They couldn’t believe that this was happening- the abduction! Akhil and all his bachelor friends were in his ambassador car (which he lovingly referred to as his amby baby) when they witnessed the scene near the small temple in the quaint Oodlabari town. The hustle-bustle in the streets was characteristic of the place. As the owners of the temporary stalls of the haat were winding up their respective stalls, remains of their meat and vegetable stock spilled onto the muddy ground. The salty odour of sweat mingled with the nose tingling aroma of a bright yellow heap of turmeric powder. This place had a rather unique scent which still hung in the air. It was a perfect post fagua weather. With a rolling motion of the manual crank of the car window, one of the friends, seated in the car enquired, as to what the matter was! From the huddled crowd of people one of them responded “The Baba has been abducted”, some men dressed in camouflage printed dungarees and heavy boots had taken the baba away.
Appalled, Akhil and his friends stared at each other but prioritized their hunger pangs and decided to reverse and go to the Dhaba for dinner. They reached the Oodlabari Dhaba and sat on the hard wooden benches around one of the tables- smoking. The smoke twisted and curled creating a fascinating artistic display. Another friend raised his hand to call the waiter and the drinks were ordered. Each drink ordered seemed like a better and better idea to these young suave men. The jokes now got funnier and they all felt pretty witty and cool. However their spirits dampened slightly and all of them turned a bit emotional as one of them, was getting transferred. They expressed the emotion of camaraderie through silence hoping to find comfort at the bottom of the glass and then at the bottom of the bottle.
It is said that the strongest link to sparking a memory is not through sight or sound but through smell and taste. Taking in the whiff and digging into the creamy butter chicken placed at the table, the factory assistant was reminded of the Tandoori chicken served for lunch at Lakhipara T.G. by the bada memsaab Mrs Alo Bonerjee, during the tea tasting session earlier during the day. The friends celebrated their achievements as Meenglas tea had fared exceptionally well and their bada saab Mr Madan Sharma, though a tough taskmaster, had permitted a celebratory dinner which was turning into a delightful evening. The evening flew by and few emotional words were exchanged between the friends and the words spoken were slurred and repetitive. That’s when Akhil looked at his wristwatch and was reminded of his transfer and in his mind, the words of the compassionate bada saab of Sankos Mr Harinder Nain rang loud and clear, “kal Jaldi aana beta” (As Sankos was a far-flung garden in Dooars, nestled in the corner of Assam and Bhutan).
They all wound up after dinner and scrambled into the car and one of the friends pushed a cassette into the tape recorder. Music filled in the car, the lyrics being “gazab ka hai ye din… socho zara...” yet there was nothing musical about the high pitched tones of these friends who tried their best to match every word with the singer! Suddenly, their car swerved into the throng of people and as they witnessed the flamboyant crowd, they were reminded of the abduction. On the spur of the moment, they decided to go and check. They enquired from a few shopkeepers, each of whom added some of their own masala to the story.
The man who had been abducted was popularly known as Fakkad Baba who lived in a small semi kuchha hut just behind a small temple. He had a fringe of grey-white hair around his balding mottle skull and a beard like Santa except it had specks of black. He had a wizened face and generally wore a kurta and dhoti and had a gamcha over his shoulder. This Baba rose to fame because of his prophesies and predictions. Many bachelors would go to him to know their date of marriage. Many newlyweds would approach him to know about their new-borns. To many planters, he would tell them about their transfers, promotions, the performance of the garden and so on. Some believed him, some made fun of him. Whether his predictions were a coincidence or accurate was unknown. In many parties and many club bars, this Fakkad Baba was the topic of discussion, he was even the victim of the jeers often with planters sharing a hearty laugh at several gatherings over their planter’s punch.
One interesting incident which has been narrated by many planters is that a manager of a tea garden had gone to enquire if there would be rainfall in his garden, upon which the baba quipped “go home bachha- your garden will get solid rains”. Just after a few days, there was hail in that garden. The baba’s predictions were absolutely bang on! There were many such interesting stories to tell about him. This baba was an intriguing character. His needs were frugal and hence he was colloquially known as Fakkad baba. A piece of Wills Navy Cut cigarette was a luxury to him as he generally smoked a bidi, or a cup of milk which would be his fee after his predictions. His USP was counting- ek, do, teen, chaar, paanch…on his fingertips.
Finally though, through a reliable source it came to light that the army personnel from Damdim had heard about the interesting prophesies of the baba. So the Gypsy had come to fetch Fakkad Baba, to know about their future. It wasn’t an abduction after all! The Fakkad baba though unconventional had become renowned and more and more people became a raving fan of his niche skills.
Now staggering through the streets, Akhil’s friends urged him to go in first and hear about his future. It would not be easy for him to avail this skill more often as he would be cornered now. While all his friends waited outside in the car, Akhil walked into the hut, to see the old man sitting on the charpoy, woven with the jute rope. The light from the lone naked bulb in the small hut illuminated the tired and worn face of the baba, who had just returned from the army cantonment. Wrinkles bored deeply into his skin, though his expression was of fatigue, experience danced on his lips. His listless eyes watched Akhil who sat on a wooden stool in front of him, rubbing his palms together he began counting... ek, do, teen, chaar, paanch... he began his usual prediction about his health, about him owning a car and so on.
Then Akhil went on to ask- “as I am starting my work in a new garden from tomorrow, hope things would be well for me there.” The baba taken aback started calculating something on his fingers. The baba then proceeded to count, “ek, do...” and murmured “you are not getting transferred.” Squiffy eyed Akhil stared at the baba!
He retorted “What?! Everything has been packed in the bungalow except for a plate, a glass and a teacup which I intend to pack in the morning after breakfast; the lorry has been booked and will be coming at 5 in the morning.”
However, the baba was adamant “you are definitely not going.” Flustered, Akhil asked “transfer letter is in my hands baba. How is it possible?!” to which the Fakkad Baba vehemently added, “How does it matter? Chhithi Ghur Jayega (Transfer letter will be revoked)”.
With an expression of disbelief, taking out a packet of cigarette from his pocket and placing it on the wooden stool, he came out and narrated the prophecies of Fakkad baba to his friends. All of them had a good laugh, some even scoffed at the baba. All of them drove towards the garden, dropping Inder to Nadem Bungalow of Sylee garden and Maharaj Singh and Anand Baruah to Dalingkote. Akhil entered his bungalow to see the cardboard boxes scrawled in a black felt tip marker, bare walls devoid of the usual framed pictures, trunks lying packed.
This bungalow and the garden had been his home since 1985 to 1988 and the thought of leaving them behind made him a little emotional but he thought to himself that though this bungalow would be vacant for some time, it would come back to life on the arrival of the Ghais from Sankos and the memories spent in this bungalow would be locked up in the mind to be reopened whenever he fancied. However, perhaps God had better plans in store (especially for me as I met Suman and Sanjay later and our friendship developed like an old Polaroid photograph...nice and slow yet clear and for keeps).
As he was contemplating to call the chowkidar for a cup of milk, the chowkidar walked in, with a tray in his hand which had a note, “it’s from bada saab” he said. Akhil opened the small chit of paper which read, “Dear Akhil, your transfer has been shelved.” and Akhil went on to work as a factory assistant in Meenglas for another year before he was transferred to Lakhipara under Mr. Bibek Bonerjee.
The prediction of Fakkad Baba- a reality or a mere coincidence?!