Continued from previous post

(The reasons and explanations for certain words being marked with * are given at the end)

We could hear the roof top passengers banging the roof signaling the driver to stop. The cleaner signaled* and shouted at the driver to stop. Then he shouted at the rooftop passengers when the bus stopped, “Hey you fellows, would you break the roof top or what?”

Coincidentally there was a road side tea shop nearby. It was a hut with thatched roof and mud walls. In addition to tea, the shop sold biscuits and other locally made snacks. All got down and crammed into the tiny hut. The rain increased in intensity.

Inside the bus, we noticed the roof leaking. It was crowded so much that there was no space to open the umbrella. Still one person opened his umbrella. The rain water fell on the umbrella and trickled down to the heads of a few passengers. It was not a pleasant experience for them. They shouted and scolded the umbrella man. One of them, being too impatient to wait for any response from the umbrella man, snatched it, folded it and handed it back to him. The umbrella man accepted it with all gracefulness. May be for not being beaten. Even passengers from inside the bus got down and headed to the shelter which was already overcrowded.

There seemed no respite from the rain. After some time, the cleaner came out and made an announcement that the bus had to move. He said, “Those who can, adjust yourself inside. Those who can, climb up and bear with the rain. But no umbrella will be allowed on roof top. It is windy. If any of you is blown away with the umbrella and dies, I will have to end up in jail. So I will not allow that.”

A group of six to seven young man volunteered to brace the rooftop. The cleaner assured them that their luggage would be in safe custody inside. Once again he warned them against use of umbrella. Others squeezed themselves inside. Earlier we had felt that there was no more space even to allow a ghost inside. But, miraculously, there indeed was space to accommodate all of those who got inside.

These days metro travel also reminds me of similar instances. During peek hours, sometimes when the coach is overflowing with its capacity, everyone would think that it would not be possible even to accommodate a single passenger however weightless he may be. But, if there is ten seconds delay in closing of the door, a group of five to six people would push themselves into the coach. Miraculously they would fit inside and after the door closes everyone would behave as if nothing unusual has happened.

The Bengalurean catch phrase ‘Swalpa Adjust Madi’ (Adjust a bit, please) is a pan Indian phenomena. Not only are we ever ready to adjust to any crowded situation, but also it is our birth right that others do so.

Coming back to our bus journey, the group of young men who volunteered to brace the rooftop and enjoy the rain ride included a special young man. He was so thin, a ghost would outweigh him. He was like a human skeleton walking and talking.

The cleaner said to him, “Hey you Bhootnath, (master of ghosts), why are you venturing into the rooftop. Come on inside. We have enough space for a ghost like you”.

His friends joined the fun. “His name is not Bhootnath,” they said “call him nar kankal“. (Human skeleton)

Obviously, Bhoothnath was not pleased with all such attention being showered on him. He was not a  narcissist. His face displayed annoyance. Actually his face displayed annoyance since time memorial. But we though it has become so now because of our unsavory remarks. At least the cleaner thought so. He said, “Alright boy, don’t feel bad because we cracked a few jokes. You are a brave man. But remember to take care of yourself while on top”.

Bhootnath was climbing the backstairs of the bus when one mischivous passnger shouted, “Bhootnath jindabad”. Others joined in unison – jindabad. jindabad. Undeterred, unperturbed and determined to accomplish his mission Bhootnath climbed and took his rightful position among his friends on the rooftop.

“Gadi right”, the cleaner shouted and ringed the bell* twice. We continued our journey. The rain continued.

It was about 6:30 PM. But it felt like mid night. We had travelled sixty kms in those six and half hours. It was not bad even in terms of today’s Bengaluru standards. Here in Bengaluru too sometimes it would take that much time to travel 60 kms.

Only 20 kms to go to reach my home town. But I was not sure I would be just in time for the dinner after a hard day’s journey.

My apprehensions came true. We heard the roof top guys banging the roof top and shouting – stop, stop. It felt like emergency. The driver applied sudden brakes.

The cleaner got down. A few passengers too got down out of curiosity.

Bhootnath is missing.

The news spread like wild fire. Passengers inside kept on murmuring. No one had any clue as to what exactly had happened. Some were vocal in their opinion that he must have fallen down and died. However facts merged slowly out of the chaos and murmurs.

There was a tarpaulin sheet on the rooftop. Such sheets are normally used to cover luggage on rooftops. This sheet was neatly folded and tied with the rooftop railings. Bhoothnath and his friends got an idea to save themselves from the rain. They were opening the sheet. There came a point when Bhoothnath was the only one holding it. Before anybody realized this, the sheet had become an escape parachute carrying Bhoothnath into the air. His friends did not know what happened next. He just vanished out of sight.

By voice vote it was unanimously decided that the bus must make a detour in search of Bhootnath.

“Where exactly did you lose your friend” – the driver asked the Bhoothnath gang. “Near the bridge” – one of them answered.

The bridge was not far off. There was a possibility that he might have fallen into the river. In that case there were chances though injured, he must have survived. That was our speculation. We approached the bridge. The bus stopped and half of the passengers got down in search of Bhootnath. The driver was asked to slightly turn the bus in such a way that its headlights would the downstream of the river. Some were looking down the river standing on the bridge. Some were getting down from the side of the river to follow the course of the river.

Someone shouted, “Hey, look”.

There we found Bhoothnath. hanging from the branch of a roadside peepul tree, alive and kicking.

Bhootnath was captured alive and made to sit inside. He was unhurt. Someone said his weightlessness had saved him. This did not go down well with the conductor who was occupying the whole seat meant for two. He was adamant that his own prayer to his favourite mother goddess had saved him, even though chronologically speaking, he had prayed after Bhoothnath was struck in the tree.

Rain had stopped. But the bad road had become worse. Everyone requested the driver not to rush.

Finally, I was home past midnight. Too late for dinner but too early for breakfast.

*************************

P.S: There are certain unique features and titbits connected with the buses of those days. I did not mention this in the story as it would have interfered with the flow of the story. So I am putting them here 

> The buses we travelled in those days usually did not have any scheduled stops. If there were any they never followed it. I expected it to be a universal phenomenon. So we had taken it for granted that public buses are supposed to stop if you signaled them to stop, no matter where you were. When I visited a big city outside Odisha, it was a cultural shock to see that buses stopped only at scheduled stops.

>> While the private bus cleaners / conductors used a whistle to signal the driver, the corporation buses had a bell near the driver’s seat. The bell was controlled by a rope that extended upto the gate. To give the signal to start, the cleaner near the gate pulled it twice in quick succession, to sound -ting ting. To stop he has to pull only once. A similar convention is followed in case whistle is used. The helper has to blow twice in quick succession – whirr , whirr – to start and once to stop. A whistle-less and bell-less cleaner bangs the the door, twice to stop and so on. I don’t know if this is a kind of international convention.  

 >>> A passenger bus (or for that matter a train) is named so, not only because it ferries passengers as opposed to goods, but also because it is not an express bus. Isn’t it strange?  

>>>> Popular singer Akshaya Mohanty has immortalized the driver, conductor and cleaner of such a bus as I have described in one of his songs. It was very popular in our childhood days. Those who understand Odia will be able to relate with this.