Last Wednesday after a long sun-burnt day in the field during our school’s annual sports, I felt naturally tired; physically and mentally. So I went to Love-Knot, a studio, set up by Baloram (Roy) at Sulipukur, opposite Burdwan Rajbari, popularly known as Uttar Phatak.
Baloram, as usual, treated me with a cup of impeccably made liquor tea. Purobee made this tea at her home in Kurmun. Baloram each day carried it in his elegant steel flask. The tea had a delicate taste that made me feel refreshed more than just a bit. I then looked around and found a range of photos neatly framed that hung from a newly painted wall. The photos showcased a slice of vibrant tribal life to loneliness of Nature shrouded in wintry fog to ecstasy of couple getting married; a myriad of emotions just on a quiet part of wall. After taking in the visual luxury in adequate measure, I dropped by Bala pishi’s quaint house at Mithapukur. Actually Baloram offered to give me a lift to Mithapukur, just a lane away, that I readily accepted.
It’s a pleasure to meet Bala pishi after a long gap. In between she had recovered fully from her broken right hand. Invariably we talked about Rabindrosangeet and dabbled in present day writings. What made our conversations interesting is the interlude of canine activities. Bala pishi kept a pack of road-side dogs at her home. They might not be well-bred, but they were well-mannered; Bala pishi saw to it. Bhaarate, I found, was quite a character. ‘This cat is migratory in nature.’ Bala pishi informed. ‘He lives next door. Whenever he feels bored, he sprints down to my house.’ Bala pishi added. (How easy a life can be! I murmured.) Bhaarate was pacing up and down quite thoughtfully between Bala pishi and me. ‘He watched Saraswati puja without moving an inch hunched over a chair.’ Bala pishi said. (Pishi has been organizing puja on a grand scale at her home for the last couple of decades.) A stinging mosquito bite made me alert of the fact that it was half past nine as I happened to look at my wrist watch. I sprang up and came out of the house in a great hurry.
Just as I closed pishi’s gate, two dogs, one pitch dark and the other ashen, from the opposite end of the road ambled down to me. I am not used to walk escorted by tail-wagging dogs. So I worked up a pace. The black dog made some acrobatics before me and suddenly jumped over my chest. The other one let out a long bark. I found myself caught in a doggy mess. A totowallah saved me by pulling me in to his toto. After an initial feel of some relief, I had had a burning sensation around my ankle. I jogged my mind hundreds of times when the dogs could paw me. I could not remember a single moment when they made a body contact (skin contact, in this case). Coming back home, I saw a mild scratch and a small dent over the surface of skin.
Next morning I landed straight at Relief Medical Hall. The smiling medicine seller administered tetvac injection. On my request, the seller inspected my ankle. He let out a wide grin. ‘Sir, go home. You unwittingly scratch the place in response, maybe, to a mosquito bite.’
I remembered the great mosquito bite that alarmed me of staying out late last night.
I realized how a small microscopic whining thing could be more dangerous than a visible dashing one. The former has the sting, the latter has the power.
A power can be overpowered. But the sting stays on, both physically and psychologically, till the other day(s) as it injects fear, since it comes from the most unrecognizable quarters.
Darun