When belief came crumbling

The child convulsed. Taskera held him close to her bosom, she could feel the rising temperature of the child’s body. Her sunken white eyes were bereft of emotion. She tilted her head to peep outside the window and realized it was still an hour to sunset. Holding the child closer to her bosom, she pulled the blouse upwards allowing the child access to her sagging nipples. The child had little strength even to suckle, she continued to hold her young child in her lap. Her creased face showed no reaction. In the other corner of the thatched cottage, Jamrul sat, knees bent, smoking a bidi.

Jagdishpur, a tiny hamlet on the banks of river Tons was a sleepy village with a native population that had always considered modern technology an anathema. Traditional customs and beliefs, some several centuries old, provided an unsaid glue to the society which by choice was averse to modern technology. Life followed an altogether different pace in Jagdishpur, much like the flow in the river Tons which was so slow that it hardly seemed to move.

The two graves, sitting on a crumbling pedestal on the bank of the river, occupied a revered place in the hierarchy of beliefs among the natives of Jagdishpur. Nobody knew the historical truth of these structures but the folklore ascribed great powers to be associated with the gentlemen who, as natives believed, occupied their hallowed place inside the graves.

Come Thursday and the area around the graves would become a mini bazaar. Sweetmeat shops selling fake saffron coloured laddoos and fluffy sugar cakes sprang up from nowhere. Women spread their hand made bamboo crafts on old muslin cloth spread on the parched mud. Men carrying makeshift bamboo stands sold red and yellow ribbons and scarfs. The mini bazaar would come to life just after sunset when the caretakers of the graves, in green sequined attire, took their place beside the two crumbling structures decorated heavily with flowers and incense sticks.

Visitors in different hues would converge from far away villages. They all paid obeisance to the graves with silent prayers in their hearts. The caretakers deftly collected money from the visitors without any obvious effort. Among the visitors to the graves were old, infirm and sick seeking good health, mothers carrying ill and malnourished children praying for the wellbeing, able bodied males praying silently for sustenance. There were also families which came for getting divine help to ward off evil spirits. Young women were brought to this paradoxically revered spot for evicting demons, djinns, or other spiritual entities.

Today was a Thursday and Taskera looked forward to taking her two-year-old child to the village’s revered spot to seek the blessing of the two dead men in an effort to cure her child’s illness. Clutching the child close to her chest she made way through the beaten path across the meadow to the bank of the river Tons. Since her childhood Taskera had seen her grandparents and parents follow this ritual for seeking divine help to cure diseases, solve family disputes and provide relief from the evil effects of ghosts and djinns. 

The spot adjoining the graves was bustling with activity when Taskera reached the place just after sunset. She made her way through the group of women who had come to this place to be cured through exorcism. The custodian of the graves was busy mumbling some inaudible verses and handing over a part of the offering of sweetmeat pieces. In his left hand he held an assortment of crumbled currency notes which had been given by visitors as part of their fee for seeking the divine intervention.

When her turn came, Taskera held the child on her hands in an extended position and looked towards the custodian of the graves. The man with a mystical appearance and a long beard looked at the child and waved a peacock feather over the face of the child. He sprinkled a few drops of holy water on the face and the lips of the semi-comatose child. The sudden sensation of cold water made the child stir. Taskera found a ten rupee note which she had concealed inside her blouse, she silently pushed the note in the left hand of the man in the green sequined dress and took a few steps back without turning backwards. This was a ritual which everyone followed in an effort to show respect to the divine powers of the occupants of the grave. As she moved back someone else moved forward. The routine continued. Taskera took the return journey along the same path with relief in her mind. She felt the child’s body was less hot. Silently she thanked the divine power of the grave.

While Taskera was away seeking divine help through obeisance to the graves, Jamrul found time to go to his friend Sabir’s cottage a few lanes away. Jamrul knew Sabir would not be at home, he usually went to pick rags after evening. Jamrul found Sabir’s wife Chenu at the door. Chenu was the heartthrob of the locality. Although not very fair but her charming looks and soft voice was a magnet for the menfolk. Jamrul also had a soft corner for Chenu. Often, he gifted her with artificial jewelry and makeup kits. Today also he carried a silver-coloured anklet for Chenu. There had been some instances in the past when Chenu had allowed Jamrul to satisfy his instincts. Jamrul implored Chenu for a fling, she said a passive ‘no’. Jamrul perceived her ‘no’ as a ‘yes’. He pulled her towards him. There was a sound of rikshaw outside, Chenu realized Sabir had come home. She pulled herself away from Jamrul.

When Taskera returned home she did not find Jamrul. She checked the few aluminum containers and found them to be empty save for a few fistfuls of rice in one of them. Today she had no money, the money she had had been spent on her visit to the grave. The child was restless. Taskera felt his forehead, she realized it was hot. She glanced around the cottage. Her eldest daughter and two younger sons had gone to sleep without dinner. A drop of tear was still fresh in the eyes of the young son who was just a year older than the one in Taskera’s lap. Taskera emptied all the rice in a utensil and put it on flame.

Jamrul’s wishes remained unfulfilled this evening. As he returned from Chenu’s shanty, his strides meandered towards the liquor shop. He had a ten rupee note in his pocket. He put his hand across the grill and pulled it back with a pouch. He reached home with his mind now relieved of all problems. The intoxicated mind also did not register the plight of three hungry children sleeping on the floor. With senses beyond his control, Jamrul using a few expletives asked Taskera to give something to eat. Taskera put the full pot of boiled rice before her husband. Seeing the bland rice infuriated Jamrul, in rage he kicked the pot. The rice spilled on the floor.

Taskera lay on the floor with the ailing child. With scant sense of belonging, Jamrul lay on the only cot in the cottage. Taskera put a hand on the forehead of her son. She felt the heat, there was also a wheezing sound while the child breathed. She lay motionless and lost count of her thoughts when her eyes closed. It was around four in the morning when, to an unknown mother’s instinct, Taskera woke and touched the forehead of her child. She felt the cold skin. She felt a strange sensation. The child was motionless and very still. A shriek came out from Taskera’s dry mouth. She grabbed the limp body and hugged it tightly. The body remained limp and cold. Somewhere far in the locality a muezzin was saying the azaan calling the faithful to the prayers. Word spread fast. Some women from the neighborhood trooped in. Someone sent a polythene bag containing tea and a pack of biscuits. Today, while the youngest of them lay dead a few feet away, the three hungry children got an early tea with a handful of biscuits.

Grief was always ephemeral in this society. There were so many challenges in everyday life that grieving over the loss of a child was a luxury. The next morning came with fresh needs of lunch and dinner. Taskera had to reach the place where she worked as a domestic help and therefore, she left home early. Jamrul loitered in the lanes doing nothing. For the last many years Jamrul had lived with the notion that he was under the influence of an evil spirit which didn’t allow him to work. He had visited the sacred graves many a times and even the custodian with the long beard had used his divine powers to help Jamrul. The society and especially Taskera easily bought his argument without protest. It was, therefore, on this pretext that Jamrul had become dependent on Taskera for earning a living.

Life moved on in Jagdishpur. The Thursdays, as usual, brought the village folk to the sacred graves for divine help in matters as diverse as disease, employment, matrimony and escape from evil spirit. In the last few years the village bazaar had seen many qualified doctors open clinics but the belief in the divine powers of the graves had made very few villagers to go to doctors for cure.

While Jagdishpur was moving at a snail’s pace, something exciting was happening in New Delhi. Following the American initiative of creating many smart cities in India, the French foreign minister had showed interest in adopting a few villages, preferably the most backward, and creating infrastructure matching international standards. An MoU had been signed between the Indian and the French governments in this regard.

The Ambassador of France to India Marie Clemente had been posted in New Delhi for just over a couple of months. She had not been able to see India. When she received the responsibility of identifying five villages for development as part of the ‘smart village’ initiative she realized it was a difficult task. She decided to take a tour of two of the most populous states, Uttar Pradesh and Bihar.

Criss crossing the difficult terrain sometimes on helicopter, at times by road and mostly by foot, Marie Clemente prepared detailed notes. After an arduous exploration of the villages of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar for seventeen days, she submitted her report and the names of the designated villages to Government of India. In the list submitted by the Ambassador, Jagdishpur was also present.

Work started in earnest for the ambitious French Government project. A team of engineers, environmentalists and planners visited Jagdishpur. News had percolated within the general populace that large scale changes were going to be made in the village. Rather than feeling happy, most of the inhabitants were skeptical. The issue had also found an echo in the village panchayat. The general consensus favoured some kind of a protest against the proposal.

Within six months of the MoU being inked between the two Governments, the proposal was approved. According to the masterplan the landscape of Jagdishpur would be changed drastically. Among the initiatives to be implemented included a multispecialty hospital, a primary and secondary school, an area devoted to small industries and a vocational training center. To create employment opportunities, the masterplan proposed development of the scenic riverbank of Tons into an amusement park.

Within a couple of months, just after the monsoon, the cranes and bulldozers started arriving at Jagdishpur. Village men and women witnessed the activities with displeasure. The work started in earnest under the supervision of French engineers. Bulldozers started levelling the ground. With security in place no one dared to question the supervisors who gave orders for the work. It was a Friday morning when the bulldozers razed the two dilapidated graves and the pedestal on which they stood. Within a day the whole landscape of the river bank had changed. The villagers looked aghast; the divine powers of the graves had vanished in dust.

Taskera too was in the crowd which witnessed the razing of the graves. Resonating the silent prayers of many in the crowd, Taskera also believed that some supernatural power would stop the bulldozers from levelling the graves. Nothing happened. Among the crowd of onlookers also stood the caretaker of the two graves who, despite being a tailor by profession, made money on every Thursday selling false hopes to a gullible innocent population.

Today Jagdishpur is a ‘smart village’. The services at the hospital ensure that no lives are lost due to want of medical attention. A few months back, Jamrul had also started to ply a rikshaw, convinced that there are no evil spirits.