The Foothill Footage: Part 2
The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon. It was a serene, quiet and beautiful place, singular in its appearance, totally covered by flatland tea gardens, gorgeous as it looked, on the foothills of Himalayas. The conical roof-patterned small bungalow was special and quite new. It had a dinning and kitchen space in the ground floor with a dingy caretaker and store room at the backside. The first floor contained only two double bedrooms with attached baths. The conical pattern stretches to the second floor containing only one four bedroom with bath. That’s all.
In this three-roomed Cha-Bari, which was supposed to be a home-stay with much better facilities, we occupied a double bedroom on the first floor. Fortunately the other two rooms were vacant and we two were the only residents for that very day. Our luggage was kept in the room. With two adjacent rooms, there was a sprawling terrace. It was wide open and gave a panoramic view of the large tea garden.
Standing on the terrace we stretched our views to capture the gleam and luster of the setting sun behind the uncontrolled bushes of the Himalayan foothills on the western side. The coloured cover faded gradually and a dull dark blanket started to engulf the whole area.
Cha-Bari was quite an exceptional place which was singular and adoring due to its unruffled and tranquil atmosphere, particularly during our stay. The lush green tea garden gave a soothing pleasure to the eyes. The unending greenery, with no other visible building, was really spectacular. It felt special, mesmerizing. It gifted a feeling of proximity, a relationship with nature, the ground, the root of our existence!
The day was getting darker and after a long trip we fell hungry. We called the caretaker, a young boy and wanted to know what we may get with tea. He said that veg-pakora would be available. We ordered that, as anything and everything was feasible for our ravenous stomach yearning for food, especially in such a remote place when night was approaching fast.
We gave the order, waited and waited, but pakora didn’t come. After sometime the boy brought tea only. We were not interested to drink only hot tea, so we asked for some biscuits. For the fried food he said,
“Madam, it will take some time, may be half an hour.”
We morosely accepted it and dreamt for pakora, but half an hour passed and nothing of that sort came from downstairs.
In the meantime there was a further development. After fifteen to twenty minutes of our order a village woman was seen to enter the home-stay. We may well presume that she might be the cook who came from the nearby village, after being informed. But again the time advanced and darkness started to descend on the barren natural surrounding slowly, but no pakora came.
We were sitting on the terrace. The main road, emerging from the home-stay, was long enough and seemed to have some connection with nearby villages. It was getting dark and we were enjoying the silence with the diminishing sounds of the chirping of birds, retiring to their abodes.
Suddenly I saw a village woman slowly moving through the road carrying a water-filled large container on her head. She was telling something at high pitch, staring at our home-stay. The tone of her words was abusive. I kept myself alert to hear what she was telling. The only line that I could deduce was not very encouraging. She said,“….If anybody will step aside to our village, we will break his legs…”
We could understand that she was threatening us or the residents of that home-stay and warning us of dire consequences. Thus shouting she went and disappeared round the blind bend. We were surprised but could not fathom the cause of her behavior.
A faint sound of drum beating was coming from some distant village. The boy said that some home-worship of Shivji was going on, so they were beating the drums.
But our thoughts were hampered as the caretaker boy finally appeared with a plate of pakora and served it before us.
Pakora was rather poorly done, to say the least. It was highly soaked with oil and very hot. Yet we gobbled the same without any utterance as we were simply starving.
The boy, whose name was Sanouj, was a cool headed right good fellow. After we finished he came to collect plates etc. Halting him I asked, “Sanouj, why it took so much time to make just this much pakora?”
The boy smiled with a shameful look and said, “She came and prepared it. So it took some time.”
Also Read: The Foothill Footage: Part 1
I said, “Okay, we also prepare food at home. Only ten vegetable pakoras could not take so much time. It took more than an hour, you know? What was she doing? I think she was harvesting the onions from the fields..!”
Again Sanouj smiled and bent his head avoiding my look. Now, understanding his situation, I changed the topic. I asked him,
“Where is your house? I think, you are staying here alone.”
“Yes Madam,” he replied, “My house is a bit far away, five kilometers from this point, in a village.”
“So, how many members you have in your home?”
“My father is there, still working in the fields. I have an elder brother and Bhabiji, i.e. my brother’s wife. My mother has expired two years ago.”
Also Read: The Mysterious Case of The Goddess Jeans: Part 1
“Do you not visit your house?”
“Yes Madam, I do. But there is no fixed time for it. All depends on the season. Even if there is only one guest, I have to be present. When the home-stay is completely vacant, then I get a chance to visit my home for two to three days, which is very rare.”
He smiled again and said, “Here at Cha-Bari visitors come regularly. They visit even in winter. The winter is not very harsh here, as it is in the foothills of Himalayas.”
I changed the topic.
“What is there for dinner?”
“Chicken Madam,” he replied, “along with it there will be sabji, bhaji, dal, salad etc.”
I said, “Okay, okay. We will be there in the dining room, sharp at nine.”
It was dinner time. So we came out of our room and proceeded towards the stairs. There was no moon in the sky and it was pitch dark everywhere. It was difficult to trace out anything in the expansive tea garden area encircling the only home-stay.
A faint sound of drum beating was coming from some distant village. The boy said that some home-worship of Shivji was going on, so they were beating the drums.
Dinner was served. Menu was fine but the taste of the food was not. The chicken was pulpy and distasteful. I asked Sanouj, “The quality of chicken is poor. From where have you bought it Sanouj?”
Sanouj, passing his fingers through his hair, said in whining voice, “Madam I bought it from the nearby village market. Actually, the problem is, nobody wants to sell only four pieces of chicken. That’s why it is like this, he he he!”
Telling this he willfully showed some of his teeth in utter mortification. I said nothing. Silently took my food.
The great cook was sitting there on a chair in the corner of the room, engrossed in her smart phone. I asked her, “Will you not go to your house?”
Preoccupied in her job she did not bother to converse and curtly said, “Yes, my son will come to take me.”
Also Read: The Mysterious Case of The Goddess Jeans: Part 2
I was not surprised by the answer. When she came, the evening light was there, but now it was jet pitch dark and not quite safe even for a village woman to cross a shrubby barren zone. I asked Sanouj the actual name of this locality or area.
“Gajaldoba Madam,” Sanouj said, “the name of the adjoining village, where this big tea garden exists. It was constructed just before Corona period and remained closed for more or less two years. From 2022 it has been formerly opened and is getting popular gradually.”
Yes, now I could recall the board displayed outside the gate of the home-stay, where the year of its commencement i.e. 2022, was written.
The pompous cook on the other side, who was engrossed in her new modern toy, took no notice of our conversation. It seemed she was watching some video. Occasionally, she was asking the boy also about its handling and again got back to it, enraptured in fulfilling smile.
Also Read: The Mysterious Case of The Goddess Jeans: Part 3
I might well presume that her new addiction to mobile may be one of the major causes of late pakora serving as well as the poor standard of her cooking.
I asked her again, “So, your home is in which village?”
“In Gajaldoba.”
“And what is your name?”
Now she lifted her eyes and with a vibrant smile answered,
“Puttul.”
I startled a bit and really could not hold my smile. After getting up and while leaving the dining hall I kept murmuring with paramount amusement.
Yes, “Puttul” is her perfect name —- a dark, fatty, hideous middle aged lady. A name which means a ‘doll’. Yea, a doll looking lady she is, I mumbled smilingly. And the thing that amused me most was her pride related to her beauty! How biased she is, I uttered in sheer astonishment!
We went upstairs. But after may be fifteen to thirteen minutes I had to come down again in search of a pair of scissors. Calling Sanouj I entered the room and stopped short, seeing the scenario of the dining room.
All chairs of the table were occupied as Puttul with her full grown young son and another person taking their sumptuous dinner while Sanouj was busy in serving. To my surprise, the food contained every item including chicken.
I quickly satisfied my purpose and came back, as I never wanted to embarrass Sanouj, the fellow whom I liked. But the mystery of only four pieces of chicken became clear to me in a flash. I accepted the fact and became thankful to realize how things happen in the background.
To be continued..
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Doctorate from Calcutta University. Authored 26 books, two in English and the rest in Bengali, mainly on travelogue, Ramakrishna Vivekananda literature, popular science and miscellaneous topics. Wrote several articles both in English and Bengali. Also delivered invited lectures.
