The awakening- Saurav

THE AWAKENING
To papa, for teaching me the way of life.
To mum, for leading me on.


In the village of Panahera, it was only Gordon who owned a telephone- though it wasn’t functional. It was only Gordon who owned a car that used to run on fuel, or so he claimed. It was only Gordon who knew how to read and write as well. Only he owned a bungalow in the whole village.
It was only Gordon who regarded the idea of maintaining his house so cumbersome that a small boy did all the housework for him.

The small boy’s name was Hirish. The timid villagers- as in all other villages of Rajasthan- kept aloof of strangers. Though Gordon had been living in the village for quite a number of years and he couldn’t precisely be called an alien, yet the villagers dared not interact with him. Some villagers attributed their attitude to the fact that Gordon was not born in the village. Others just avoided his company because everyone did. Anyway, Gordon was alone in the village. 

It was Hirish through whom the villagers used to gain knowledge about Gordon and his peculiar habits. ‘Hirish said’ was a very common dialogue in the village- especially among the women- as in, “Hirish said he drinks water not from a tumbler but uses some kind of cylindrical blue plastic vessel instead,” or “Hirish said he uses some kind of rectangular machine which emits a bright light for mysterious purposes,” or “Hirish said- when I met him in the marketplace- that he saw Gordon lying in some hollow in his bathroom which I recall he called a ‘tub’. What kind of a person uses a ‘tub’ for bathing? What kind of thing is a tub?” or “Hirish said he has some magical instrument in his room which emits enchanting sounds whenever someone touches it. Hirish thinks that he means to entrance those about him with that weapon of his.”  

That was why Hirish, only thirteen, was a reputed boy of the village, that is, if ‘reputed’ can be used for a person who is well-known among five hundred or so of his people, counting some thirty members of his own family. Every time Hirish would go to the market to fetch grain or goods, he would be followed by an ever present crowd intently listening to what he had to say. Hirish, too, would delightedly push back his hair and speak in a loud voice about all the odd things he observed at the odd place while the women of the village would stare at him, awed. 

But Gordon wasn’t a star among everyone, least with the village headman, Ganga. Ganga used to despise his presence, and had more than often, warned the villagers of the dangers of having someone like him in the village. “He doesn’t yield anything to us. He gives our village a bad name. He spoils the affability and creates dissensions among our people.”
The villagers had great respect for Ganga, and Ganga did not have any respect for Gordon, and Gordon did not have any respect for, well, everyone. While having a foreigner in the village amused and thrilled others, Ganga and a few other men derided it. 

However, Ganga was a true leader. He seemed to always know when the villagers needed inspiration, and when they could manage on their own; when they needed to be corrected and when punished; when they needed to change, and when they should stand sturdy. Essentially, the neighboring villages of Kanwas and Sangod envied Panahera for their leader.
Ganga was a far-sighted person. He had changed the ways of the people. He incessantly elicited the necessity of keeping the Kali Sindh River clean. He had taught the people to utilize the resources judiciously and to save as much grain as possible. He stressed the need to grow back the trees that were cut for firewood or other purposes. He also emphasized on the need to conserve rainwater on an individual basis. Being in the desert region of Rajasthan, the village was constantly under the threat of droughts and famines.
Under the guidance of Ganga, Panahera was the village most equipped for resisting drought and famine in the whole of Sangod tehsil.  

All the prominent villagers of Panahera had gathered together in the small shack that was used as head office to discuss the arrangements to be made for their annual harvesting festival. Upaj, the name of the festival, was marked by a fair lasting three to four days during which people from the neighboring villages would come to participate. The village playground, like each year, would be the hub.
Upaj, meaning produce, was the name given by Ganga to the festival of the harvesting of grain. The men would gather near the Kali Sindh River on the morning of the first day of this festival. From there, they would proceed together to the fields to gather their produce. In the evenings, the entire village would get involved in arranging the fair at the playground. The women would set up their stalls selling saris, dhotis, and other articles of embroidery. Others would make jaggery, tea and various indigenous food items. The men would primarily help in the transport of carts and cattle carrying the extra grain to the storehouses. The elder villagers would supervise the work. 

“This time let us have a bigger bonfire and arrange for some entertainment. Pramod is good with his flute-playing and the children of the village can stage a dance,” said one of the villagers. “That is a good idea. Why not put up a play this year?” said another. Ganga spoke at length, “Yes, it would be good for the adults of the village to take part in an act. It will be both entertaining and educational.”
“We will ask Bhagat to write the script for us. I am sure he will help us,” said one.
“Yes, we will make this the best Upaj festival that ever took place in Panahera.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Then someone brought the topic up, and the effervescent faces suddenly lost their glow.
“It is an insult,” Ganga repeated. “He has refuted our invitation every year. He doesn’t care about his own village. The only connection between us and him is the grain, which he buys from us through Hirish. He insults the grain by not joining the Upaj festival. He is a smear in the beautiful painting that is Panahera.”
Gordon’s absence in all the annual festivals had created a bad name for him among the elite few of Panahera. A few of the villagers present were of the opinion of Ganga, but a majority disagreed with him. “Gordon has never been invited properly,” said one.
“He has never been invited at all,” retorted another.
“Yes, we have always only sent word through Hirish that he too should be present for the occasion,” said a third one.
The first villager suggested, “We should go to his house ourselves and have a talk with him, involve him in the preparations. So he will not feel left out.”
“He feels left out for choice!” Ganga said stridently. “Why do you think he remains inside all day? It is not because we don’t go and beseech him to come out and join us. It is because he considers himself superior to us. He spites us and our ways.”
In spite of trying very hard with both speech and instance, Ganga couldn’t bring the villagers round to his argument. At last, he gave up hope. “Do what you want to. I am not with you.”

Despite what they had said at the office, the few villagers who marched to Gordon’s mansion couldn’t muster the courage to go inside. After a long period of dallying outside the house, one of them- named Hiralal- decided it was an impossible task. “This is insane,” he said, “Let us go home.”
Presently, the group threaded away and only a group of three staunch faces were left facing the sprawling house. 

Eventually, the news spread out that the three brothers who had gathered the courage to enter Gordon’s house had come back running. One of them claimed to have heard those enchanting sounds which “gripped his mind and controlled his thoughts.” Ganga, a practical man, dismissed the rumors and said it was nothing but a musical instrument called a piano. The second person claimed that he got so immovable due to his nervousness when he saw Gordon that Gordon mistook him to be sick. The third person was no better. He had, it seemed, managed to blurt his invitation out, but it was so much a jumble of words, that Gordon couldn’t understand him. Not being able to speak out again, the third person returned too.

Finally, the annual Hirish-invitation was sent and the annual Gordon-refutation returned.

The Upaj festival came and went. It was a grand success. The adults of the village put up such a great play that the villagers of Sangod and Kanwas couldn’t help but whistle and cheer. The play depicted the contrasting ways of people in the country and those in the cities. Some of the more fanatical villagers kept their silence and acted as if they hadn’t seen anything spectacular.
The festival was both an achievement in terms of reputation and economy. A huge crowd bustled in the playground from morning till night consecutively for the three days. Almost all the people had benefitted from it. Ganga was immensely pleased. This indeed had been the best Upaj ever.
“People of Panahera, I am pleased to inform you that this was the most successful Upaj ever. The village headmen of Kanwas and Sangod have commended us on our hard work. We have earned a good name in the whole of Rajasthan. The time is not so far when Panahera will be a model village for the rest of Rajasthan. Not only is Panahera is benefitting from our labor, but it is the whole of Rajasthan, the whole of India.
“And the credit goes to you, to each one of you. I cannot take away what is yours; I do not have the right. So I must say that you all have made a dream come true. No, it is not the dream that I saw, but the dream that has been seen and is being seen by every village of the country, continent and world.”
The short speech ended with three cheers for Ganga, followed by another three for the God. 

But it seems God was not as pleased as Ganga was, for soon after the end of Upaj, a horrible drought broke out through the whole of Rajasthan. The Kali Sindh River was the last to run dry. Famine, too, gripped the whole of the desert land. It became difficult for the people to procure a meal a day, and slowly the numbers of starvation deaths began to rise. The heat only intensified and the clear skies became clearer. Even the specks of white clouds seemed to be on vacation.
Panahera, too, was struggling. The stores of grain were enough to sustain the villagers through the drought, and they had enough stored water too.
The problem, though, wasn’t the unavailability of food grain.
The might of Panahera was challenged once again as hundreds of villagers immigrated into Panahera from all over the Churu district. 

Ganga was undeterred. “They are our brothers. They live in the same land as ours and they are faced with the same hardships as we are. Isn’t it our duty to serve those in need? Or have you forgotten our prime duty?” he debated.
“All that is all right, but we cannot let our people starve because of them. They have no right to take what belongs to us. I won’t let these people snatch the grain from my daughters’ hands!” Another cried out in consternation.
“I promise you, brother, your daughters won’t go unattended. I will not let any person of Panahera to starve; I will rather go without food myself. These people have come to ask help of us, I cannot turn my back to them.”
“No… No.”
“Moreover, I have asked for help from the government. Fresh supplies may be coming at any moment. If we cannot guarantee these people food, let us guarantee them shelter and water.”
The elite few of Panahera agreed with Ganga totally. They set up temporary huts in order to give shelter to the refugees. Everyone was being given the requisite amount of water and a little food. The young men of all the villages helped the elders and the women in every way possible. Ganga himself was involved in arranging the supplies. Life crawled on as everybody awaited the coming of the relief agencies. 

Then disaster struck.
When Ganga opened the doors of the storehouse next morning, a slight gasp escaped him. All the grain in the storehouse had been attacked by a swarm of locusts. There was nothing left. Nothing at all.
Ganga staggered back his way and immediately summoned a congregation of all the village headmen.
“Brothers, it is not easy to inform you that our stocks of food have been devoured by a swarm of locusts. No food is left and the government relief is yet to arrive. I admit I made a mistake by not taking the precautions I should have,” he confessed.
The village headmen had not much to grumble about. Ganga’s selfless attitude had paved him a way to their hearts. Instead, they lifted Ganga’s morale.
“Brother, we do not blame you.  It is not despair we need to seek. These are tough times, and believe me, despair is a greater beast than hunger, and it will nibble all of us away. We need to warn the villagers of what is forthcoming,” said the head of Sangod village.
“The messenger will not have delivered the message yet. We need to hold out for at least ten days before the relief arrives,” Ganga said.
A grim silence prevailed after this statement. Everybody realized that what lay before them was certain death. 

All these days, Hirish had managed to collect food for himself and for Gordon. He had informed Gordon of the drought. Gordon had decided it to be time to leave the village. The problem was that he didn’t have fuel. His car would not carry him right out of the desert and- if even if it did- he couldn’t imagine how he could get the needed food supplies for the journey. Finally, he had put aside the idea of leaving the village. 

Ganga immediately employed some people to check if any of the food was unharmed. Then, he addressed all the villagers- “Villagers of Panahera, Sangod, Kanwas and those from other places, it seems the Gods are getting severer at us. Disaster has struck. Our stores of grain have all been attacked by a swarm of locusts and noth-” Loud groans and protests emanated from the crowd. “I repeat nothing is left. It is no time to despair, no time to grumble, no time to die, but it is time to believe. I urge you, countrymen, believe that you will live this through and you will. Seek despair and we shall have to burn your corpses. I promise you, believe in me, believe in life, and I will take you through these hardships.”

Yet it was not so much Ganga’s fiery speeches as it was the water being provided intermittently that kept the people alive.
Three days passed, the fire was now flickering weakly. Ganga’s motivation was ebbing fast. Many of the people couldn’t even walk around. Some were unable to stand up on their feet.

“Villagers, our message will be delivered by the day after tomorrow. Help will reach us soon. Hold on but a little longer. The Gods will look kindly on us, if we look boldly ahead,” Ganga announced on the morning of the fourth day.
“As we await our fortunes, let us all derive inspiration from our loved ones, let us get stronger and stronger by the day, and let us teach all those who watch us how sturdy we can be.”
Thus it was when Ganga was fuelling the fire and the hot slap of fate was repeatedly testing the hearts of the weak; when some people had given up hope of life, and some still held the thread to climb back the summit; when the villagers were praying, yearning, begging and all at once; that a loud swishing noise pierced the silence that had crept insidiously after Ganga’s speech.
A helicopter was descending. Everyone looked up together. Help had arrived.  

As the people milled around the helicopter, helping others and themselves, Ganga noticed him. Moving slowly, weak and emaciated, misery all over his face. Gordon had finally come out of his house. All the people of Panahera who saw him coming were transfixed. They whispered to each other as if afraid to speak loudly. Gordon came up to Ganga, then staggered and fell, unconscious. Ganga, too, was stunned.

Hirish, who had come out after Gordon, cried as he ran, “Master e-mailed for help! Panahera is saved! All of us will live!” 

Regaining his senses, Ganga rushed to help Gordon. He cried, “Fetch me a glass of water!”
Ganga sprinkled the water on Gordon’s face and put the glass to his mouth. Gordon sat up after a while. The miserable face of Gordon struck Ganga at his heart. At once, all his feelings and thoughts drained away. Whatever wrong he had spoken about Gordon stung him. Gordon, after all, was a human being too. In spite of all he had spoken against Gordon, Ganga realized if it had not been for Gordon, all of them would have certainly perished. His heart immediately vacated a space for Gordon’s image to fill in. His own words reverberated in his mind-
“They are our brothers. They live in the same land as ours and they are faced with the same hardships as we are. Isn’t it our duty to serve those in need? Or have you forgotten our prime duty?”
Audible gasps were uttered from the onlookers when they realized that Ganga was crying.