Humanity

HUMANITY

(This was published in the Melange of the Sentinel on 5^th January,2014)

This is a true story, reminiscence from my maternal grandfather’s huge chest of priceless memories. The story which I am going to recount today is one of my recollections of the many evenings I had spent with my grandfather, as a young girl, when he used to narrate many of his life’s adventures, enchanting and vivid.

When I was a little school-girl, I would get a month long summer recess. This slothful month back then meant for me a week or two’s stay at my maternal grandparents’ home situated in Bharalumukh, a place only a quarter of an hour apart from my Uzanbazar house.

During my stay, apart from my Aitama cooking for me my favourite meals, the highest point would be when my grandparents would enumerate a myriad of colourful tales, some stark real and some based on fantasy.

My grandfather was and still is (inspite of him being in his early eighties now) a very successful attorney. He has a massive chamber in his house which he uses for his consultation- sessions with his clients. In that gigantic chamber filled with ominous -looking law books and legal paraphernalia was a huge rotating leather chair where I used to sit on for hours reading story-books or listening to his stories.

During one of such visits, I came across a yellowed black-and-white miniature snapshot of my grandfather as a young boy. For me it was quite a startling experience for I could never ever have imagined my tall, dark, white-haired grandfather to be this good-looking, tall, raven – haired young lad.

That day I waited impatiently for him to come back from the Courts. When he finally came, I showed him the picture and persuaded him to tell me a story of that time when he was a young boy, starting out in the world of his own.

His eyes crinkled with mirth and he said, “I will today enumerate a chronicle which forever changed my life……my perspective on people. Listen to my story carefully…I hope that you will also learn something from this narrative…”

He sat on the gigantic chair and picked me up on his lap. His eyes, wise and grey, grew misty as if his mind had already travelled to a place far-gone in time and space.

This was the story he enumerated and I have penned down now exactly as far as I can remember….

I was a young boy back then, a village lad who had come to the city of dreams, Guwahati in the quest of higher education. I used to stay in a ‘mess’ which I shared with a few others who have also left their hamlets and have come to fulfil their dreams, their aspirations like me.

Guwahati then was not like Guwahati of today. There were neither the glittering street lights bordering the ever-congested roads nor huge shopping complexes of today but was a beautiful small town with clean streets and green meadows.

I was in love with the place…it had a strong character and was dazzling to a village lad like me.

I remember I used to play football with my mates in the wide Latasil field, barefoot and clad in a white-starched dhoti.

Sometimes I would miss my mother’s food but my dream to make my life successful used to stifle all my yearnings to go back to my village.

I used to take law classes in the Law College, learning all the principles of law and weaving dreams to be a great lawyer.

During that time, law classes used to be held in the night-time in the New Arts Building of the hallowed educational institution of that era, Cotton College.

I used to walk everyday to my college to attend my law lessons.

This long walk from my mess to my school at night would always invigorate my senses……This was the time when the city used to sleep and I would be awake, my senses heightened.

I had brought in some dhotis and paltry number cotton kurtas from my home when I came to Guwahati in the summer. I used to wear them alternately, pressing them with a coal-heated iron.

As time went by, the harsh winters rolled in.

One such winter night, I was walking back alone from my classes to my residence.

It was a cold, bitter night……so cold that even the street dogs were sleeping quietly , huddled together on the icy streets.

I ambled on; my brisk walk had made me quite warm… my thin, flimsy kurta and dhoti fighting hard to keep me warm on that bleak, bitter night.

That fateful night I decided to take a shorter route…I wanted to get indoors as soon as possible. The course I chose was a path which I had been warned against……There were rumours that a group of goons used to frequent that route.

As I started to walk down that dark alley, I could feel my heart quaver in trepidation. A silent prayer in my heart, holding my books tightly, I treaded on as noiselessly as I could. Minutes passed as hours, all I could hear were the sound of my sandals squishing on the cold, concrete street.

As I glanced around I could neither see nor hear anything out of the ordinary and my heart, slightly placated, quelled all the ill notions.

A tune on my shivering lips, I walked on glancing at the houses where people were probably sleeping, snug in their warm beds.

Suddenly I heard a rustle…I came to a standstill.

From my vantage point I could see a group of people advancing towards me. They were talking garrulously or maybe the stillness of the night had made their voices seem even more sonorous.

I hesitated….Gathering my wits, I started to walk again.

I quickly made a mental note; “Other than my books I do not have anything of value on me”, I thought, slightly reassured.

Suddenly one of the men called out, “Boy! Come here….”. Fearing the worst, I approached the ‘mob’, clutching my books closely to my chest.

A stout dhoti-clad man came up to me, his piercing eyes never leaving my face. “Boy!” the man spoke, his voice loud and clear.

I looked up slowly.

By then, my fear had subsided…I looked at the man calmly.

“You are a young boy. What are you doing on this street so late at night?” he asked. I folded my hands as a mark of respect.

“Dada! I study in the night college. I was returning to my mess after attending my night classes”.

“Show me your books!” the man commanded.

Quietly I handed over my books, my only valuable possession then to this utter stranger.

The other men looked on curiously.

“Hmm!” the man leafed through the pages and handed them back to me.

“Which place do you belong to?” he asked, his voice cutting across the still night. “Dada! I belong to a small hamlet…..I have come to Guwahati to study law….I am a student”, I replied. What he did and inquired next astounded me……left me baffled and speechless.

He asked me, “Why are you wearing such a thin dhoti and kurta on such a cold night?”

Words failed to escape my lips, I did not reply….I just looked back into his eyes. The man stared deep into my eyes…..probably he was trying to gauge whether I was speaking the truth.

Moments passed like an eternity. Suddenly he cleared his throat.

“If you catch a cold now, how will you study hard and become a lawyer? Foolish! I must say….”

He glanced towards the other men, his lip curled into a wide smile.

The other men looked on without a word, maybe they were intrigued at the way the entire encounter was unfurling.

“I am Modon Goonda…people fear me…..I can see that you are an honest man, I can sense a dignity in you……Here take this…!”

The man promptly unwrapped his shawl from his body and held it in his hands. “Study hard son! Someday I know you will be successful and maybe someday you will remember me….”

I looked at him astounded and felt the prick of hot tears stinging my eyes. Gently the man placed the shawl on my shoulders.

He patted my back and signalling to his men, this unknown man walked away silently.

I did not know whether that man was a messiah of god or was it just a dream. But the next morning when I held that shawl in my quivering hands, I knew that the night before had actually happened….. it was real.

That day, I knew that God existed and he existed in the kindness of man…… in the humanity of man. I resolved that day, that whatever happens in my life I will always try to lend out help to my fellow-men…..men with whom I was destined to share time & space in this life…..I would try to emulate the goodness of Modon Goonda.

I remember my eyes brimming with tears when I heard the story.

My grandfather, when he became a successful attorney, helped a lot of communities and people and he, without a fail, still continues to do so. I know that a good man inspired him to do good for others.

The story my grandfather told me that particular evening touched my heart profoundly. It was not a story depicting a great act of valour or a profound miraculous event occurring. It was a simple tale based on the kindness coming from unexpected quarters, a story extolling the fact that kindness and humanity still existed back then.

My enumeration is not a eulogy towards my grandfather but homage to his times when people were men exuding virtue and greatness, not human beings of the present…cogs in the well-oiled machinery of today’s materialistic life.