A lazy summer evening in the countryside...the sound of the 'conch-shells' and the aroma of the 'agarbatti' (incense-stick) hath filled the air. An usual power outage had plunged all the tiny thatched huts in darkness. The village folks, after the day's hard work in the fields, were heading towards the pond to get themselves rid of the mud, sweat and fatigue.
Sitting at the verandah of the only 'pukka' household, (which happaned to be my abode) I continued cursing the battalion of mosquitoes that took advantage of the darkness and consistently attacked me from everywhere. Suddenly, in the dim-light of the oil-lamp, I caught a glimpse of a face... a face that was long-forgotten...and I recognized it to be Chandan's mother. It has been more than a decade since I last saw him!
It's amazing how the human-brain works... a stimulus and that is enough to bring back a myriad of memories! This is a tale of a time when I was a part of my ancestral house that also served as the 'vacation' destination to a city-bred like me. But then one event led to another and the concept of 'nuclear-family' prevailed and here I am sitting at the verandah pondering over the past!
Chandan, my childhood playmate, belonged to the bottom of the 'misinterpreted', 'societal' caste system...'the untouchable'. Though it made no sense to me and my cousins, we were bound to fall into the 'do's and 'don't's of the society. Chandan was free-spirited and a fine artisan... he excelled in making toys from clay , carving out 'bat' from logs of wood. School didn't have much importance for him and he would often be found tending to the cows. His mother did odd jobs at a few households and his father worked in the fields as 'muliya' (servant). In this way both of them contributed to the bread and water of the family. They had nothing except a piece of land on which stood a dilapidated mud house with partings in the roof through which sun-rays sneaked in and lit the otherwise dark room.
He never complained of what life had to offer him but sometimes he revealed his coveted desire of a proper education for his younger brother. His simple and humble nature would put all my baseless yearnings of 'possession' to shame and taught me the priceless lesson of 'satisfaction of soul'.
We would, sometimes, play in the open space in front of his house and if any of our elders chanced to see us doing so... troubles awaited us! We would be asked to enter through the back-door and had had to change our clothes immediately as if we had contracted a deadly 'disease'!!
I found this disturbing and would utter a few words out of protest. I could not figure out what stopped me from turning my protest to a revolt- maybe 'age', 'respect for elders' (that we are taught right from childhood instead of respect for the 'right'), or maybe lack of sufficient reasons to advocate my cause.
But one thing I was certain of...certain that none of the elders could reach upto... or even 'touch' it... Chandan's soul !!!