by Anirban Bose
And it is as beautiful as it is big.
For three days now we’ve been travelling, and still have another two to go before we reach Toshi’s home. Sometimes I wonder if we’ll be able to actually complete it, or may have to turn back halfway. Even when we meet his family, I wonder what we’ll tell them. I wish we were carrying better news than that of his death. I wish we were going to attend his wedding, or his graduation. After all, what solace will we provide to his grieving family when we don’t even know them, and require an introduction to their culture?
The trip so far has been without any major incident between the rest of the guys and me. In fact, today was a remarkable achievement of camaraderie. I remember Toshi trying to patch up our differences when we took the ride to the airport that morning, to see him off. I think that is the last image of him in our memory and so, right now, the goal of getting to Nagaland has sort of preceded any individual bitterness. But I still travel with the constant fear of having to defend myself…
Maybe Toshi’s death will teach us to forgive and forget.
But again, I ramble on…
I miss you even more than before. I think about you all the time and I can’t wait to get back to see you and talk to you.
Adi
PS: I still haven’t opened the envelope. (I am so confused!!!)
By the time they reached Guwahati, all of them had turned into ragged, tired, dirty versions of the human beings that had begun the journey in Bombay four days earlier. Travelling on slow-moving, crowded trains, unable to shower or shave, eating any junk they could lay their hands on, and sleeping in fits and starts on hard wooden berths, had brought them close to exhaustion. The prospect of more travel weighed heavily on their minds as they walked out of the station in bone-weary silence. Even by a conservative estimate, they still had fourteen hours of travel left.
‘We’d better make our return reservations back to Bombay from here,’ said Adi, hating to make the suggestion for fear of being stuck with the responsibility of organizing it. An insipid debate ensued, each trying hard to shirk the job. Pheru took the easy way out by falling asleep on his suitcase.
Finally, the responsibility of buying the tickets was Adi’s, while Sam and Rajeev were to look for buses to Dimapur. Adi decided to buy tickets back to Bombay after a three-day stay with Toshi’s family.
As he stood in line at the reservation counter, Adi’s eyes fell on the newspaper the man standing in front of him was reading. Most of the headlines concerned the trouble in the North-East states. ULFA rebels had killed six Army jawans in an ambush, while a Hindi-speaking family of eight, including women and children, had been murdered in their home at night. Elsewhere, the Manipur Maoist Rebels had called for a two-day strike in that state, while the Border Security Force had shot down four ‘terrorists’ trying to enter India from Bangladesh. The violence was worse in the smaller towns and villages. Bigger cities still maintained some semblance of security and the local administration tried its best to keep trouble at bay. But out in the countryside, posts manned by Indian Army jawans were often the sole providers of security.
Thousands of miles from home, amongst inhospitable strangers, Adi had to remind himself that they were in their own country.
The bus-stand was right outside the train station. Sam had an excited look on his face when he returned. ‘Guys, you won’t believe this,’ he said. ‘We found a bus that will take us to Mokukchung directly… We don’t have to go to Dimapur at all.’
Everyone was happy at the prospect of having shaved off six hours of travel time. They followed Sam without a moment’s pause.
The bus was a sweet sight for their sore eyes and weary bodies. It was luxurious, with spacious, cushioned seats that reclined to almost become beds. Soundproof glass kept the noise of the engines outside and individualized lighting and overhead fans provided personalized comfort. They found their seats and Adi immediately reclined his seat all the way. He checked the time. It was 9 p.m. He fell asleep long before the bus started to drive through the quiet night.
Adi awoke to the sounds of loud noises coming from the front of the bus. In the hazy awareness of his a semi-somnolent state, one of the voices sounded disturbingly familiar. He struggled to shake off his fatigue and get a better look.
Sam and Rajeev were arguing with the bus conductor. The two of them were gesturing angrily and were demanding that their money be returned.
‘What is going on?’ Adi asked Harsha sleepily, feeling the gummy tightness of his mouth hold back the words.
‘Saala, this conductor is a bastard,’ said Harsha. ‘He lied to us about going to Mokukchung… This bus is going to Jorhat, and he says we can catch another bus from there.’
Although it was a major inconvenience, Adi was enjoying his sleep so much that he decided he wouldn’t mind taking the extra ride to Jorhat. ‘So what, man?’ he said wearily. ‘Let’s go to Jorhat. Like he says, we can catch a bus from there to Mokukchung. Let’s just go back to sleep.’
He lay back wearily, hoping the hollering would stop. However, the shouting match continued. ‘Why did you lie? We want our money back!’
‘Saala, are you deaf? I said you’ll get a bus from Jorhat!’
‘No, take us to Mokukchung or give us the money back!’
Adi curled up tighter to drown out the noise. He looked at his watch: it was four in the morning.
Suddenly there was a blood-curdling yell from the front. Startled, Adi looked up to see Rajeev and Sam in a mad dash towards the rear of the bus. The conductor stood brandishing a huge machete that glinted brightly even in the frugal light inside the bus. His face had deformed into a demonic scowl as he waved his weapon maliciously, foaming at the mouth and screaming frantically. ‘I’ll cut you into a thousand pieces! You don’t know who I am…bastards…motherfuckers… Come out now!’
He charged towards them.
Adi’s weariness bolted in a flash. The newspaper pictures of swollen rotting bodies with wide gashes caked with dried blood flashed through his mind. The terror in those photos suddenly came to life. He felt nauseous with fear and a hollow feeling of impending doom washed over him. His body froze. His legs felt like jelly and even though he tried, Adi couldn’t move from the spot.
Suddenly, a man stood up from among the passengers and pointed a revolver straight at the oncoming conductor. His fingers tightened on the trigger as he shouted, ‘Stop!’
The conductor saw the revolver’s barrel facing him and stopped in his tracks. For the next few minutes he held his angry stare, as though testing the man’s resolve to keep him in check. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and his eyes shone with manic intensity. No one moved. Then, the conductor put his machete down slowly and walked away, disappearing into the driver’s cabin. Only when he had closed the cabin door behind him did the other man lower his revolver and sit back on his seat.
Then, turning towards Adi, he said, ‘You guys better get off with me at the next stop near Golaghat… He’ll kill you if you stay on.’
Adi nodded dumbly.
The man smiled and said, ‘I’m Major Nair. Major Arjun Nair.’
Adi had never realised it could be so difficult to muster up a smile. In fear, his facial muscles refused to comply. When he reached out to shake Major Nair’s hand, Adi suddenly became aware that despite the heat of the night, he was shivering like a leaf in the wind.
TWENTY-FOUR
Major Arjun Nair was a dashing man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a booming voice to match, he looked like a natural born leader. His eyes were dark, probing, intense. A sharp jaw line and a prominent chin outlined his handsome face. A trim moustache spanned the breadth above his lip, stretching the distance on either side with exquisite symmetry. Not a single blade of hair had permission to grow anywhere else on his dark brown face. He walked with a confident air, returning his jawan’s salutes with a snappy nod.
Adi, Harsha, Pheru, Rajeev and Sam got off the bus with Major Nair and followed him silently. His base sto
od next to an army checkpoint along the main road that ran towards the Nagaland border. It consisted of some large tents in a small clearing, surrounded by rolls of mean-looking barbed wire. A couple of green army trucks, with dark red numbers stenciled inside bright white circles were parked neatly on one side. Lookout posts on two sides hosted uniformed jawans, scanning the area with suspicious eyes while their machine guns stared faithfully at the iron gates across the road. Tall evergreen trees surrounded the base on three sides and stretched as far as the eye could see. Other than the occasional roar of a passing vehicle, the only sounds were the anonymous squawks of birds from deep within the forest.
The morning was sunny but pleasant. The five of them were completely clueless about their whereabouts. After the terrifying ordeal in the bus, reaching their destination had ceased to be such a pressing concern. They readily soaked in the security of being surrounded by barbed wire and machine guns.
Major Nair was pleasantly surprised when he learnt of the reason behind their trip to Nagaland. ‘We are at the border of Nagaland and search all the buses that pass this check point,’ he informed them. ‘If a bus is going directly to Mokukchung, you can get on it; otherwise there are lots of buses that go to Dimapur. You can take one of those and then get a connection to your friend’s place.’
They nodded readily, relieved with the easy solution Major Nair had laid out.
Then Major Nair said, ‘I suppose you have your permits.’
They looked at each other blankly.
‘You know that you need to have permits to enter Nagaland, don’t you?’ said Major Nair.
‘Permits?’ exclaimed Adi. ‘Why do we need permits to go to a place in our own country? We are Indians!’
‘Other than Nagas, all others, Indians or foreigners, must carry permits issued by the government to enter Nagaland.’
‘Does that mean we won’t be able to get into Nagaland?’ asked Pheru.
Major Nair shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘you have to have permits to enter Nagaland… What do you think we check at this checkpoint? You can get one from Dimapur, but it’ll take at least a day or two to get one made.’
They were stunned.
‘That is insane!’ Adi protested. ‘Can’t you just let us in…please? I mean, who will know?’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in. I think permits are a foolish idea too…but I have my orders. Besides, if you get caught inside Nagaland without permits, you’ll be in bigger trouble.’
The five of them stared at each other in disbelief, half expecting Major Nair to break into a smile any minute and tell them it was all a prank. But it was too cruel to be a joke: after having made this long, exhausting trip to the other end of the country, just when they were less than one hundred-and-fifty kilometres from their destination, their fate depended on a piece of paper.
‘Major Nair, this means our entire trip is wasted…we leave for Bombay in three days. Please, please you must help us!’ pleaded Rajeev.
‘Well, you can try going to Dimapur, but it’ll take some time…there is no way around that.’
‘There is just no time. This is so idiotic, so bloody senseless!’ said Sam. ‘Who made these stupid rules?’
Major Nair shrugged understandingly. ‘Unfortunately, some bureaucrats and politicians decide to do what they think is right for the country and everybody else suffers. I agree, it is ridiculous…but I cannot do anything about it. You and I have no power. Power resides not with the common man, but with a bunch of old fools sitting in Delhi and telling everyone else how to think. No wonder people everywhere are revolting!’
Major Nair’s statement surprised Adi. ‘I… I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What do you mean people are revolting?’
‘You know…all this insurgency and fighting,’ said Major Nair.
‘But those are terror groups…they kill innocents and want to break away from India!’ said Adi, making his displeasure obvious.
Major Nair smiled and said, ‘I think I’ve upset you. You probably think I’m being unpatriotic.’
Adi didn’t reply.
Major Nair continued. ‘Look, democracy doesn’t work at gunpoint. I cannot point my rifle at a Naga and tell him to believe he is Indian. People have to want to be Indian. Like you said before, how can you be free if you need a permit to enter a part of your own country? India is too diverse, too big, to let a few elected representatives and mindless bureaucrats sitting in Delhi tell everybody else how to think.’
Just then a jawan entered the tent to inform Major Nair that they were going to search a bus on its way to Mokokchung.
Adi looked at the others, his frustration and helplessness echoing on everyone’s face.
Major Nair sighed. ‘Sorry… I know the feeling. So close and yet so far. But this is why we need a revolution to give the power back to the people. You are Indians and yet you have your freedom to move in your own county dictated by some mindless bureaucrat in Delhi. See, people must get to participate in their government locally, not get told by a bunch of ministers in Delhi that we need to carry permits or—’
‘Or that everyone must speak in Hindi,’ said Adi, suddenly remembering an old exchange.
‘Exactly,’ said Major Nair, as they started to walk out towards the bus. ‘See, I am from Kerela, where people don’t like Hindi being imposed on them. But they will sing ‘Khaike pan Banaraswala’ with Amitabh Bachchan in ‘Don’, cheer loudly when Sachin Tendulkar clobbers a bowler and salute the flag on Republic Day just like the rest of the country. A country cannot exist as lines drawn on a map unless it exists as a concept in people’s minds. People will always find a way to draw more lines, erect more boundaries unless they can feel the belonging to a country. That feeling comes from the freedom to differ, from the freedom to be different. That is the…’ He stopped in the middle of his speech, suddenly distracted by loud shouts that caught everyone’s attention.
‘Adi… Rajeev…Pheru!’ yelled someone from the bus.
They stared in disbelief. It was Jagdeep!
Jagdeep’s success at convincing the Indian Airlines officials of his and Toshi’s brotherhood defied rational explanation. But he had managed, and had reached Dimapur four days ago where, upon learning of the need for permits to enter Nagaland, he had spent two days trying to arrange papers for the six of them. He had kept a lookout for the others and stayed an extra day after the permits were ready, hoping to make the final leg of the journey with them. But when waiting in vain had begun to pinch his wallet, he had given up on finding company and set out on his own.
It was sheer fortuitous coincidence that the rest of them had been threatened by the bus conductor and had got off with Major Nair at his base, where the bus that carried Jagdeep and those all-important permits had been stopped for a routine search.
Major Nair inspected the papers, and confirmed that everything was in order. Thrilled that they had cleared the last hurdle on their way to Mokukchung, they cheerily clambered onto the bus.
They were struck by the sudden change in mood inside the bus. Fifty pairs of Naga eyes stared at them coldly, completely lacking any sign of welcome or warmth. Nobody moved to offer a seat. The five of them walked in and stood silently in the aisle, their happiness suddenly tempered in the glare of those unfriendly stares.
As Adi stood in the narrow passageway, his eyes fell on a row in the rear that was occupied by a solitary man sitting next to the window. The rest of the seats looked empty. Adi walked over, hoping to find a place to sit. However, when he reached the seat, Adi was surprised to discover a Naga woman stretched out on the empty seat. She lay with her head on her husband’s lap, her hands propping up her huge pregnant belly. She looked distinctly uneasy as she shifted position every few minutes.
A gush of his previous not-so-memorable trysts with obstetrics flooded Adi. He backed away quickly, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.
Meanwhile, a jawan boarded the bus and motioned for one of the Naga men to follow him
. They got off the bus together and disappeared into one of the tents.
Ten minutes passed and then fifteen. The driver, who had been expecting the inspection to be a short affair, switched off the engine and stepped outside. Taking a cue from him, some more passengers trickled out of the bus.
Adi looked outside. The road was deserted as far as his eyes could see. A few other vehicles passed by the checkpoint uneventfully, their tires searing the tar road as they disappeared into the distance. Other than the soft rustle of leaves and the chirp of crickets, the area was exceptionally quiet for the time of day.
An hour passed in wait. The sun began to bear down hard. Soon most of the passengers had abandoned the bus, escaping its suffocating heat for the cool comfort of the shady trees nearby.
Adi sat underneath a leafy tree, silently studying the movements within the tents for any sign of a resolution to the problem. Soon Pheru joined him. He sat quietly for a few minutes, tearing up a dry leaf into small bits and flicking them.
‘What is the use of all this studying, huh Adi?’ he said suddenly. ‘I mean…all you need in life is a nice wife, a little land and a couple of buffaloes, right?’
Adi looked at him questioningly.
Pheru continued to mangle the dead leaves and said, ‘Buffaloes can give you milk, and till your soil…and all you need is a wife to cook, clean and love, right Adi?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You think some nice girl like that will marry me?’ he said, looking ahead.
Adi followed his line of vision and saw a pretty Naga girl, squatting by the side of the road, staring into the distance.
Adi smiled at him. ‘You’d better propose to her and find out, Pheru. Since you won’t show up for the Pharmac exam this time, you’ll fail. If she says yes, start looking for a piece of land and the price of buffaloes.’