Strong October winds lashed against the windshield of the car as the chhota saab drove down the deserted highway of the forest crossing a little over the speed limit. It had been over an hour that the tyres of the car made a monotonous hiss as they drove down from Huntapara tea estate. His raspy song was a lullaby to Atul's ears who lay sprawled on the rear seat, feeling the gentle rise and fall beneath him as he drifted off into slumber.
Two blinding lights suddenly blazed ahead like two shiny eyes trying to pierce the impenetrable darkness. With a jolt, Suneil realised that the lights belonged to a lorry. He freaked out as it seemed that the steering was being controlled by spectral hands rather than his own. Regaining composure, he veered to the left and slammed on the brakes. He was alert now but as he swerved, his body jerked forward and with a thud, the car came to a complete halt. After that all was silent.
Suneil peered through the window, trying to read the situation. "Arrey Atul, where are we?" He slurred. “Itna andhera kyun hai bhai?”
Rubbing his bleary eyes, Atul groped around from the rear seat and said, “you tell me...hic. It was your turn to drive these 10kms…”
Puja chhuttis mean different things to various people but for planters, especially bachelors it meant good food, good booze and a good laugh in the company of their friends. So Atul and Suneil had sought permission from their bada saab to spend a day with their friends in Dalgaon sub-district. “Yes, of course, go and enjoy, boys!” said their manager.
The Huntapara bungalow was abuzz with dozens of conversations. All the bachelors vibed to the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. They were a happy drunk group of chhota saabs. The day was a huge success with a lot of spirited merrymaking. In a wink, the day turned to dusk.
“We have a long way home, let’s call it a day,” said Atul. “Moreover, bada saab wants us in the factory tomorrow,” said Suneil nudging the bearer for some water. “Come on, one for the road,” roared their friends and they gave in to the temptation. “Bottoms up!” chorused all their friends as they raised their glasses and gulped.
Suneil staggered to his car and drove it into the porch to pick up Atul. The two of them shared the twin bungalow at Nagaisuree. Thanking and bidding byes to their pie-eyed host, they were all set for the long drive. “Each of you take turns on the wheel,” suggested one of their sober colleagues. They each drove about 10kms and then switched. It was Sunil’s turn when the car jolted to a standstill. Through the faint light of the moon, they noticed mud walls on all sides. Groping for the metallic Eveready torch from the dashboard, they struggled to open the door but in vain. They were trapped, deep in the “haathi naala.”
As their eyes travelled up towards the dense forest, they could see silhouettes of the trees against the blanket of white mist. A sepulchral silence overhung all around. Nothing stirred. Nothing shone. Nothing sang. The only option now was to spend the night in the car. They decided to keep their shoes on in case they were caught in a situation where they might have to make a run for their lives. Exhausted as they were, they only managed to sleep with an eye open because of the hollow echoing and shuffling noises that crept in unexpectedly from time to time.
A finger of supernal light peeked through the misty mesh, chasing away the gloom of the horrendous night. The melodies of the songbirds split the silence as the forest came alive and with it, the realization that the two of them were lucky to be alive with nothing worse than cuts and scrapes. All they needed to do now was figure out a way to tow their vehicle out of the haathi naala and reach the factory on time.
Suneil and Atul grappled with the door handle on either side but the doors refused to budge. “Let’s try the window,” Atul grunted and they managed to somehow shove down the pane of Suneil’s green ambassador. Suneil scrambled out of the window as Atul heaved him from inside. He then stretched out his hand as Sunil helped him clamber out, from the rear seat, into the drain. Then with a supreme effort, they lifted themselves out of the naala into the welcome morning, realizing that they were stranded in the midst of Nagrakata forest.
Their bodies felt stiff but warm despite the winter fog. They walked towards the road, gesturing for a lift. In the wee hours of the morning, even the few travellers that were on the road were hesitant to offer a lift to two unkempt strangers. Time was ticking by. Out of the blue, it struck them that it was almost time for the St. James’ School bus to pass by.
The same one that their bada memsaab, Mrs Rodriguez commuted by. They could not at any cost afford to be seen by her. She would immediately know who the ambassador belonged to and their bada saab would eventually get to know as well.
“We need to come up with something soon,” said Atul. “I’ve got it,” Suneil said as he picked up a few twigs and branches that lay by the drain and placed them atop the car. Even if the bus happened to pass by, they were confident in their camouflage.
Finally, a truck helped them tow their vehicle from the drain. The car too had borne the brunt well, except for a dent on the right side. They knew that they would need more than luck to reach the factory before their bada saab. Moreover, they needed a miracle to dodge their bada memsaab.
"Should we whizz past NH 17?" asked Suneil.
"And risk being seen by ma'am?! No way, let's take the Dhupjhora road and drive via Batabari," Atul replied taking the driver's seat.
"That's almost 10 extra kilometres!"
The two of them came to a mutual decision to take the longer route. It was a gamble they had to make between the devil and the deep blue sea. They zoomed through the Dhupjhora road as fast as their wheels carried them and then discreetly waited at the Chulsa more to make sure that the school bus had driven past. Elated that they had succeeded in overcoming the first obstacle, they carried on.
“Bada saab khabar liya tha kya?” they enquired the chowkidaar, upon reaching the factory.
“Bada saab toh abhi nahi aaya hai,” reported the chowkidaar.
The chhota saabs exchanged knowing glances and then carried on with their kaamjaari. It was just another regular day after all.
Glossary:
Bada saab: Manager
Bada memsaab: Manager's wife
Chhota saab: Assistant manager
"Itna andhera kyun hai?": Why is it so dark?
Puja chhuttis: Puja holidays
Haathi naala: Large drain
"Bada saab khabar liya kya?": Has the Manager enquired about us?
"Bada saab toh abhi nahi aaya": The Manager has not come in yet
Kaamjaari: Daily work supervision