Sitting by the canal side

Kanai-da was somewhere in his eighties when the last time I had seen him. He was older than my grandfather but that was what everybody in my village called him. People said he had lost his family in a flood. I remembered him sitting most of the times beside a canal under a banyan tree. My summer vacations brought me a trip to village, for which I eagerly waited for the rest of the year. Running around paddy fields, plucking wild berries and fishing in the river, with my friend Budo, the days were full of adventures, which later I brought to share with my school friends.

It was that first time, I had come back from village and unlike other times, I had nothing to tell. Friends asked, to which I shoved away, and to surprises and strange replies, I made a somber face. Maybe I was growing up and no more it made sense to rant stories of my village adventures to my city friends, who maybe, could least, have understood the emotions which I tried to convey. But that time it was something else. Something happened and to which till date, I question myself and try giving different answers at different times.

Kanai-da spoke very less. Most of the times I had seen him sit on the bank of that canal, gazing through his deep buried eyes towards the oblivion. His presence was so much taken for granted that many a times people didn’t even know that he was around. He was unmoved to teases of children and comments of elders. It was only in the night that he went inside his hut and the next morning when I was out, plucking berries or riding the bullock cart, I saw him sitting in that same place. Once I was inquisitive and asked Budo about him. That was when I came to know a bit about him.

That wasn't a different afternoon and after gulping down my lunch I came out to play again. Budo had promised to meet me after lunch to finish a game of marbles. But he wasn’t there yet. I waited under the shadow of bamboo shrubs when I saw Kanai-da coming from a distance on the aisles of a paddy-field. He came up to me and stopped.

“Are you the grandson of Bhola?” he asked. His deep throat voice made me believe one thing, that he wasn’t what some called him, mad.

“Yes” I replied.

He smiled and for the first time I saw him closely. His face was all covered with beard and wrinkles, but his eyes, very gentle eyes they were, like blessing the whole world through them. He turned back and started to go away.

“Why do you sit by that canal?” I asked hurriedly.

He turned back and came close to me. I moved a couple of steps back.

“Why do you ask kid?” he said.

“Because I see you there, all the time, and no one knows, not even Budo” I stammered a bit.

“Budo! That rascal” he smirked.

“He is my friend”, I replied firmly.

“Yes, I see you both, all day, aiming pebbles at the berries” he said, his smile got wider.

“At-least we get to eat them. What do you get sitting idle for the whole day near that canal?” I asked in a bit agitated way.

“You are not that age to understand”, he replied and suddenly his smile vanished.

There was silence, except the bamboo squeaks and dry leaves rambling over inanimate corners.

Days later I was returning back to the city with my father. A two hour bus ride to reach Bishnupur from where we will get a train to reach Ranchi in 6 hours. Last night it had rained heavily. The narrow concrete over roads had vanished under brown mud. Whenever some other bus came from the front the driver had a tough time keeping the vehicle on the road. It went on about one hour till that horrible moment came.

I was almost asleep when there was a sudden and massive jerk, something stroked the bus from beneath and when I opened my eyes I saw it had tilted, almost to an angle of 45 degrees. Screams filled the air. I looked around. People had already started clinching onto their seats. My father tightly held my hand and with the other he tried clasping the seat. Seconds continued with screams getting louder till it went all blank for me. And when I regained, I found myself hanging by the window outside the bus. I saw from the corner of my eyes, there was a sharp trench over which the bus was dangling and can topple over any time. My ears were back and so did the screams. I didn’t know where my father was but I thought, amidst those screams I heard my father also, calling my name. He was still inside the bus and because of my size I had slipped outside the window. I felt my hands were trembling; sweat covered my forehead and mind was all blocked. Strength wasn’t ample to climb myself upwards inside the bus.

Some moments later I felt to let it go and then I heard my father again. I saw his hand coming out but still there was a distance to reach.  I recovered my leftover strength and tried to climb but failed. I tried again and failed again. My hands were terribly shaking and I knew the time was near when I was going to leave the fight. And just then, I clearly remember just then, someone whispered in my ears.

“I sit by the canal because I wait for it, to come and take me to my family”.

And then someone pushed me, which enabled me to get inside the window and finally reach my father’s hand. I clinched on to my father and closed my eyes. I heard people were gathering outside. They had roped the bus. We waited motionless till they rescued us.

Hours later, when I was sitting close to my father on a hospital bench, and motionless, a thought was continuously squirming inside me. I recognized the voice and also knew who pushed me.

“How did you climb that?” my father asked his voice was shaky.

I was silent and then I spoke, “Kanai-da pushed me”.

“What!” he exclaimed and then said, “Okay” as if he understood.

But I was yet to understand something.

In the evening Father called up the village panchayat-house where my grandfather was already waiting for the call.

“Your grandfather wanted to come, but I said we will be leaving in an hour”, my father said, after the phone call was over. “And the thing you said about Kanai-da…” he continued.

I looked up and saw disbelief and comfort in his eyes, both at the same time.

And then he said, “Kanai-da passed away this morning. Today morning farmers found him lying dead on that canal bank”.

Many years have passed, but till today, whenever I remember that incident and try to judge it by my educated reasoning, somehow I tend to believe against what many have said was nothing but my hallucination, my delusion. And I know Kanai-da was there and that now, when I write about him, he is still here.