagat? Will you scorch that bastard when you become

  the village headman?’

  8

  For the Love of Munni

  The rains were over. The harvest that year was prodigious. The village was in a celebrative mood. And why not? It was December and both the wheat and the corn had been harvested, the fields wore a golden hue. Tuinyan Ganjhu observed, the fruit of a day’s labour was the bread that one had earned, and the fruit of the year’s labour was the harvest itself.

  It was in this season, that Mr Douglas Gibson, hearing that the elephant of the zamindar of Manatu had calved, went all the way, an approximate distance of 125 miles from

  McCluskieganj, and bought the calf named Munni. Manatu had an interesting background. It was located in the Palamu region of Chhota Nagpur and there was a time in the not so distant past that the area had many wild animals, including elephants, tigers, leopards as well as bears. The zamindar of Manatu had a penchant for keeping wild animals in captivity. The story goes that he kept leopards in an enclosure in his palace and if required he could throw an unwelcome guest into this enclosure. This, in fact, had been corroborated by a journalist who referred to the zamindar as the ‘maneater of Manatu’, the zamindar and the leopard being alter egos.

  It was rumoured that Mr Gibson was planning to start a business of pachyderms. Earlier he had a horse-breeding stud farm. But he lost heavily on that venture and was loudly condemned by his wife. After this, he turned more seriously to the management of a guest house, for the comfort of the changers, the tourists who visited McCluskieganj. Now, once again the old obsession was gaining ground to re-enter his life, this time in the form of elephant breeding. Tuinyan Ganjhu as always remarked sarcastically, ‘It will be good for us, we will employ ourselves to clean the dung of these creatures, as long as there is work for us!’ There were a lot of wild elephants in the area. Why did people not breed them? But elephants were a nuisance, particularly for the standing crops. ‘They were worse than their MCC (Marxist Coordination Committee) counterparts,’ said Tuinyan Ganjhu. The fact was that the laying of new railway tracks in this area had restricted the corridor of movement for these animals, right from the valley of the Damodar to Ranchi. The elephants had become restive, and it had been lately reported that they had struck and killed many villagers. They had also been breeding rapidly; therefore, when Khushia Pahan, drunk on hadiya and mahua arrived at the Peacock Guest House and heard of Mr Gibson’s plan to breed elephants, he jumped in consternation. ‘Baap re!’ he said dramatically, stamping out his bidi, ‘how can you keep this angel of death in your very house? If the elephant god gets angry, he will trample the entire McCluskieganj under his feet.’ ‘No, Khushia, just capture a couple of them and see what wealth pours forth,’ appealed Mr Gibson, hope mirroring in his voice. ‘For that, we will have to take recourse to getting these animals drunk on mahua and had
iya,’ replied Khushia Pahan. Elephants were known to get easily addicted, even more than human beings, to country liquor. ‘Please forgive me,’ said Tuinyan Ganjhu. ‘I don’t want your wealth, nor will I be a party to such a dangerous venture.’ Khushia Pahan grimaced in agreement, exposing his betel-stained, rake-like teeth.

  This elephant venture had been triggered by Babu’s childish demand. The inmates of Peacock Guest House had, in fact, gone to a village fair, where Parvati, Mr Gibson’s house help, and her son Babu, had seen a caparisoned elephant doing the rounds with people on its back. Spoilt as Babu was by Mr Gibson, he started demanding for an elephant of his own. That was why Munni was brought to the Peacock Guest House.

  Munni’s presence in the portico of the guest house became an attraction for the entire village, specially the children. Munni seemed to enjoy all this fuss. She was decorated with red alta dye, which is regarded as a speciality for auspicious occasions. Just a year old, Munni was a little she-elephant. Mr Mendez quipped, ‘Does Mrs Gibson know yet about your new little girl? If she finds out, she will return post-haste from Australia. And Parvati, what about her, how is she? And how is your Babu?’

  Just then Parvati rushed out from the dining room with Babu in tow. Mr Mendez exclaimed, ‘Oh sweetie, now you have the care of Munni along with Mr Gibson on your hands!’ Mr Gibson answered, ‘Munni is Parvati’s younger sister and therefore Babu’s aunt.’ Breaking out into a smile, Mr Gibson placed Babu on Munni’s back. He could go to any length to make his darling boy happy.

  Khushia Pahan keenly observed these goings on. He knew the extent to which Mr Gibson could go for Babu’s sake. Why was he so generous in his love for Babu? Already he was planning for Babu’s future. Would he be a pilot or a military officer? And already people were smiling knowingly at the happenings at Peacock Guest House.