1960s, Come See. (PART I)

1960s, Come See.

PART I

The hills on the other side were burning. J and Kafley had arrived during the season of wildfire in Kalimpong. Now that it was dark they could see the number of wild fire set ablaze in the distant hills. Both Kafley and J took a moment to witness the wildfire gradually catching wind; it was some sight to see the hills burning. 'What if those villages nearby catch fire?' Asked J. 'It will not' answered Kafley. They shared a moment of silence and looked at the wildfires set on several hills that stretched into the horizon. J spoke again and asked 'how?’  Kafley pointing at one of the burnings answered, 'The wildfire is always lit in a circle, it burns with such fierce urgency that it destroys everything that exist inside the circle but not outside."  J nodded. Kafley could see that he was taking time to process what he had just said. The burning hills reminded J of the decade they lived in. From the stadium of Wembley where he had seen Cooper knock down Clay, to his stay in London his first hand witness of the ruin of the empire. West wards civil right activists marched the long road to freedom. In Europe students were shaking up the power structure. In Africa nations were getting independent. In the Far East Mao’s revolution had just picked up speed. In Latin America the onslaught of capitalism had just begun. Closer at home J had been intricately working with the hunger artist, a group of avant garde armatures trying their tryst with western modernism. In Darjeeling from a small rural village called Naxalbari a group of peasants had just electrified the nation with their struggle, the tabloids termed it as the spring thunder. This movement had for the first time been able to pierce through the metropolitan crowd, this was now no more just a peasant struggle but a working class struggle. In the hills a significant undercurrent of Basha Andolan encompassed the district, the hill people demanding the recognition of their indigenous language from the state. Writers of the hills had sparked a movement called the third dimension. What was happening to the times they lived in J could not understand. The world seemed to be in turmoil. And here was J with all his aristocratic degree and education wondering from one hill top to another hiding and wandering from village to village, hundreds of kilometres away from home, like a convict. J had joined the struggle for the grassroots but these hill simpletons were not his people, he could not relate with them or their language or culture or their worldview. He had nothing but sympathy for them. The past month had been the toughest for J. He hated every second of his stay in the hills. He secretly vowed never to even look back at this place once he returned to his state capital, Calcutta.

J sat opposite at the edge of the cliff the highest point in town. Some two thousand feet below was a small village called ComeSee.  The cliff where they sat was barren; the narrow pathway beside it led to the forest down slope towards the river. J and Kafley if they listened carefully could hear the sound of the river Relli flowing. The river took its course in between the hills down stream and joined the Teesta.

 J not too fond of heights faced Kafley, his back towards ComeSee. He sat quietly, looking at the small settlement, a cluster of about 20 houses down below. Small mud houses with tin roofs on the terraces of the slope. ComeSee was surrounded by trees on all sides. On the upper periphery just as the forest ended a small ground marked the beginning of the village. The ground almost circular in shape had only a single goal post. Three children played on the ground; they looked like insect from top running after something that looked like a football. One giant step of civilization which and it was bye bye children bye bye good old ground. Beside the ground was a long house made of cement, its melting point, the community hall. This was where panchayat was conducted and problems of the village folks solved. The paddy fields surrounding the lower end of the village was barren except a few patches of vegetation near the southern end of the slope. Trees that surrounded the village all looked the same expect one. That tree stood isolated in the Far East away from the cluster of trees near the grave yard. It was a cherry tree- ‘Paiyu’ the locals called it, one of Kafley’s favourite.   Twenty two years into civilization the village was to be connected first with electricity and road or at least that was what they said would happen.  ComeSee was to take its first step towards civilization. The village abuzz with the news of modernization, all the folks seemed to talk about was how life would be once road and electricity hit the village life.

 J looked over at Kafley; he seemed to be at ease. He rolled a reefer, his shades up in his forehead now. The day was rapidly losing its light, pretty soon it would get pitch dark. Kafley, J’s handler, had been waiting for the darkness to set in before they resumed their trek again. J sitting on that cliff was thankful that he had reached safe though they had not even completed half of their journey. They had walked through the narrow ridge almost half a circle around to reach the cliff. This had been quite a feat for J just to walk; he did not dare turn behind to look at the path he had just passed. He could now breathe a sigh of relief now that he was on the cliff, safe without any fall. J had been on the run since the past couple of months. In Calcutta the communist party of India had been blacklisted by the government, its members were to be arrested and trailed. J a leading figure in the party was forced to go underground for the time being to avoid arrest. Kalimpong a small hamlet in the Eastern Himalayas had been selected by the think tank as J’s refuge during this time of turmoil. 

ComeSee slowly disappeared with the darkness of the night, only the flickering lights of the lamps remained. Kafley and J got to their feet and slowly started to make their way through the rocky ridges of the cliff into the forest. J had never thought that he would be back in Kalimpong and now that he was back he could not wait to leave this god forsaken land. On their walk down slope J had a peculiar sight that of a wood cutter. He was resting in one of the clearings on a rock, his cut laid carefully just beside the path. His was an old man his head covered with a piece of cloth. His lips protruded a faint smile as they crossed him. J could sense a faint trace of fear in his eyes perhaps he thought that they were from the forest department. J and the wood cutter passed each other in a moment of silence; he was holding a small piece of paper in his hand it seemed he was trying to read it. Though there were a lot of things that J wanted to know and ask to the old man he could not gather any words to ask him. In the end J thought best not to disturb him in his moment of peace. Kafley had seen the old man numerous times he always returned in the evening from his entire day’s cut. Through the years nothing much in the cliff had changed, it was all the same except the grasses that changed its colour from one season to another. The path J trekked was treacherous; in parts they were surrounded by grasses that were taller than even the both of them, in others burnt landings from the previous wildfire. J treaded each step with caution; the path had barely enough space for a foot to fit in. He walked trying to put his weight on the right cautious of the height towards his left. He did not dare look anywhere else other than the path he walked in. He walked exceptionally slow, did not stop to admire the wildfire on the hills beyond, did not speak, he just followed Kafley who seemed to walk with ease. From a certain point the path bent down slope towards the forest. J took a sigh of relief now that the treacherous sight of height was behind him. But just as he took that sigh of relief he could sense wild animals, insects and what not crawling all over in the darkness, he hated each second even more. Trekking down slope J had to be even more cautious, he had to control his pace and the leaves that carpeted the path proved slippery. J had never trekked on such a route before, this was as close to nature as he had ever been, walking somewhere in the the Himalayas. None of it had any kind of aesthetic feel about it however. He could give a flying fuck about the trees and the wildfire and ComeSee and the wind and the cliff and the mountains. J walked holding his life in his mouth and all he could think about was the moment he would reach the god forsaken village of ComeSee, his refuge for the next couple of week. The place seemed to be the perfect place to lie low. Kafley scanned through the place carefully as they passed through; he constantly tried to keep a tab on all the entry points. He was certain that they were not being followed. He had after much contemplation chosen to trek in the darkness just to avoid surveillance. J had never walked so much in his life as he did in the past month since entering Kalimpong. He was suffering, his aristocratic legs wobbled like a drunken monk on the rough terrain of Durpin. His limbs hurt, his balance was timid and he perspired profusely. J constantly enquired about the distance he had to walk and every time Kafley had the same answer “almost reached”. He could not wait to reach ComeSee.  

****   ****

Jyoti Basu during the early 1960s had to go underground to evade arrest from the police in the state capital. He took refuge in a small village called Kamshi in Kalimpong. ComeSee is situated right below one of the cliffs in Durpin. In 2015 this village took its first step towards civilisation when electricity and roads touched the lives of the village folks. '1960s ComeSee' is part fiction part non fiction documenting the events that unfolded during J's visit.
Hope you like it.

****   ***