Murmur of the Lonely Brook

by Debashis Dey

  The road ran down to Karcham where it met the Sutlej and then to Tapri before traveling up again. In Tapri, the Jeep halted and everyone got out for tea. Pravin checked his certificates in his bag. He had passed intermediate school on the second attempt and represented his school in sports. He thought about Mamaj, a distant uncle from his own village who now lived in Peo. Pravin had stayed with him for a few months during his college days. Mamaji was working for a contractor who had assured Pravin of a job when he finished his electrician’s course. He said he knew quite a few people and it would be easy to get a job that would pay ten to fifteen thousand rupees per month. That was a lot of money for him as only the army job could provide such a salary. He had called Mamaji twice during the past week. The first time he called the line got disconnected but the second time it went unanswered. He assumed Mamaji had been too busy to speak to him.

  Balbir was in his thirties and had a strong build, a round, clean-shaven face, and always wore a cap. He had been on this road more than a thousand times but he was driving with a frown. He might have to go to Chandigarh soon. A friend in Sangla had advised him to go for some tests which might tell him why there was no child so far. He was of two minds about the tests. He had full trust in Devta to solve his problem. Like all other people in the village, his entire world revolved around this belief. Devta decided the rains, the floods, the snowfall, life, and death. In his heart he longed for a child but he also believed that if they hadn’t conceived so far it was their destiny. He was a dutiful son and husband. He had taken care of his mother in old age, looked after his wife, offered sacrifice to Devta and also did puja regularly. Devta would surely grant his wishes soon.

  The Jeep reached Peo and Balbir parked it at the taxi stand just outside the town. Peo was the nearest town and nearly everyone made a trip there for either shopping or government work. It had a large market selling vegetables, crockery, electronics, and hardware. People traveled to Peo from nearby villages to buy and sell things. Everyone got out except Dayawanti, as the Jeep would now go to the wholesaler where she would load it with supplies.

  Pravin had a few hours, as Mamaji would not return until evening. He flung his bag across his shoulder and walked around town. He was wearing a light jacket over his T-shirt. He never used his green topi, as he hated to be identified with his own people. Generally, people from the cities and plains looked at Kinnauris as poor, illiterate farmers coming from a different world. He felt hungry and made for the nearest tea stall. He had enough money with him to sustain him for a few days. Pravin ordered two chapattis and vegetables and settled on a table. An old man was seated opposite him sipping tea. He said, “Namaste,” with a polite smile.

  The man smiled back and said, “It’s cold today and it might rain.”

  “It’s colder where I come from.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Close to the Tibet border, Rakcham near Chitkul.”

  The old man nodded in recognition and then asked, “So, what brings you here?”

  “I’m looking for a job.”

  “Why? Don’t you have farmland or an orchard in Rakcham?”

  “Yes, but our family is large now.”

  “I see,” said the old man and sipped his tea. “It may not be easy, unless you know someone.”

  Pravin nodded in agreement and began eating his food.

  Outside, the market was full of people and noise. Cars, Jeeps, buses, trucks, people, and cows filled the streets. Pravin found a pay phone and made a call to Mamaji. There was not much of a balance in his cell phone account and he wanted to save it for Nisha. Mamaji did not show any reaction but told him that he would be home by six; Pravin could wait at the gate.

  Pravin did not have to wait long. Mamaji arrived a few minutes after six with two bottles of beer and some eggs. He changed, got two glasses, and sat down.

  He smiled at Pravin and said, “So, you need a job? My boy, you should have come a few days back. My friend, who is the manager of a company, has just been transferred to Solan!”

  “But you said you have many friends here.”

  “True, but I need to check with them. Anyway, you can stay here for a few days and look around.”

  Mamaji poured the beer while Pravin cooked the eggs. Earlier when he stayed with Mamaji, it was his duty to cook food and take care of the house. He was good at cooking, which he had learned from his friend Arun who worked in a local hotel in Peo.

  Mamaji switched off the TV. Both had the beer with eggs and chapatti and then slept. Mamaji was fast asleep while Pravin was still awake. He knew he had a difficult task ahead. He thought about his village. Not that he hated his village; it was just the plight of the villagers, their closed minds, their stubborn attitude, and age-old beliefs that offended him. He knew he was not the only one. There were many like him who wanted to break away. Most of them came back after a while. Some became short-term contractors only to lose out to outsiders. Some got low-level jobs as deliverymen or as security personnel. But, after paying for a room and food, there was not much left for them to send back home. He wished his brother would qualify to join the army soon so both could make a difference. He loved his brother and remembered his words. He had only been ten at the time when Pravin had taken him for a short trek uphill. After a while both stopped. Diwa looked at the far off mountains and asked, “Brother, have you ever gone up to those peaks?”

  “No, only the army can go there in fur jackets and big boots.”

  “One day I will be in the army,” Diwa said, “and I will roam there with guns and horses.”

  “Sure, my brother,” Pravin assured him.

  He used to tell him stories from Mahabharata, the great epic, and Diwa used to listen with big eyes. He told him about the local conviction that the clan of Kinnauris to which they belonged was a direct descendent of the Pandavas and Diwa believed him. Not only stories, Pravin taught his brother many things—how to catch fish with his bare hands; how to breathe in long treks; how to use a catapult; how to climb tall trees, and much more. He had given him guidance on the physical test for the army and he was glad he passed it. It was only bad luck that he failed the written exams. Now he spoke with him less frequently, but in his heart, he had a special place for his brother. And then he remembered Nisha.

  It was in Peo where he had first met her. He was with a friend at the Tibetan restaurant when four girls came in. He knew one of them, Meena, who came from Batseri, a nearby village. She waved at him and he nodded with a smile. But the girl who held his attention was the one speaking less, though her eyes betrayed her silence. Before they left, Pravin called Meena aside and asked about her friend.

  “Where is she from? I would like to meet her.”

  “She is from Ribba and if you promise to treat us all, I can arrange a meeting with you,” Meena said with a smile.

  Pravin agreed to the deal and the next day Meena came to the college to tell him that Nisha would meet him during the weekend.

  Pravin arrived a few minutes late and found Nisha waiting for him. Nisha smiled at him. She was wearing a violet kameez and a white shawl. Her eyes were bright with kajal around them and she wore a light lipstick on her lips. In ancient days Kinnauri women were famous for their seducing skills and were often used covertly to kill the enemy. Such girls were known as bish kanyas, or “poison-girls.” They were experts in song and dance and flirting and would win the heart of the enemy. Once they won their trust, they would wait for an opportune moment when they would poison and kill the victim. Though a few managed to escape, most were caught and sentenced to death. But such death was considered martyrdom. In modern times, song and dance was no longer practiced and only reserved for festivals. But the pure Kinnauri girls inherited the looks and retained the sharp features of their ancestors. Nisha was no exception. But Pravin was not the romantic type. Like other hill people, he lacked the art of sweet talk, courtship and all that goes with it. He knew he had reached the age of marriage and before his parents decided
on someone, he would have to make his choice.

  Their meeting went like the dance of a bird-of-paradise trying to impress the female with his prowess and poses. Pravin had seen the world a bit more than the average man of his age. He listed his accomplishments with flair but also added colors. Nisha was all ears. Here, the world was small and imagination did not have wings like in the city; the harsh reality of life was overpowering. Moreover, marriage was fixed, based on wealth more than the age or physical qualities of the groom.

  Nisha knew that very soon her parents would marry her off. There was talk from a family in the same village. She knew the man was in his late thirties and quite serious. Pravin was young, came from an average family, but was honest and straight. She had seen a movie recently and the romance in it touched her. A line she liked from the movie said, “For every person there is someone waiting somewhere.” It was as if another world existed between a man and woman, a world that was different from what she had known so far. In the movies, the man never behaved like a God and the woman never treated him like one. Nisha was surprised—it was a bit shocking for her, too. Her mouth opened in awe as she saw the couple dance together—in her village, the men and the women danced in their respective groups, and only during festivals and special occasions. But there the couple was dancing freely in the gardens and meadows. And they exchanged words of love she never imagined existed. She knew this was all wrong and only happened in movies. She remembered her friend who told her once that the world of movies was much different from real life. She tried to hide her face during the intimate scenes, but her friends nudged her and whispered to behave normally. It was a big embarrassment for her to see such things with men seated nearby. She also felt a rush of warmth diffuse through her body. First she thought she was in fever but it passed away slowly. At night, she was restless—she could not sleep and only felt calm after a long shower. She knew her friends at college always discussed boys but so far, she had never even looked at anyone. She was not shy, but to her, a man could only mean one thing to a girl and she was confident that someone would find her someday. Her parents had chosen a guy in her village for her to marry, but she wanted to go beyond her native hills to find someone—to some far away place with new terrain, new trees, new birds, and new faces.

  After a few more meetings between them, Pravin was more confident. He was growing impatient as his final exams were drawing close. He looked at Nisha and asked, “Is it okay for you to run away with me?”

  Nisha was not surprised, as this was quite common. It was as good as marriage. The only issue was she wouldn’t be able to visit her parents unless they consented to the marriage and this sometimes took years. Her uncle married in a similar fashion and it was only after eleven years—a long time after her nephew and niece were born—that their marriage was officially celebrated.

  She sensed adventure but in a straight face asked, “Will your parents accept me, and will they treat me well?”

  “Sure, they will. You can trust me to convince them,” Pravin said reassuringly.

  “Is your mother an angry person…will your sister like me?”

  Pravin smiled again.

  “And do you have a TV in your house?”

  “Yes, we do.” He did not mention that Ria controlled the remote.

  “So, when is your plan to marry?” she asked.

  “I will go back home after my exams. I will speak with my parents and inform you about the date. But be prepared. I cannot wait for long.”

  Parvati, Pravin’s mother, welcomed Nisha with a gold necklace and two bangles. She had hoped for a big festival, as this was the first marriage in the house. But she felt good, as everyone liked Nisha and told her she was lucky that her son picked a bride like her. Shevak remained silent but blessed the bride. A few relatives came and the women sang age-old folk songs. Parvati made poltu (a fried pancake) and meat for all. Diwakar played music from his cell phone. Ria sat close to Nisha and kept looking at her. In the evening the whole family sat together and had dinner. After dinner, Shevak left for his room while the brothers went to watch TV. Parvati sat with Nisha and asked about her home, her parents, and her village. She praised her long hair and fair complexion. Nisha blushed and then chatted with Ria for a while.

  Pravin thought about the first night. He had taken time to tell her about all the people who came, relatives, friends, and neighbors. He singled out his brother Diwakar and asked her to take care of him. He mentioned his father, Shevak, and his temper. Earlier they had gone to the temple to seek blessings from Devta and the smaller gods. Both stood at the window and looked at the stars. Pravin drew her close. He could smell the sweet scent of her oil and perfume. So far, during all their meetings, they had only spoken, never touched each other, not even held hands. Pravin ran his nose against her neck and she felt his strong hands. She responded with a short kiss and both made way for the bed. Pravin knew it was the first time for both but he had some knowledge from adult films he had seen. He thought of guiding her. But men had nothing to teach women.

  For the hill people, life was still primeval, uncomplicated, simple, and basic. Intellect did not rule over instinct. There was no sweet talk, foreplay, or pretension. The overpowering innocence of the mountains, which stood tall and aloof, still retained its control over the minds of the people. Both sought to appease a basic hunger, without any sophistication or civilized pretense. Unquenched fires, long smoldering, gave way to flames. Winds called the clouds, clouds gave birth to rain, raindrops grouped and formed a spring. The spring ran down forming a river and the river ran in torrents touching stones lying untouched for millions of years and then it met the sea; waves formed, splashed the beaches, and the wind receded and the sea was calm. A thousand stars blinked in delight.

  Both lay drained and sweating. Nisha felt pain but it was not unbearable. The pleasure was immense and overriding. She looked at Pravin, who was breathing heavily. In the excitement, she had dug her nails into his shoulders and knew it hurt him. She came close and rested her head on his shoulders. After a while, she kissed him. It acted like fuel on burning embers and soon both were aroused again. It went on until the early hours of the morning and then both slept, exhausted.

  ***

  Pravin woke up early. The morning sun came in through the window. In the morning, Peo was a quiet town. The hustle and bustle of daytime was missing. He could listen to a distant gong coming from the monastery. He made tea and woke up Mamaji.

  Mamaji sipped his tea and took out a piece of paper and scribbled a few numbers and addresses. He gave them to Pravin and said, “You need to call these people and make an appointment. Also, do not forget to tell them that I have given you their number.”

  Mamaji took a shower and was soon on his way to work. Pravin thought of calling Nisha but decided to call later. He had a long day ahead. He took a shower, dressed, and checked his papers. He made two pancakes and had them with some pickle. Soon he was on the road.

  Chapter 4

  It was one of those crisp mornings. There was no rain and the blue sky promised a bright clear day. Diwakar walked down to the river, crossed it, and went along the pathway to the fields. He was up early and had told Shevak he would take the cows out. But he did not tell him his plans for the day. Last night he had formed a team with three of his friends for fishing trout. This was a very common sport, only this time Diwakar planned it for Nisha; he wanted to impress her.

  The four friends walked along the edge of the field. Diwakar carried peanuts and a few apples in his pocket. There was chill in the morning air but they were accustomed to the cold. The sun was up, but the peaks would not allow it to spread its magic for some time yet. The river flowed below them and could be heard crawling against the boulders. A hundred years back the river was much wider at this place and there was a large lake where the village now stands. People used to build houses on the slopes. But the river made its own way cutting between the peaks and formed a deep gorge. It moved, leaving a fertile patch of
land, and soon folks moved there.

  Diwakar looked at the small sandbank across the river. He could see a few white wagtails hopping around, their tails wagging every now and then. The bank, now small, expanded in size during winter when the river flowed like a narrow snake. The bank also served as the cremation ground for the village. He remembered that Teté (grandfather) was burned there. He was carried in a special bed tied to two logs. Before the cremation, Teté was given a full bath. Aama and many other women sang sad songs. One man from each family came with a piece of log and they all walked with him. Women were not allowed. Someone arranged the logs and Teté was placed on top. Aau and the uncles performed puja. Diwakar was quite young and cried when they ignited the logs. He stood with his aaté at the far end. Though Pravin was quiet he could see tears in his eyes too. Someone sharpened a log with an axe. Aau took it and drove it straight into the skull of Teté.

  Diwakar was shocked. He clutched his brother’s shirt and asked, “Why is he hitting him?”

  “He must break the skull, or else Teté’s soul will not escape to heaven and will remain trapped. He will become a ghost and live in a tree forever.”

  Though he had heard stories about ghosts, Diwakar was too young to understand the meaning of soul. For him, the presence of his Teté was more important and he did not mind if he existed as a ghost. He was sure that Teté would do him no harm and continue telling stories. He hated his aau for quite some time and would not speak with him for days.