This particular episode took place when my husband was away from the plantations for a course. I had to spend a few nights all alone in this typical tea bungalow, set on an emerald hillock with earth falling away on all sides to rolling hills. It was a beautiful bungalow.
As I drove my kids back from school that winter evening, through the pathway which lead to the entrance of the bungalow gate with citronella growing on either side, we could see clouds and mist appear and then vanish again as if a magic spell had been cast. All three of us settled in with cups of tea and milk respectively and the evening turned into night. To my dismay, it began to drizzle. The winter rain made everything appear long and shadowy. I could hear the thunder and shatters outside. After our usual evening rituals, we decided to call it an early night. The girls were warmly tucked in, tired from the day’s activities. As soon as their heads hit the pillow they were in dreamland. It was a bliss to watch them sleep peacefully. However, this bliss was short-lived. Now the state of my mind somewhat resembled the pitter-patter of the raindrops.
The dogs were a little uncomfortable due to the thunder and lightning, so they decided to snuggle at the foot of the bed. I was a little restless and the ambience made me desolate. I longed for a hot cup of tea. After ringing for the Chowkidar twice and not getting any response I decided to brew a cup of tea myself.
So, I opened the bedroom door, stood on the landing and to my horror I could hear some faint growling and grunting. As I began to descend the steps, the crash of a creaking branch of a windblown tree almost made me jump out of my skin. Thankfully the dogs were with me. As I was nearing the kitchen the grunting and growling grew louder. “CHOWKIDAR, CHOWKIDAR!” I called for him with a trembling voice and again “DHANBAHADUR” I was louder this time, to my own ears my voice sounded brittle like the hinges of a rusty iron gate. Alas, there was no response! The stories of wildlife in the plantations are not unheard of. Many thoughts crossed my mind while taking a step towards this growl- “could it be a leopard?! Had the leopard managed to get in somehow or hopefully, the Chowkidar has got help in tackling the leopard!!” but pushing back all my thoughts I entered the kitchen and awestruck I saw the Chowkidar leaning against the exit door of the kitchen with a long overcoat fully clad with a cap and woollen gloves snoring and snorting. That is the day it dawned upon me that even humans could stand and let alone sleep, even snore and snort.
Somewhat relieved and somewhat annoyed I did not know how to react! Prodding him out of his slumber I lambasted him saying that he is supposed to be making rounds of the bungalow and even hammering the gong each hour and that he was being irresponsible.
So I told him to come and meet my husband (Saab), early evening before he would join his duties for the next night. The next evening, while my husband and I sat in the jali kamra enjoying our orthodox lemon tea, overlooking the entrance gate of the bungalow, in walked the Chowkidar with an interesting gait, slightly limping with his left foot. He knew what would be in store for him from the Saab, as many times earlier, he had been taken to task for dozing off during his duties. Sullen faced he started pleading for “maafi” and that he would be more alert now on. That’s when I piped in that not only he be up and about but “tumko ghumna chahiye” around the bungalow. It’s your duty! To my surprise, he refused and answered “hum nahi ghumta tha” and again “hum kabhi nahi ghumega!” Open-mouthed I stared at him and again at my husband not being able to believe that he had the audacity to disobey not only my orders but defy my husband’s instructions as well.
That’s when my husband intervened and said that in the local lingo- “ghumna” means to sleep. Amused, I added this word to my limited vernacular vocabulary! From that day onwards, this Chowkidar went on to work for us for many years, hammering the bell each night.