It was a hot , humid , summer night. Power supply had played truant and the entire village was plunged into the darkness.One odd kerosene lamp, braving the dark, would flit like a firefly from some window some where. It was still , not a leaf moved.
Vaasudev, the night watchman, hunched on the terrace, with his back to the cool low wall, was tired of swatting flies and mopping his brow with his sodden gamcha , when he gave a start. What he saw beyond the dark, endless stretch of the paddyfield, brought his heart to his mouth.
Bare footed, he bounded down the narrow stairs, three at a time, breathless, his heart bumping against his chest.
'Maalik!Maalik!" the sheer urgency in Vaasu's voice, brought the Grand old man to the door in an instant.
Leaning forward,he whispered something into his master's ears.
'Are you sure?'.He replied, panic building up.
Vaasu nodded, panting and mopping his brow.
The Grand Old woman was summoned up quietly and the situation explained.
She nodded, totally in the loop, quick comprehension dawning on her wrinkled face.
Vaasudev disappeared to bring reinforcements. The Grand old man rummaged in the back of his wooden almirah till his hand touched the reassuring coolness of the metal pipe.
A steady stream of villagers entered the hallowed portals of the landlords house, silently emerging with a small sleeping form in their arms.The womenfolk of the house hold were roused, and jewelleries removed from the person,quietly tied into small cloth bundles. These were quickly, noiselessly, buried in freshly dug holes, in the warm moist corners of the vast and dark cowshed. Some startled cows stopped chewing cud, and gave an enquiring mooo. All lamps were extinguished, and the sole lantern had its wick lowered to minimum.
Women and children ensconsed in safe houses, the old man sat on his watch, on the porch, on a rickety chair, his trusted hunting rifle across his knees. Other trust worthy villagers sat around, hunched in the darkness, armed with lathis, spades, and some with sickles.It was pitch dark, and night was thick with fear . No one even dared to think of chewing khaini(tobacco).
The entire night was spent in the watch. No one yawned, or moved. As the first light of the dawn fell on the village, the old man was sent by his men to catch up on his sleep. Vaasudev and few others kept a wary lookout till mid morning from the shade of the granary on the terrace.Others retired.Few ferried back the kids(still fast asleep, and wholly unaware of last nights' goings-on), women trudging in wearily, gratefully back. The old woman promised the Goddess of war of special offerings. A days wages and new clothing to all those involved in the rescue effort.
What Vaasudev saw on the fateful night was a steady stream of 'chorbattis'(torchlight)on the path to the house, via the paddyfields. In the dim light of distant' chorbattis', he also saw something which made his hair stand on end. He saw the unmistakable glint of polished metal. It was an year of bad crops and the crops standing in the fields were not ready for harvesting, yet. Thievery and dacoity were rampant. Hence the watch. Plus the news of arrival of old man's family from the town, with wads of cash(or so it was percieved) and jewellery -laden females(another over-rated rumour)
The thwarted robbery attempt would soon earn Vaasudev the rude epithet of a person who 'imagines things'(though he would vehemently deny this)and the watch on the roof would be replaced by his son-Keshudev(another name for lord krishna).
Vaasudev, the night watchman, hunched on the terrace, with his back to the cool low wall, was tired of swatting flies and mopping his brow with his sodden gamcha , when he gave a start. What he saw beyond the dark, endless stretch of the paddyfield, brought his heart to his mouth.
Bare footed, he bounded down the narrow stairs, three at a time, breathless, his heart bumping against his chest.
'Maalik!Maalik!" the sheer urgency in Vaasu's voice, brought the Grand old man to the door in an instant.
Leaning forward,he whispered something into his master's ears.
'Are you sure?'.He replied, panic building up.
Vaasu nodded, panting and mopping his brow.
The Grand Old woman was summoned up quietly and the situation explained.
She nodded, totally in the loop, quick comprehension dawning on her wrinkled face.
Vaasudev disappeared to bring reinforcements. The Grand old man rummaged in the back of his wooden almirah till his hand touched the reassuring coolness of the metal pipe.
A steady stream of villagers entered the hallowed portals of the landlords house, silently emerging with a small sleeping form in their arms.The womenfolk of the house hold were roused, and jewelleries removed from the person,quietly tied into small cloth bundles. These were quickly, noiselessly, buried in freshly dug holes, in the warm moist corners of the vast and dark cowshed. Some startled cows stopped chewing cud, and gave an enquiring mooo. All lamps were extinguished, and the sole lantern had its wick lowered to minimum.
Women and children ensconsed in safe houses, the old man sat on his watch, on the porch, on a rickety chair, his trusted hunting rifle across his knees. Other trust worthy villagers sat around, hunched in the darkness, armed with lathis, spades, and some with sickles.It was pitch dark, and night was thick with fear . No one even dared to think of chewing khaini(tobacco).
The entire night was spent in the watch. No one yawned, or moved. As the first light of the dawn fell on the village, the old man was sent by his men to catch up on his sleep. Vaasudev and few others kept a wary lookout till mid morning from the shade of the granary on the terrace.Others retired.Few ferried back the kids(still fast asleep, and wholly unaware of last nights' goings-on), women trudging in wearily, gratefully back. The old woman promised the Goddess of war of special offerings. A days wages and new clothing to all those involved in the rescue effort.
What Vaasudev saw on the fateful night was a steady stream of 'chorbattis'(torchlight)on the path to the house, via the paddyfields. In the dim light of distant' chorbattis', he also saw something which made his hair stand on end. He saw the unmistakable glint of polished metal. It was an year of bad crops and the crops standing in the fields were not ready for harvesting, yet. Thievery and dacoity were rampant. Hence the watch. Plus the news of arrival of old man's family from the town, with wads of cash(or so it was percieved) and jewellery -laden females(another over-rated rumour)
The thwarted robbery attempt would soon earn Vaasudev the rude epithet of a person who 'imagines things'(though he would vehemently deny this)and the watch on the roof would be replaced by his son-Keshudev(another name for lord krishna).
No comments:
Post a Comment