In Search of a River

My name is Bharat, but this story is not about me. This is a story based on events that took

place long ago. It is about a wonderful adventure and a boy named Hanumant—a dear friend who stood by me whenever we faced unforeseen dangers. It was then that I understood that the history of a country cannot be known just by reading books.Alongside the important events in a country, one should know something about the people living in it and their ways of life. Our nation is huge, with diverse people, including various tribes. To find out about them and respect their ways of life is to begin one’s journey of understanding the true history of our land. Only then can we truly be proud and appreciate what we have.

My father was an engineer. He used to travel to different parts of the country to supervise construction work. Because of this, he didn’t stay in one place for too long. For this reason, I studied in a boarding school and came home only during the holidays. Sometimes, I even spent my holidays in places where I was all by myself, with no friends.That summer, when I came home and saw my parents’ place, I felt sure that this holiday too would be spent alone, reading books. The town was small and our house was located at some distance from it. There was no way to get to the town via train since it was not connected to the railway network. I had taken a bus home with a friend of my father’s. Ma and Papa came to the bus stop to receive me.

My mother’s happiness whenever I came home was the usual—it is what all children staying away from home are used to seeing and feeling. She started crying with joy. Papa said, seeing the tears, ‘You are remarkable—you cry when he comes and also when he goes! Please smile a little!’When we reached home, Papa asked about my studies. Ma said, ‘He has just come home! He has been studying all these days! Don’t you see how thin he has become!’ Laughing and looking at me Papa said, ‘He has become thin because he was without you! Now that he has come home and you have been preparing the dishes he likes—for the last one week—he will become healthy, just the way you want him!’ Ma was sitting near me. She kept touching me affectionately, as if she wanted to be certain that I was actually there. Papa laughed again and said, ‘Pinch yourself and be sure that you are not dreaming.’ Ma, who had been smiling all this while, got up and said, ‘There’s no need to make fun of me. It’s only natural I should miss him, and I know you do too, so don’t pretend!’

Every time I returned from school, there was such happy and light-hearted talk, which gave me a warm feeling, reminding me that I was back home, and that nothing had changed! Our house had two storeys and the bedrooms were on the top floor.

At the boarding school, I had to get up early every morning. Therefore, when I came home during my holidays, I got up late. Ma also encouraged me to sleep in.However, the following day, I was woken up suddenly by loud voices from below. At first, I could not grasp where I was—home or some place else. It took some time for me to register where the voices were coming from. Someone was shouting. I got out of bed and went to the window. When I looked out, I was amazed. Next to the house was a garden. A tall man with a big moustache was trying to chase a boy out of the garden, threatening him with a stick.

The boy was sitting high up on the branch of a tree and laughing at the man. ‘You monkey, why do you come every day and jump around? Run away, otherwise you will feel this stick on your back!’ the man shouted, waving the stick.‘You have to say my name aloud first! What is my name? Just say it once,’ the boy demanded, laughing.‘I will tell you your name—monkey! Now shall I hit you with my stick?’ ‘My name is not “monkey”. Tell me my real name, Misir Kaka!” It was really a funny scene. The boy was laughing, sitting on the branch, and Misir Kaka, with a stick in his hand, was jumping around in anger!Ma must have heard the shouting and, thinking that it may have woken me up, she came upstairs. She came up to me at the window and said, ‘This happens every morning. Misir ji sure does a lot of jumping around!’‘Who is this Misir ji?’ I asked. ‘The owner of this house has a small garden next door. Misir ji looks after the garden. He has another name, but everyone calls him Misir Kaka,’ Ma said, smiling.‘Who is the boy?’ I asked. ‘There is a village nearby where some tribal communities live. He is the son of Bisu Sardar, the village headman. Most probably, he studies in the school in town. This is holiday time, so he comes every day and runs around in the garden,’ said Ma who couldn’t stop laughing.

It seemed like she also enjoyed watching the antics of Misir Kaka and the boy. This shouting and dancing around every day obviously pleased her to no end.‘Has Papa left for work?’ I asked. ‘Yes, quite some time ago. Now wash and come down for breakfast,’ said Ma while leaving the room.After breakfast, I decided to look around our house and explore the area. Ma, as always, urged me to be careful, saying, ‘Bharat, don’t go too far, this is an unknown place. There are lots of poisonous insects here.’It seems that every mother finds some danger lurking around her children. I had seen how my grandmother would also ask Papa to be careful. I had asked him once, ‘Now you are grown up, don’t you find this upsetting?’ ‘No, Bharat, I like it,’ he had said. ‘There is someone who still thinks I am little and worries about me.’The garden next to our house had many big trees. Misir Kaka was sitting on a small cot under a tree. Upon seeing me wandering in the garden, he called out to me, saying, ‘Bhaiya, come here.’ I folded my hands in namaskar, in return. ‘Bhabhi ji had told me that you would be coming. She has been looking forward to having you home.’ He made me sit next to him on the cot.‘Do you look after this garden? And do you live here?’ I asked. ‘Yes, bhaiya. I have been here for a long time. This garden has become my home now,’ he said. ‘Whom were you shouting at in the morning?’ I asked, a little fearful of being hit with the stick propped next to him. He was a very big man with a heavy moustache.

‘Don’t ask! Since his school has closed that monkey has been coming here and mucking around. Look, he has destroyed these plants by jumping on them!’ he said loudly, but a smile had appeared on his face simultaneously. ‘Is his name “Monkey”?’ I asked. This time, Misir ji answered after a pause. ‘He has another name. But I call him Bandar, Monkey,’ he said slowly. I sensed he was reluctant to speak further, so I kept quiet. In the evening when Papa came home, I asked him, ‘Who are these tribals?’ ‘Who are you asking about?’ He looked at me with surprise. ‘I saw a boy in the morning. He had a bird’s feather tied on his head, with a red ribbon and a string of multicoloured beads. He carried a bow and arrow. He was dressed up as if he was going on stage or to act in a play. Misir ji said his name is Bandar.’

Papa smiled broadly and said, ‘So you have seen the first act of the morning drama! He is the son of Bisu Sardar and his name is Hanumant, not Bandar or Monkey.’ ‘Then why did Misir ji call him Bandar?’ I asked. ‘You better ask Misir ji for an answer. He is the only one who can give you the correct answer,’ Papa replied, laughing and looking at Ma. This was how the first day of my holiday passed. In the evening, we sat down and talked about all that had happened during the time I was away.I asked Papa whether the people working with him were from tribal communities and wanted to know who they were exactly.‘Yes, the people who live in the village nearby are Adivasis, original tribes who have been living here since ancient times. They are working with us. You must come with me and see the work going on. We are making a bridge. This is going to be a very large bridge. During the rainy season, the river becomes very wide. Without a proper bridge, the people living hereabouts have great difficulty crossing the river,’ he explained. We were up talking till late at night, until I began to feel sleepy and went to bed.

Read further on Bharat and Hanumant’s adventure in this brilliantly translated book by Saroj Mukherjee.