Raghu Babu was a benevolent small hotel owner in our town in the early 80s. He was an obvious friend in need and a person with a munificent personality. He was not a moneyed man. His regular attire used to be a loose half-pant tightened with a broad belt and a half-shirt.
A gourmet would appreciate his culinary skills, especially his South Indian dishes. His idly with besan curry was famous in and around the town. People from villages nearby too hired him to cook for marriages or rituals.
At one end of our town, there was a crematorium adjacent to a perennial river, followed by a lonely road before the next inhabitation. It was the late hours of a new moon night. Raghu was returning from a nearby village in his dynamo-fitted bicycle after a cooking assignment. He crossed the crematorium and was slowly riding on the British-made river bridge. Suddenly, he saw something unusual. Fire was lit on the river bed and a small girl was sitting nearby with her eyes closed. He rode his bicycle towards the river bed, mounted the stand and started paddling to brighten the dynamo light. The fire was lit by cow dung cakes and few Puja items were scattered around.
A middle-aged man with unkempt hair and shaggy beard stepped out of the river. He noticed Raghu, came running to the spot and started babbling something. He poured myrrh resin to the fire and the blaze went high. Raghu was sure that the man was practising witchcraft. Without wasting a second, Raghu took out his belt and started swinging it around in the dark. The rogue cried in deep pain, possibly because the buckle hit his head. He jumped into the river and waded fast to the other side.
Raghu carried the semiconscious girl carefully to his bicycle. Astonishingly, he met a few acquaintances on the way who were in search of a missing girl. One of them was the girl’s uncle. He told them the entire story. He inspired many with his bravery.
As I was recollecting the incident, my brother told me that Raghu took eternal rest three years ago. The girl would have settled down by now and the warlock might have expiated his sins. Today, a market has developed where his small hotel used to exist. Only his heroic deeds linger in the minds of people like me and of course the aroma of his besan curry.
Anil Kumar Patnaik
Email: anilpatnaik8@gmail.com