Come what may, my family made its sojourns twice a year to our ancestral village Jagannath Khunta in Odisha during my school vacations. During these trips, the two highways that flanked our village came into focus, because these roads were the only connections the village had with the bigger world. Those roads ran from one distant city to another, and as a child travelling on those roads, I had no clue as to where they originated and where they ended. For me the highway was an open and free passage that was in stark contrast to the crowded and chaotic roads we encountered in the small towns we lived in. The sights and sounds of the world outside the windows of the bus brought me great pleasure.
My village lay equidistant from both the highways, about one kilometre from each. After alighting from the bus, my family had to walk to our ancestral home. I hated walking on the gravel road after travelling comfortably inside the bus on the smooth highway. Before reaching our house, we had to pay obeisance at the seat of the village Goddess on the way.
Although we left the highways far behind, while in the village the highways refused to leave us. As night crept in, the screeching sound of tyres of the large trucks constantly reminded us of the existence of the highways. As the night grew deeper, the sounds became more piercing. Apart from providing a passage to the village, these highways were inexorably linked to the destinies of the villagers. Occasionally one heard of some village folks, travelling on cycles, being crushed by speeding vehicles on these roads. But life went on.
Before Durga Puja, it was common practice for the young men of my village to stop the passing vehicles for donations. They set up a long bamboo pole across the road to stop the incoming vehicles and then ask the drivers for contributions. I have seen some trucks ramming into the bamboo barrier and speeding ahead, startling our village youth.
But the climax of all the ‘donation collection’ events took place when an elderly foreigner, driving his car, was stopped for his contribution. He was confused to find a big bamboo pole blocking the road and many young men clamouring at his car window. He would have nothing of it. He threw open the door in a huff and brandished a revolver at the crowd which immediately dispersed and ran helter-skelter. There was no more collection for the next few days.
Chinmay Kumar Hota
Email: ck.hota@gmail.com