SHANKAR BHATT ? WELL ALMOST

It happened at dawn in Berhampur around 56  years ago – a couple of months before I was born.

Around 5.30 AM at Dwarka Niwas in Giri Road, my mom entered the kitchen to make the morning tea. As she approached the platform there was a sudden loud hisss. Just a couple of feet away in full fury was a cobra. My mom shreiked loudly and fell backwards. Luckily the snake did not move. It only hissed and stood its ground swaying angrily as my mom crawled back to safety.

Dwarka Niwas in the sixties had a huge compound. We had our cricket pitch and badminton court surrounded by coconut, jamun, badam, mango, chikoo, guva, and champa trees. There was space for huge kitchen gardens too which was also the payground for the birds and the bees - not to speak of the snakes and scorpions. To our right was the sprawling Janana Hospital, to our front was Geeta Bhawan and all this on the Giri Road – Berhampur’s Champs Elyees which ran between Palace de la Giri residence to Arc de Tata Square!

The three houses where the Bhatts (Hindi lecturer in Khalikote college), the Krishnans (English lecturer at Khalikote college) and the Vardarajans (the house owners) stayed were built in a cluster, adjacent to each other without any gap. In the relaxed easy paced Malgudi days type ambience of the fifties and sixties it was almost like a huge joint family. Krishnans had five children, the Vardarajans had six off-springs  plus a sprinkling of cousins too. Buli, the self- invited and self-appointed brown stray dog, was our mascot and guard. Later we would have our own cat, dog and tortoise to add to the variety.

There was also a small, just a small, under-current of a South-North cultural adjustment issue that was getting slowly sorted out. We were referred to as people who eat roti and ‘capsule dal’ (rajma). There was also surprise expressed when parents would walk alongside for an evening stroll in Giri Road. In the mid-fifites of Berhampur such public exhibition of marital bliss was probably perceived as too modern a style statement! Parents were clearly on a learning curve.

My mom’s shriek in June 1960 was enough for the neighbours to descend in droves. There were concerned shouts of enna aachi, enna aachi (what happened, what happened). When they saw the spectacle there was a collective gasp. My dad had meanwhile got a stick to kill the posionous serpent. To his surprise he was not only stopped but also chided “ Shiva-Shiva-Shivaaa what stupidity”, they said slapping their foreheads with their palms.

God has come to your house and you want to kill it? Don’t worry, they said, it will go away. And yes, when the son will be born to you, name him Shankar. Mom was expecting and yours truly was curled up nice and comfortable in her womb when all this pandemonium was happening!

My dad had no option but to wait. The only North Indian family, in this far away land, the onus was on us to fine-tune our sensibilities.My dad pulled a chair near the kitchen door and sat there on a vigil waiting for God to go. Attempts to expedite his departure by prodding him with the stick proved futile. The cobra would hiss, display his hood and sway angrily before coiling back and dozing off.

In the midst of a continuous supply of filter coffee and idly-vada-sambhar from our friendly neighbourhood (our kitchen was out of bounds) it was also education time for my parents. You see, they were told, when a pregnant lady’s shadow falls on a cobra then it becomes blind. My mom was aghast. As it is she was in a state of shock. She had escaped near death. She was even worried about the likely effects her fall would have on her unborn child and now she was being held responsible for the serpents’ blindness and consequent immobility!

When by lunch time God had not moved and the crowd began thining, our six footer short-tempered neighbour from the adjacent compound made his quiet entry. He took the stick from my dad and assured him that he will shoo it away. Then without much fuss he proceeded to kill it.

Again my hapless father was subjected to tirade- this time on rationality. You are an educated young man in the noble profession of teaching, he reminded my dad. You have a small three year old kid and a pregnant wife to look after, how could you accept this kind of blind faith? With that he marched out in a huff.

My mom still remembers the grand funeral that was arranged for the snake God. Tulsi and sandal wood, milk, vermillon, kum-kum, incense sticks were arranged and amidst chants of shankara- shankara, ringing of bells and blowing of the Konch the funeral pyre was lit and the snake was reverentially burnt. Burning it was a must as my mothers’ photo was there in the snake’s eyes and if some other snake would see it there could be revenge! Some comfort.

Few months later I was born very early in the morning. My dad got to cuddle me in his arms by the time the orange sun was peeping over Berhampur’s eastern horizon. So he named me Arun- the rising sun. It also rhymed well with Anil -my brother.

Years later, when this story was told to me, I asked mom why I was’nt named Shankar? Oh, she said, you see Mrs.Krishnan was also expecting her baby. When they were blessed with a son they decided to call him Shankar. It would be so confusing to have two Shankars in the same compound.

BACK TO BERHAMPUR: FOR THOSE WHO CHERISH MEMORIES

After thirty six years, last fortnight I drove down memory lane to BAM - my first trip to this town after 1973.

Twenty years after my dad retired, twenty years of fighting a court case, twenty years after living on 50% of the pension that he ought to have got, my octogenarian dad had been informed that his service book had disappeared. No apologies, no regrets, no remorse just a matter-of-fact information conveyed with a casualness that only Indian bureaucracy is capable of, “Atey borso heyee gola kono kariba file-potro hoji gala.” After one year of following up the duplicate service book had been reconstructed and now my dad had been summoned to sign it in twenty places.

Just as we reached Khalikote college the tyres laid across the road were being lit up amidst shouts of zindabaads and murdabaads. The principal’s office had been ransacked, the administrative offices had been closed down and the main gate was crowded as one of the hunger strikers had fainted. The principal hid somewhere to avoid the wrath of the rampaging students. The babus followed suit. We could do nothing else but wait for the passions to cool down. What to do, in India patience is not an optional luxury it is a basic necessity.

That’s when I pushed open the half-closed gates of St. Vincent’s Convent School and peeped in.

The first problem when you revisit the past is always the issue of scale. In 1960's I was probably three foot three and everything about the school in my minds eye was huge. The class-rooms, the open spaces, the trees, the nursery class everything now looked much smaller.

I was soaking in the view when this garrulous lady began asking me as to what I was looking for.

“Nothing, just looking around” I said.

“Then you must be an old student” she
said.

“ Yes”, I said. “Old. Very old indeed. Do you know Sister Rosalie? ”

“No. She had gone before I joined.”

“You must meet the principal madam,” she insisted and proceeded to guide me her office leaving me with no choice. Instinctively I asked, “Sushanti, are you Dharma’s daughter?”

Her face lit up. “How do you know?”, she asked.

"Just a guess" I said.

Sister Sudha, the principal is a kind lady. She enlightened me about the “new” management – the Mangalore based Little Flower of Bethany that took over in 1979. How it is more professional. How education runs in their genes. How they have expanded. How they have become bigger and better. How students get over 90%.

“Is there any teacher of my generation?” I asked her.

She thought for a while and said, “Anima who used to teach Oriya retired a few years back”.

“Why did the nursery class change its character?” I asked. “And what happened to the piano.” She knew nothing of the piano. The nursery hall is now used for Yoga she said. “It is very essential for overall health and mental agility of the students” There is a computer lab too, she added and I noted a pride in her voice.

I went around the school and noted the disappearance of the See-Saw, Jungle-jim, Statue of St. Vincent. The entire playground has been cemented. A new double storey wing has come up.

I went towards Dr. Firoz Ali’s residence. A three storey building now stands there. There is nothing imperial about it other than the name “Imperial College.”

Giri road too had changed beyond recognition. We spent some time in Hill Patna also where dad met his colleague.

It was really nice going back in time and reliving the moments of our golden era. Berhampur still retains many of the elements of the sixties and early seventies.

Some day I hope to return for a longer trip. After all memories are priceless and as the ad-line goes- for every thing else there is MasterCard.