REPENTANCE

A picturesque hamlet, cradled two hillocks from eternity. A big tank and a shrine that greet the guests. The village comes after the school at the entrance. Hardly fifty families stay in the village. But the village Kahakapur (my village) is rich with tales.
It thrills me when my village comes to my mind. The recollection of departed relatives haunts me when I meet their contemporaries.
One day Nana (my father) asked me “Do you remember Burunda” our farm assistant? He was our farm hand, many moons back. My grandfather was a land lord. We did not think of purchasing fruits like mango, jack fruit and cashew etc which grew in abundance in old days in our orchard. Tears filled eyes now while tasting the artificially ripened fruits being purchased from the market or from the vendor. I could not understand why Nana suddenly raised Burunda issue. Bou (my mother) and my other siblings were around. Even my brother-in-law and other sisters were not aware of him; since they were least attached to our village, but myself was more close to village than others. Even while passing the bridge at Humma on train the landscape of my village comes to my mind.
I did not count Burunda so important. Why his topics came up? Is he dead? Some mishappening took place? I did not have any information of Burunda?
His face, his figure a dark complexioned, emaciated man comes to mind. He was workaholic and glutton. He eats about half kg. of boiled rice along with a dry mango peace, boiled potato or brinjal with salt with great satisfaction. The farm labourhands ate boiled rice. Unless they ate how could they work in the field? He had carried me to neighbouring village, acquainted me with our mango orchard, farm lands on his broad shoulder. I had not completely forgotten him. But there was nothing special about him to be remembered. Many farm-hands had come and gone, he was one among them. I looked inquiringly to my father. His face was heavy with emotion on the verge of tears. He is always so. He is emotional, under a rough exterior on rare occasions.
My grandma was very affectionate. In her days she completed seventh standard. It was about ninety years back. She had sharp memory and could recite ‘Bhagabat’, ‘Manabaodha Chautisha’ and Mahabharata, which she rote. Her talent could not come to light. She became housewife like other girls of her time in the daily chorus of life. But she had a distinct personality. Her eyes were filled with tears when she was reciting the poem ‘Kalijai’. She was haunted by the fact that one of my paternal aunties was married in a remote village inside Chillika Lake. She was in the habit of weeping silently. These are past and a distant dream now.
There was a ‘granary’ in our house – nobody will understand the term. It was made of wood and bamboo could contain hundred ‘Bharana’ (one bharana is equal to 80 kgs. of paddy). Besides this our last room close to kitchen was a store house of rice. This is not my main purpose of discussion.
My granny though different from other village women folk, had womanly virtues. We had a rich harvest of paddy and rice. It was hard to identify if some of it were stolen due to its abundance.
The women folk moved around in the backyard of household hardly came to the front, similarly the men folk hard came to this portion of the household.
The village was frequented by fisher women, bangle men and tattoo making women of their trades to eke out their living. Most of the times the male members were act on farm work. The wares purchased against paddy or rice on barter. But our family had two earning members with cash in hand. In those days money was a powerful medium of exchange. Grandma had some cash in her hand and gave to her grand children on their visit to our home.
She was forgetful by nature and could not trace things and I had taken advantage of it a lot. I was being summoned to trace the missing walking stick, medicine, tobacco pot, spectacles etc. The booty on this score helped to purchase books, other than text books. The rice stack served as her locker. She was in the habit of keeping household goods even gold rings there. My grandfather did not like this, but things were as usual, there was no change in her habit. Both of them are no more. They had become stars in the sky. They came in dreams, stir the mind, feel eyes with tears even today. They departed one after other in three months interval. It was fifteen years back, but seems as if it took place only yesterday. Their pyres were very close. Two saplings of Banyan and Peepal were planted on the spot of their cremation. Now they are two fully grown up trees with deep foliage. But don’t have luxuriant growth. Some one advised to replace the old soil from their root. But it is not an easy task.
In the mean while Nana has retired. He is the worthy son of his parents. He has devoted his time towards development work in the village. The temple tank was made clear of the weeds, the village got rid of wild vegetation around it, and a pedestal for the deity was renovated. But the prime task was to fill the root around the trees with new soil, but it was not so easy a task.
Of course relatives extended helping hand to Nana. Now I am coming back to Burunda episode. He was contemporary to Nana, hardly junior to him by three to four years in age: so he was calling ‘Bhaina’ (elder brother). He misspells the word ‘Bhaina’ as Baina. He was a ‘Telugu’ so handicapped in chaste Oriya pronunciation. He was an object of amusement of our elders. It was 30 years back. He was farm-hand of ours. My grandparents were dependent on him as Nana and dada (my uncle) were away from home. He had free access, and became a part of our household. In course of time he left the job at our household, it was quite usual then. He had emotional attachment to a point with us. He purchased cultivable land and became self dependent.
Whenever my parents and grand parents made to our village, he would call on them. He lived in a near by village. After exchange of pleasantries he would go back.
One day while my father was at our village he came to him and said that he had a dream of our departed grandparents. My father told that they had a liking of him and had devotion towards them, so it was natural to have dream of them.
But things recurred. Nana asked him whether they were reproaching him.
‘No’ said Burunda.
Then what? Asked Nana.
Burunda! Have you partaken your meal? Go have it. Burunda wiped tears.
Nana thought Burunda had attachment with our family, so he dreamt of them. Time and things went on. Nana was engaged in his usual work of removing old soil from the root of the two trees. Burunda volunteered to assist him.
Nana forbade him. He was ageing. But he insisted on and Nana gave in on conditions of payment of wage like other.
But he sprang surprise denying taking remuneration. Nana could not press him on his insistence of honorarium.
Mead day meals were prepared in open. After it, all including Nana took rest under shady trees to resume the work after a while. Burunda came closer to Nana. He was marking Burunda was in two minds to disclose some secrets.
“Will you tell me something”? Asked Nana
“Yes Baina, I have to say some thing.”
“Then tell me”.
“Not now. In alone, I will say”. Said Burunda.
So both of them walked a little distance from the work site. Sequence of events will be like this if narrated in a book.
Suddenly Burunda caught hold of Nana’s hand asked for pardon, eyes fill with tears. Nana was taken aback.
While he was working as a domestic help at our household, my grand mother entrusted him the task of sweeping. He came upon three hundred rupees in course of sweeping and arranging rice bags. Twenty five years back, it carried a great value. He succumbed to the temptation and took it away stealthily and left the job.
He purchased land, developed it by his sheer labour, got his daughters married off in well-heeled family, gave education to his sons and tested the taste of life.
“But ‘Baina’ I am not a thief. I did it out of avarice. Nana became dumb with such a confession. Is such a character is surviving on earth? He has met many people in his long career.
Burunda fell silent. Nana kept his hand on his back.
“You did not misutilise the money. What harm you had done? Nothing. Rather you have built your life with it. Nothing to be worried of it. You were another child of my parents. Have you ever dreamt of my parents rebuking you”?
“No” said Burunda.
That means they were satisfied with your conduct. So don’t think yourself guilty. Burunda got rid of the burden he carried on these days. The next morning he handed a five hundred rupees note and implored Nana to use it in the temple building work. With the end of narration, I found tears in Nana’s eyes. All sitting around him were silent.
But, I was thinking of my grandma. Probably that money was given to her either by Dada or Nana without grandfather’s knowledge. She might have kept it in the rice gunny in the absence of Almirah or cash box and might had forgotten it. The thing is that, with the help of it he could build his life.
I am dealing with many so called big sorts, their attitude to pay due tax, then I recollect Burunda, who laid foundation of life. Can’t these fellows share Burunda’s attitude towards life?