Krishnokoli

Setting aside her luggage, Rai threw herself on the sofa. She had come home for a week. Holi was around the corner, and Rai had taken leaves at her office for a couple of days...so combining the weekend and Holi, she had a week-long break to be at home.

"Take some rest today...you would be tired after the journey," said Rai's mother Rashmi, handing her the cup of tea; " Flying from Pune to Kolkata itself takes two and half hours...and top of that you took an early morning flight. But tomorrow we will do the packing for our trip."

"Oh yes.I remember that. We will...how many days is the trip for?" Rai asked, sipping her tea.

"We leave day after tomorrow, early morning by car," her mother said; "we should reach Shantiniketan by noon. The next day is Holi celebration. We will stay back a day after that, to roam around a little. We start for home the next day."

Shantiniketan was one of the most frequented places for Rai's family....as was the case with most of the Bengali people residing in Kolkata.

Nestled in the Birbhum district of West Bengal..which in itself was a unique world both geologically, with rough red soil underneath hillocks scattered hither and thither; and culturally…..Shantiniketan was a small town that had been earlier envisioned by Maharshi Debendranath Tagore..a great philosopher and key influencer during the Bengali Reneissance. It later flourished further around the Vishwabharati University founded by his son Rabindranath Tagore. Continuing with the past tradition, students there still pursued education ..which comprised of mixed curriculum of science, philosophy, humanities, and cultural studies …. in the form of the Ashrama system, where classes were conducted in the open air, under large trees. A religion-agnostic prayer hall with no idol inside, called Upasana Griha (Meditation House)….which was a reminiscence of the original Brahmo Samaj ……..with marble steps, floor and beautifully tinted Belgium glasses served as the prayer assembly where students and faculties would gather to sing Tagore’s songs and chant Sanskrit slokas to start their days, or during Cultural celebrations.

Every year, Shantiniketan would host famous events like Poush Mela (a fair that happens in Winter, during the Bengali month of Poush) with textile and handicraft companies from across Asia putting up their stalls. Nobel Laureate Amartya Sen (who had his own house at Shantiniketan, a few steps away from Rai’s father’s office guesthouse); movie actors and actresses, political figures could be easily spotted during this carnival. While the fair would be hosted in a large field called Bhuvandangar Maath (it has now been shifted to another spot), students of Vishwabharati would carry on with their traditional musical performances in the Campus and Ashram areas. Santhals ( Tribals or Adivasis of Bengal) would walk down from their villages to set up stalls of tribal jewelleries, artefacts and also to perform folk dances. Rai had visited this fair many times as a child, with her parents. Besides this, there were other events like Nandan Mela, Vasantotsav, birth and death anniversaries of Rabindranath Tagore..which would be hosted in this town throughout the year.

This time, Rai was visiting the place during Vasantotsav or simply, Holi – the Vasant Utsav or Spring Festival.

The guest house of Rai’s father was a two-storeyed building of Bungalow pattern, with three rooms on the ground floor; each having an attached balcony and a private washroom, with a common kitchen. The landlady stayed on the first floor. Each balcony would overlook the backyard of the house, beyond which was a large field which used to be a water body at some point in the past, and would still turn into a shallow one during monsoon. The front portion was a vast land that was home to a rich ecosystem of various flora and fauna. It sure would have been a large garden at some point in time, which could have seen better times. But now it was a less maintained mini forest with tall, gigantic trees, dense bushes; with hens, pigs, goats safely roaming around with their newly bred little ones…which, in fact, added to the ambiance.

On their very first day at Shantiniketan, Rai and her parents ventured out to the local market for shopping. They were already sleepy with the 165km drive from the city, which stretched well beyond 7-8 hours as they had taken a break in between for tea and meals. The next day was the Holi celebration during which there were the usual, beautiful dance performances by the students, followed by playing with colors across the campus. Everyone irrespective of being a student, local residents, NRIs, professors or tourists would play with each other with bright powder colors. Groups of students and groups of Santhals would be seen forming circular groups and singing or dancing. It was festive all over. Rai was enjoying but wasn’t much amused. She had grown familiar with all of it. It was almost like her second home now…she knew each and each turn and bend of the Ashram roads now.

“So, Rai…how’s your new job life going?” asked her father Indrajit, while the three of them were strolling along the quiet roads in front of their guest house the same evening after Holi festivities were over, “ I hope you’re enjoying your first feeling of financial independence! But do start planning on your savings as well, my dear…I mean, most of the days when we call you up, you’re having dinner out…”

“Relax, Dad” Rai replied, her eyes stuck on the mobile phone as she tried to catch network in the partial rural locality, “ See…many of my college batchmates are also working around the same locality in Pune. So we keep catching up often. It doesn’t look good if I don’t socialize!”

“That’s okay, dear..” Rashmi said, “ but in the process of socializing don’t forget to invest in yourself. “

“What do you mean?” Rai looked up and asked.

“See, your Dad is right. If you end up spending all your time and money on your job, and on dining and partying every alternate day….then what are you left with? You wake up late on alternate days, rush to office, slog till evening, eat food outside, come home late just to catch sleep. Well, what about your hobbies? You learnt to dance for a decade, and even were so passionate about it during your engineering years…….why aren’t you pursuing that anymore, for example? “

“Oh ..dance, yeah..well..” Rai stammered, a little thoughtful this time, “you’re actually right, there is indeed a dance class nearby. I always thought of joining it, but never had time.”

“See? That’s exactly our point,” Rashmi said, looking at Indrajit as he nodded in agreement,” Also, you’re in your early twenties right now…before you know you would be hitting the thirties. Time flies, and trust me, we women often end up getting too engrossed in responsibilities to take care of ourselves. Before you would even know it……your skin, hair and most importantly your bones will start showing signs of aging. Aging is inevitable. Then why not do it in a graceful way?”

“You mean, age gracefully?” Rai chuckled, as the three of them sat on a bench at a small tea stall; “what does that mean?”

“That means taking care of yourself while you have time!” Rashmi explained, while her husband went on to order tea,” hit the gym..build some muscles to strengthen your bones….there’s no point in inviting osteoporosis too early in your life. Both I and your father are diabetic. Working out or dancing regularly will help you at least keep genetic ailments at bay. Don’t eat out so often. If they’re your real friends, they won’t desert your if you cut down socialization by half at least. And in the whole process, shell out some money for nurturing yourself at the spa or a salon once in a couple of months, or keep saving to have that long-awaited vacation in someplace you've always wanted to go. We raised you to be an independent woman. So make use of your independence in pampering and treating yourself; while balancing out your dependence on others for socialization.“

“Here, hold your tea”, said Indrajit, handing steaming hot tea in earthen kulhads.

“So ..what’s the plan tomorrow, “ Rai asked, sipping her tea.

“Tomorrow’s going to be fun !” Indrajit said, trying to lighten the mood of the mother-daughter duo, “ Let’s drive to the Khoai first, and then into the further interiors to see the Santhal villages.”

“Oh right, yes I remember those places…..you had taken me once when I was a small child,” Rai recalled.

“Yes, but let’s go once again….” Rashmi said, “ You were too small back then…you won’t remember everything. And, these places are such that they tend to develop newer perspectives in you every time you visit .”

Rai lowered the window glasses of their car as they drove through the straight road amongst light forests of Sonajhuri trees growing in the red laterite soil. It was bright day time, yet the traces of coolness in the breeze reminded her that they were somewhere close to the Kopai river. Soon, the rough-yet-beautiful mini canyons caused by water and wind erosion around Kopai, were visible. This landscape was popularly called Khoai ( whose literal meaning in Bengali was eroded land), and had been fondly referred to by Tagore in his poems, artists like Ramkinkar Baij in his sculptures and paintings; and so on. Indrajit pulled aside their car to a corner near the canyons. As they stepped down, Rai realised the place was so quiet that she could hear humming from the OHT wires. She walked towards the edge of the canyons, where a group of Bauls (mystic folk singers of Bengal; who played Ektara while singing) were preparing to sit down and start their music.

“It’s like a jamming session,” Rai laughed, telling her mother who had walked up to her meanwhile,” we used to have a lot of jamming…though mostly on English songs….back in Engineering days”.

“That’s nice, “ Rashmi smiled, patting her back, “what happened to those now? You don’t sing anymore?”

“No..I mean who has got time for singing during job life….you need everyone to come together for jamming..” Rai explained.

“You can still try…try to get people together. I’m sure you have likeminded people among your friends. And meanwhile, you can keep practicing songs on your own too” Rashmi said.

“Songs? On my own? For what!” Rai said, with eyes widened, quizzing Rashmi.

“For yourself,” Rashmi smiled,” Your father loved to hear Rabindrasangeet in your voice. You learnt singing for so many years as well. Why let go of it? Just take out thirty minutes a week and practice singing…so that if a sudden opportunity comes, your voice will be somewhat polished. And if nothing else…just sing for your own happiness.” Rashmi said, "After all...Rabindranath Tagore has gifted us with songs for every kind of mood!"

Pausing, Rashmi put her hand on Rai’s shoulder, who was now immersed in thoughts; and said “ Don’t let your passions die, my daughter. End of the day; after having done your duty both at your job and your family; this is what you’ll return to…this is what will define your very own spot.”

“Look at them,” Rashmi said, pointing towards the Bauls,” They are singing probably expecting tourists to come down to this part from Shantiniketan. But even when they have no audience, they look so happy while singing !”

“What are you both up to?” Indrajit said as he walked up to Rai and Rashmi,” I brought you both here at noon so that we can enjoy the scenic beauty here before more crowd pours in. These spots are hot favorites among the tourists who come during the festivities. Come, let’s move on to the villages.”

Keeping some money for the Bauls, they got into the car and drove further into the world of red soils.

Having been a regular visitor, Indrajit and Rashmi were now known faces among the tribals there.

They would usually stop by the house of Sumati, a relative of the whole-time cook who used to serve the guests at their accommodation. Over time, she and her husband had been able to transform their original mud hut with the thatched roof into a two-storeyed structure. Their children were staying at the hostel and studying in a school in Bolpur, which was the nearest city with a major railway station.

“You’ve come after so many days! Please..come here….oh your daughter has grown into a young lady now! We had always seen her as a small child !” Sumati exclaimed in a single breathe in her usual cheerful tone....in her tribal-accented Bengali.

Rai smiled at her. She remembered Sumati. She used to be a well-toned dark beauty in her youth. Now, even after years, although she had grown a few streaks of white hair ….she was still donning them with style by tying them into her signature bun; which was decked in a bunch of red, wildflowers.

“Where are you? How long will you take?” Sumati screamed, addressing her husband Govind.

Govind rushed into the front yard of the house with a khatiya, with an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry Darling, I was feeding the goats,” he apologised to his wife sweetly, in their local dialect. Then, turning towards their guests he asked them to sit and make themselves comfortable.

While Indrajit and Rashmi took their places, Rai spotted a bunch of ducklings roaming around in trail behind their mother duck, disappearing into the bush at times, and coming out.

“They stay here?” Rai asked Sumati.

“Yes yes….there’s a small pond behind our hut, they keep swimming there mostly” Sumati explained, smiling;” Go go..check them out !”

Rai ran to follow the ducks along, while her parents kept catching up with Govind and Sumati about their children’s education.

Quacking all their way, coming out of the bush, the ducks walked at their own leisure, this time further towards the residential area. Following them, Rai kept walking. Soon, she looked up and noticed she was on a narrow road, smeared in dusty red soil; lined with more huts on either side. Little Santhal kids had stepped out of their homes to stare at the unfamiliar face. One kid ran after the ducks who entered his hut’s backyard and plunged with them into the pond behind his own house; splashing water and playing with them. Rai stepped ahead and tried asking one small girl her name, but the kid smiled shyly and ran back to her home. Rai looked around. Young men and women were returning after a day’s selling of handicrafts, jewelleries, and potteries, probably at Bolpur, the closest city with a major railway station ; or among the tourists of Vasantotsav. Some were engaged in creating more items for selling the next day. Mothers were sitting on the porch of their huts, brushing the hair of their kids.

Despite their economic status, the Santhals were well built…most probably because of being physically active and not having the luxury to access deep-fried, street or junk food. The ladies wore simple yet colorful cotton sarees, teaming those with bright-hued flowers and leaves on hair. Blackish silver-colored anklets, bangles, and necklaces with multiple earrings complemented their beautiful, naturally shining, dusky complexion. Some of the huts even had earthen sculptures made on the walls for beautification.

Rai started strolling back to where her parents were sitting, checking the huts around. Each and every house around her had a neat and washboard-like flat, clean porch, which was a clear sign of discipline maintained in terms of daily maintenance……even if it was nothing more than a small piece of barren soil in front of the house. By the time she reached Sumati’s place, it was almost sunset time. The orange rays of the sun were purer and stronger here than the cities, shining through a pollution-free air; piercing through the tall trees; and spreading across the village.

Govind and Sumati had gathered a few of their neighbors and arranged for their typical leisure activity of dancing and singing. Beautiful tribal ladies across age groups gathered, holding hands, forming a semicircle, while men brought in their Madol (music instrument like a dholak) and Flutes. Turning the quaint corner into a magical world, they started singing in chorus and dancing in synchronization, to the intoxicating beats of Madol, and melody of the flutes. Before long, Rai and Rashmi too found themselves joining the ladies, matching steps automatically …as if they had acquired that infectious energy….while Indrajit filmed their dance.

It was dark by the time they started driving back to their accommodation. The next day they would be driving back home. Indrajit was driving, with Rashmi beside, while Rai kept humming the tribal tune sitting behind.

“So, Rai…did you enjoy?” Indrajit asked his daughter.

“Yes, Dad! It was a great experience…I feel we have a lot to learn from them,” Rai said, enthusiastically.

“Hold on….I only thought you were having fun! What has made you so philosophical?” Indrajit asked, amused.

“ You see…Dad…look at the Bauls, the Santhals….they work so hard. There’s no doubt that they’re poor, they take pains in making both ends meet…but, at the end of the day…they are such happy souls;” Rai said; “ maybe because they sing their heart out, they dance their way into unity, or maybe simply because they have a systematic life …I don’t know. But I can always try to learn…”

“See? I told you ..these trips help you develop fresh perspectives,” Rashmi said, turning back to look at Rai for confirmation.

Rai, who had been staring into the darkness outside dotted with lights from distant huts, turned back to her mother, smiled, and took out her mobile phone.

“What happened? Is there network here? You need to make a call?” Rashmi asked.

“ Yes Mom, there’s a slight network here….I just found two dance classes in Pune, near the place I live” Rai said, her eyes still glued to the phone, a smile across her lips, “ I’ll bookmark these….I’ll call them up tomorrow for inquiry. I’ll join as soon as I’m back !”

Rashmi smiled at her, nodded and turned front, leaning back on her seat in peace. Indrajit said, “Rai….it’s been ages since I’ve heard a Rabindrasangeet in your voice. Start a song…we are still an hour away from our guest house.”

Rai’s face beamed with joy, as she saved the dance class contact numbers; sat up and started singing “Krishnokoli”, one her Dad’s favourite songs, in which Tagore had blended the description of the dark beauty of Nature during Monsoon with the dusky beauty of a Santhal belle.