The Bus

When I was a child.... there was this bus... an abandoned bus... we used to play around it... now...after 20 years...its gone..... So, its my fantasy about that bus...that always struck me....

The Bus

 

It was year 1995 and month of May filled with scorching summer. I was 12 year old and my brother was 10. My childhood was spent in an old government colony situated in one of the town of Chhattisgarh. In our colony, people used to keep windows and doors of their houses, close during summers. Each house was filled with the blazing sound of air coolers. All the adults used to sleep after lunch till evening. But the mind of a child is active and full of energy…it keeps on looking for any chance to wander in the unknowns and forbidden places. The silent hour, when our parents used to sleep after lunch, was our chance to wander in restricted places outside our houses. Schools were closed for summer vacations and we had lot of time to wander.

 

Our colony was very old and had huge trees. The roads were very calm and houses were built in some distance from each other. The colony was surrounded with jungle at three of its sides and a main road on the other side. There was an old fencing which separated the colony from the jungle which was broken in some intervals from where we would sneak inside the jungle. After 4-5 km East side there was an old village and town was 12-13 km away. Rest other sides had jungle and dried grounds. Children used to play cricket in some of them.

 

Me, my brother and some other children of colony used to play together. During summer vacations, it was our daily routine to go inside the jungle after lunch when parents are sleeping and collect objects like stones, bones, metal pieces etc. Various investigative TV shows like ‘Byomkesh Bakhshi’ and ‘Star kids’ had awakened the exploring spirit inside the children of that era, and each of us would think of our self as great detective. Our discussions included the postmortem of the object we receive from the lap of jungle.

 

This jungle was an enigma for me, keeping so many secrets inside it, waiting to be solved. I don’t know about others, but for me it was mysterious, I always felt like it is calling me inside.

 

During summer afternoon, this jungle would appear as a mysterious old man, with long white beard made up of bushes, is snoring and waiting for us to give us presents that he has hidden beneath his old sheets.

 

Displaying the divine law of nature, the trees stood there with all the variations. Some were tall, some were small. Some were beautiful, some were ugly. Some were carrying fruits; some were flowers and some….nothing. And lot of lot of bushes, varieties of grass, berries, wild fruits, insects, snakes, small animals. During rain and winter season, it was impossible to enter the jungle because everything is lush green and ground was mushy. 

 

 

One day, when Palash flowers were converted into flat fruits and tall Semal trees were carrying small packets of cotton like fruits, the middle of such hot afternoon, while penetrating the dried jungle in search of new gifts, between huge trees and dried up bushes, we, me, my brother and my 5 other friends stumbled upon something. It took us some time to realize what we were seeing but then…. when we realized…It was zenith of our excitement. It was our greatest discovery till now. It was largest and biggest thing we ever discovered. It was a bus. An old torn metallic bus. The bus was all intact from outside with its corroded metallic structure, only the rubber tyres were all gone, window glass were broken (except the front one) and nature had started taken control over it. Many small plants grew below it. Some trees had their thin branches inside it. We were looking at each other happily with shining eyes.

 

Then, the excitement of discovering something new made us to rush towards it to grab it with all our might. We went inside it. Avinash, our leader, he climbed on the driver seat. Saroj, she became the conductor and me, my brother Javed, friends Sonu, Ansh and Smitha all on passenger seats. The front cabin along with the rest of the bus had left only with the metallic frames. The paint had all fallen down. When we got tired of playing driver and passenger game, the investigating spirit inside us, woke up. We began to search what this bus is all about?

 

We searched front cabin for any papers, or written things, looked closely to the walls of the bus for any inscriptions, any clue and went underneath of the bus to look for some ‘leads’………. but we got nothing.

 

All we found out that the steering of the bus was still working. Even the rotor under the bus floor was moving. Engine was also there. There was a small patch of sky blue colour paint, discovered by Avinash, for which he was quite proud of, gave us an idea the bus was of blue colour when it was new. But we could not trace out any history associated with the bus.

 

Unable to solve the mystery, tired and disappointed, we run back towards our homes. Evening falling and decreasing sun light was making this jungle more mysterious and the bus even more.... my friends were talking about the bus all the way.... they made many theories.... linked it to the British era, somebody linked it to the murders, the haunted bus and so on.....

 

But, I………….I found some strange attraction towards that bus... and some sort of sadness... didn’t know why. The bus became intact into my mind.... I was the most silent kid amongst all of us …. I was continuously thinking that why the bus was there, who owned it…… why it was left there…. What was the story of the people who traveled in it… what must be the story of the driver……? Silence hides huge turmoil inside it.

 

At home I and my brother decided that we are not going to talk about the bus with father because then our secret would go out and our afternoon expeditions would be stopped by him because they considered the jungle dangerous.

 

In that night.... during dinner, I had to control many times my curiosity about the bus… I wanted to ask my father about it…. May be he knows something…… but as per our pact, I had to keep quite.

 

I was continuously thinking about the bus……… parked alone in the woods, amid the trees and bushes….. I was making many stories about it… may be it got an accident…. May be it never traveled….may be there was road before the jungle… the bus had entered deep inside my mind…. And suddenly… I saw it…. I saw it in our room, the bus appeared there. It was completely sky blue with a curved structure. Some people were sitting inside it. I got scared... how come that bus is inside our room? I saw an old lady, smiling, waving at me from the window of bus, was asking me to not to be scared and come inside. I saw my brother, next to me, sleeping.

 

I did not wake him up. I wanted to explore the bus. I thought that he will call our parents and the bus will go away. So… slowly, hesitantly, I moved towards the bus.

 

The door was opened by a smiling old man.... he was the conductor. I took the front seat. The bus was full with passengers. They were all village people, wearing old and dirty clothes. Slowly, bus was moving forward, driver exclaimed, “Up ahead we go!”  I saw through the front glass panel of bus... to all my surprise…there was no wall of the room... but a road in the middle of lush green ground...... a very long road…end of the road was not visible…. In the distant end of the green ground there were many trees on the both sides of the road….

 

From my window I saw outside that our house has disappeared and in place of it…. There was a huge green ground and huge trees far far away........ sky was very blue..... similar to the colour of bus...... The bus took speed. I realized that a person was sitting next to me. I looked at him.... He was smiling...... When I looked at him closely... I found his smile little strange concealing something.... when I looked at the other passengers..... they all had same strange smile....I became scared.... 

 

The bus was taking more and more speed..... Now... I got worried and scared a lot and wanted to get out of the bus.... but slowly every passenger started to say "No need of worry...all the worries are going to end...". They all appeared as if they were programmed to do so.... My heart was pounding with fear like anything..... I tried to come out from the bus but the conductor did not let me go.....and said, “No need to worry…all the worries are going to end!”  Bus had gained more and more speed...and the chanting of passengers aggravated....

 

I realized that the straight road was not visible any further, and that the both side lush green ground, was also not visible at the far end..... my throat was becoming dried of fear..... I was asking for water... but they all were chanting same thing again and again...... and suddenly, the road ended and bus fell down from the peak of the mountain........ and I … I woke up...I woke up with a dried throat....

 

I had a bad dream.....my throat was dry... my brother was sleeping next to me... and everything was exactly same... as was in the night.....I thanked God a lot and went back to sleep as it was still 4:00am.

 

In the morning, I woke up at 6:00 am and went outside of our house. The huge tree, houses and the roads were very calm. Only the birds were chirping. Villagers from nearby village were collecting fallen pieces of woods, leaves and fruits. I saw my father; he was roaming on the front road. Remembering my dream and the bus, I thought of asking him somehow about the jungle and things inside it.

 

My attempts were all vague as he did not seem to be interested in the jungle around. He told me only that there were offices of British people back then but now they were all ruined.

 

But the curiosity about the bus was not going to be silent soon. Well, I went towards the people of village and was observing them collecting fallen fruits from the trees.....

 

 

There was an old woman, wearing cotton and saari covering her head and a boy, covering his lower half with a cloth and bare upper half, were picking up the fruits and collecting in a bamboo container. A small girl was sitting on the road and crying. They were somehow mingled with the trees, dried us grass, old koltar road, and the unique summer smell of my colony.

 

After observing them for some time, I came inside and got busy in the other daily routine.

 

My family used to have meals together, sitting on floor over a bamboo mat. During breakfast I recon my dream again and the picture of bus started to haunt me again. But I could not dare to ask my father or mother about it.

 

After lunch we all friends again rushed towards our latest discovery……… that spectacular bus.

 

When we reached there, I asked them if any of them tried to know anything about the bus from their parents. They did not find it necessary to ask about the history or mystery of the bus. They were happy that we found the bus and that was enough for them. The time lapse and the darkness of night had made their curiosity silent.

 

I told them my dream about the bus. They laughed a lot, made fun of me but we decided to in-act my dream in form of a game. We played the game as per my dream and enjoyed a lot. We also added many other things in the game, like falling birds, floating trees, flying ghosts etc.

 

So, this became our routine to go to the bus every day and play different games over it. Some times the bus would become our space ship, sometimes it would become fighter plane, dropping bombs on war field, sometimes it become our palace hosting Kings and Queens...

 

During our games, all other forgot that this bus was our latest discovery and that there can be some history behind it. "We found the bus and this is our playground" became their only reality. They even forgot that there were many unanswered questions about the bus.

 

But for me...it was still alive! Every day I reach to the bus, it fascinates me more.... I would sneak under the bus, look at the blue patch of paint on the bus again and again. More I think about the story of bus more involved I became to it… there must be something….. something about the bus!

 

 

One morning, when month of May was about to end, I came out from my house, and observed again same village old woman along with the children. This time one girl older to me was also there. She was sitting on the road along with the little girl, while the boy and the old woman were collecting the fallen fruits and pieces of woods.

 

I sat down alongside the girl.

 

She gave me strange look as how can a girl like me sit there?

 

I smiled at her and she replied back with a hesitant smile.

 

We had a little conversation, during which I found out that the old woman is her grandmother and the boy is her older brother and the girl was her younger sister.

 

Normally she stays at home to help her mother in daily chorus like filling water, cleaning house, cooking food etc. but today she escaped to wander with her grandmother. They used to sell those fruits to a local retailer who later sells them to a person in other village who converts them into a local alcoholic drink. Name of fruit was mahua. Well, my point of interest in that entire conversation was that bus only, which again fell into disappointment. Because they don’t go inside the jungle as its is full of evil spirits. Whosoever goes there gets a curse!

 

Well, I poked her many times to tell me the reason or any story about the curse or the spirit. But she did not know anything. She only told me that no one from the village goes in there. This story is going on for a long time.

 

Slowly, the summer passed, June month brought the monsoon. The trees were all full green, grass were also coming into life. And school started. The mystery of the bus remained unsolved for me. My other friends along with my brother forgot about it but I…. I could not!

 

From my colony we all kids used to study in a nearby government school. Some kids would go to private and convent schools situated in the town but most of us used to study in this local school only.

 

In this school we had children from surrounding village also.

 

In my class, I was friend of every girl. One day I was sitting beside this girl who was not much interested in studies but was very alive and full of life. She always had many ideas for our plays and games. She was a sporty girl.

 

Her name was Kanti. She used to tell me many storied about the village and the ghost and dginn stories that she heard from the people who go to farms in the night.

 

This time I had this story to tell her.

 

During one lecture, we were free, as teacher had yet not arrived to school.

 

Sitting on the benches, we were talking with our face down, as our head master had warned us for severe punishment if any of us would make noise.

 

While telling her about our discoveries on the jungle this summer vacations, I brought the biggest story in and told her about the bus….. As soon as I took the name blue bus....she turned her face and said, "No.....not again...not bus”

Shockingly I said, "Why? I just started telling you about it....when did I tell you before?"

 

She told me that her grandmother many times talks about a bus. She talks about a bus in which she traveled when she was a young girl ……. According to my friend, they don’t take her seriously because she is very very old and keep on saying things that they don't care about … and during her time it is impossible to have a bus here because there were no roads and no petrol pumps!

 

“See, how you can believe that when people traveled in bullkarts, my grandmother traveled in a bus?” she asked me with little concern.

 

Forcefully I told her my story, which she refused to believe that actually such bus exists. She said that people sell its parts. No bus can stand alone for a long time…untouched and unsold by human beings… even if the bus is there what can be interested in it…. Apart…. Apart from the fact that her…her grandmother…sit on it!

 

From my conversation she realized that I was very much interested in the story of the bus and also the story of her grandmother about her bus. We made a deal that if I show her the bus; she would help me to find out the story behind it.

 

 

So, next Sunday afternoon she visited my home. I took her to the road from where we could go inside the jungle. But As Monsoon already started a month ago, the trees and bushes were green and the ground was mushy. It was almost impossible to reach the bus.

 

Looking at me getting disappointed, she offered me to have a talk with her grandmother.

 

 

Next Sunday afternoon, after so much of requests, my mother finally allowed me go to the village on the bicycle. She was worried because to reach the village I had to ride over 3-4 km on main road in a deserted stretch. That road was also beautiful. One side of it was the jungle and the other side had agricultural farms.

 

I still remember that when I reached the village, there were many houses made up of mud with roof of tiles. These houses were well plastered with cow dung. They were decorated with white chalk. Some houses were plastered with cements. Road was damp and mushy because of rain in the previous night.

 

 

I successfully located my friend’s house beside a huge Peepal tree. It was also made up of mud with roof of tiles. Her house had beautiful designs on the walls and ground with white colour chalk like thing. On the backyard of her house, after a small veranda, many vegetables were growing in the field. There were some trees of fruits as well. It was beautiful. I remember the smell of her house, I never had this smell anywhere else.it was unique.

 

On one corner of veranda i saw her grandmother. Sitting on the floor and talking to herself.

 

She had covered herself with the cotton sari. I looked at her closely. I never saw such old woman before. She had so many wrinkles on her entire body like her clothes which were also much wrinkled and old. She was looking like that bus. Old and torn paint.

 

The conversation was mediated by my friend. We found out that there indeed was a blue bus in this region round 80 years ago. Her grandmother was a 10-11 then.

 

Grandmother told us that they used to sit in it to sell their vegetables in the far far market. One day they went to visit nearby Temple also. Then the bus stopped coming and she did not know why.

I don’t remember actual words her grandmother spoke. I am not sure that she actually mentioned it or my memory has tricked itself to believe so. But, she did mention about a bus!

 

When I was leaving her house I observed that my friend was also interested in this story now. So we decided that every Sunday or every other Sunday I would visit her house to discover the story of the bus. And in the mean time she will track down all the old people to whom we can talk.

 

I started visiting village every alternate Sunday and sometimes I lied to my mother about the place I was going because she would then not allow me… why alternate Sundays………? because it will not generate any suspicion about my activity on my parents’ minds. And to avoid such suspicion, some Sundays my friend used to visit me.

 

 

During my every visit, me and Kanti will meet old people and talk to them about their childhood. Seeing us, many used to become very happy as generally children and young people avoid talking to old people. So many times we were offered their hidden sweets or 1 rupee to spend.

 

 

We heard many things from them, how people started to live here, how British people established their office here, how someday a village girl and British man fell in love and drama around it, how one of them refused to salute one gora and got hit by him, how British changed the way of life of the village...how they followed Mahatma Gandhi….but we did not find out any further detail about the bus... When I force them further to remember…about traveling a bus very long time ago….. some of them would admit that they have traveled in it… when I ask them, “What was the colour….? Try to remember please………… was it….was it…blue?”

And they would answer sinking in their torn memory, “Yeh…blue…blue bus….”

 

 

One evening, after Maghrib prayer, my father returned home angry and said something to my mother. Some of my father’s friend had seen me in the village, meeting old people with my friend many times and had informed my father about my activities. My mother scolded me a lot for lying to her.  They were afraid that I was going in wrong way. I still remember, my mother and father sitting over a takht, my mother looking at me, father looking down. The serious environment. When people become serious, the environment also become heavy and dense, like many clouds are wandering around! My parents were concerned about me that how can I be such a liar. Looking at them getting sad, I told them the complete story about the bus and that I did not tell them because of fear of being beaten.

 

My parents were shocked that we go inside the jungle so often and they did not know about it. They told me that now onwards we would be under scrutiny even during summer vacations. And my father said that he is going to inform fathers of all my other friends of colony. My brother was very angry with me.

 

In the school also when I met my friend Kanti, she told me that her father also scolded her a lot for roaming in the village and sitting with old men and women in their houses.

 

But her father told her that he would try to know about the bus…….. Which never happened! After that furious scold and anger or our parents we never talked about the bus again. Actually, I tried few times to bring out the story again but my friend said that I am becoming mad about the bus and there is nothing special about it.

 

Me and Kanti got separated after high school. She chose Arts to study and I chose Maths. I moved to a good government school in the town and she continued in the village school.

 

So, time went by and we never went inside that jungle again to reach the bus. During summers our expeditions were tightened up. Slowly, the pressure of studies increased. Some of our colony friends started to take private tuitions during summer vacations also. My brother started playing cricket with his village friends. So, I had the trees of my colony to spend my summer vacations with. After school……. I had to leave the town for higher studies.

 

 

But………….. even under high pressure of studies, I never forgot the bus. The curiosity was still alive somewhere deep in my mind. That bus was imprinted on my soul. Sometimes, before sleeping when I close my eyes, the bus would appear in front of me and I would think, “What would be the story of the bus?”

 

During first summer break of my graduation, when I visited home, I asked my brother to visit the bus. He agreed reluctantly, He was entering in the 12th year of school and was under pressure for engineering entrances and board exams. Angry, he asked me that why I was so interested in that bus? What was importance of it? There were thousands of vehicle rotting around….would I search story behind each of them? And even if I find out, what use is of it? Was I going to get some medal or some money or what?

 

I did not know the answer of any of these questions. Why I was interested… I did not know myself. Only the mystery of bus had some magic on me. May be there actually were some evil spirits in the jungle who have surrounded me, haunted me, took me under their control…ask me to visit the jungle again and again!

 

===============

I grabbed my brother and went inside the jungle. We reached to the bus.... it was still there. But this time… after few years….roof was missing. It was disheartening because the blue paint patch was on the roof only. And I was not able to see it anymore. Uninterested, my brother Javed said me that now some other people also have discovered it and were selling its parts. He forced me to come home from that ‘garbage’ and the dried up jungle. He lost all his curiosity about the ‘things’ in jungle. All those things were child games for him and an insanity that he was not going to repeat in his this age of life.

 

My summer break was slowly ending up. Every morning I go for a walk in that direction, the road to reach inside the jungle …………….. the old man with white beard of dried up bushes. No children go up in his lap anymore and all who went there in their childhood are young now. Young people don’t like to visit old people.

 

My wander on the same road near same jungle hiding that bus brought back memory of my old friend Kanti. One evening I decided to meet my friend and surprise her.

 

I took my bicycle and informed my mother that I was going to village to meet my friend. It was a good thing of growing old because permission of parents was easier now.

 

 

The road was still beautiful. But the jungle beside it was becoming less dense and on the other side in place of some of the agricultural farms, new cemented houses were standing. In the village, I again successfully located her house beside a huge Peepal tree. It had been 7-8 years since my last visit. There were some more plastered houses in the village but my friend's house was still same...same beautiful decorated with white coloured chalk....mysterious kind of structure. Kanti got surprised in seeing me after so many years. She did not expect me to be in her house again and was observing me for a long time.

 

Looking at my bicycle she laughed a lot and joked on me that I still was riding that poor bicycle and now I should have some mercy on it! She was wearing a cotton salwar kameez of sky blue colour. She was looking very beautiful. Pointing at her dress and I tried to say, “Blue….blue...bu….bussss…!”

 

We both laughed aloud. In the veranda on the back of her house, we talked about our quest that we were carrying out in our childhood like great detectives, like Byomkesh Bakhshi! For her, it was an insanity of childhood! Something that she would not repeat again! Her grandmother had died the previous year. She told me that flatly and I could not make it out that she was happy or sad. It was like somebody has gone to some place and hope is there that we would meet again.

 

She was doing Bachelor of Arts in one of Arts subject in a nearby government college. She told me that she was kind of legend in the village because none of other girls of her village could make to college. Other girls were married. Her father was very upset as he was not able to find a suitable match for her.

 

After talking and laughing a lot about our previous days, I asked her to take me for village tour, for which she hesitated. She said that it is not like old days when we were kinds, now people will raise their eyebrows if two young girls roam around the village without any purpose.

 

But she came out with a plan, ‘We will go for the temple visit, it is at the end of village and that way you would be able to see the village…”

 

Her eyes were shining. It was temple of Mahadev, The Lord Shiva. I agreed. The village had raw roads. Many places there were no road, but pool of water. I was dragging along my bicycle with me. She was jumping to cross the pools while I used to ride my bicycle like an adventure ride through the pools. Few times I was about to fall but anyways, we had a lot of fun on the way.

 

 

On our way back to Kanti’s house, I noticed that both tyres of my bicycle got punctured…may be during some of our adventures riding…… the Sun was around at 60 Degree angle with us… and was ready to set. We were worrying because the temple was outside the village and the place was very much deserted.

 

She told me that there is shop of mechanic in some other end of village there we can get the tyres repaired. But it will take us some time to reach there. As the evening was falling soon, I became tensed to cross the deserted road between my colony and the village. It was summer evening, so we had some more time as compared to winter or rainy season, sun moves very slowly these days. But… my throat was much dried. I could smell the smoke coming out from the village, announcing that village women have started preparing evening mean.

 

All the talks between us were finished and some weird kind of silence hanged between us. The silence is really weird. You don’t feel comfortable with someone if both suddenly stop talking and find no topic to carry forward the conversation.

 

This uneasy silence forced to open up my mouth, “I am so thirsty…”

 

“So, I am….well…. we will have water from somebody’s house on the way”, she replied while looking towards the village.

 

From this side the last row of houses of village were quite visible. There were one or two trees outside the village, otherwise there was a huge dry ground spreading from the last house of the village to the temple and far away….

 

The village was appearing as a lady preparing herself and her house for the night. Air full of smoke and dust and unique village smell!

 

Suddenly…in far left side of the village we saw a small hut under a tree. A man was sitting outside the hut. He appeared as if repairing some tyres. My friend shockingly told me that she never knew that there was another mechanic in the village… ! We decided to ask him if he can repair the tyres.

 

When we reached to the tree, we saw this old man… very very old… loosened skin, wrinkled, bald, and weak. He was so merged with this work that he did not notice us.

 

“Dada! Would you please check my cycle tyres?” I asked him politely. But perhaps he could not hear my voice. He was still busy with the tyre he had and did not show recognition of my voice.

 

Kanti shouted with all her might and the old man raised his head slowly to look at us. I stared Kanti with wide open eyes for shouting at such high pitch. She murmured that her experience with her grandmother she knows very well how to talk with old people.

 

We asked him to look at the tyres of our bicycles. He stood up slowly keeping one hand on ground and another on his back. He was so old that straightness of his body was long gone. Now he was standing with curved old skeleton structure. He was wearing a dirty white Dhoti and a torn cotton Kurta. He was old and quite silent. In his house there was complete dark. Nothing was visible inside from our location. His house was similar to other mud huts in the village. But… it did not have the cow dung plaster … the walls were losing mud from some places…. And the roof was extending far beyond the wall to cover a certain portion in front of his house under which he was sitting. There was a long mud table at the end of the roof, where we sit down slowly. The tree, beside the house… was also very old. It had lost much of its skin. My throat was dry because of thirst looking all these overwhelming old objects altogether, I forgot about it.

 

They all suddenly pushed me deep into my memories. The time when I was standing in front of that old bus…in the jungle…alone…torn…old!

 

“Both tyres are punctured…”, said this old man, sitting on the ground on his feet, looking at us, trying to focus, I was sure he could not see us clearly. This is one thing with old age… they not only appear blurred and but they can see blurred…! I think… that is why their memory of old time becomes sharp because new memories are blurred!

 

My friend asked him, with a roughness in her voice that without checking tyres in detail, how he is so sure that they are punctured?

 

Answering this question, with equal level of roughness, the old man replied that he has been repairing tyres since his childhood. By only looking at tyres he can tell whether it is punctured or not… and also how many punctures are there. In our case, front tyre was punctured at three places while back one was with four!

 

Disappointed and worried I and my friend looked at each other. It was going to take much time to repair all these punctures. And this old man… with this speed…. God knows how much time he was going to take.

 

Perhaps the old man noticed our worries. He looked at us and said, “No need to worry little girls… no need to worry… if Sun is setting down… there will be moon or stars to show you path!”

“And if there are clouds..?”

 

“Then… then follow your heart … it will guide you… heart knows where our home is!”, said the old man with a pleasant thoughtful voice and faint smile on his face.

 

I was observing this old man and the curiosity inside me to know about his story, was growing up with exponential scale. But… worries still did not leave me. How much time this old man was going to take to repair tyres… what if it is dark… how am I going to cross the lone road in dark!

 

Then the old man said something and me and my fried forgot about everything.

 

He said, “Don’t worry little girls…. I will fix these tyres in least time taken by all other mechanics in this village… or in this town… these cycle tyres are nothing for me… when I was a kid, I used to prepare tyres of our bus… that too within seconds,”

 

“Tyres of bus??” we both almost shouted and looked at each other with surprised wide eyes.

 

 

“Oh… yes yes...I know you would not believe me.... but it is true.... even in this village....where there is not good bus service today….90 years ago... there was a bus....dedicated to the people of village… and I used to repair its tyres" he said it looking downwards, removing the tyres from my cycle.

 

 

We could not believe that we are actually listening to a person talking about a bus… our eyes were shining like a child who is witnessing a magic trick being unfold.

 

"Dada ... can you tell us about the bus?" Kanti asked him with polite voice.

 

"Well...what do you want to know… testing me about my capabilities?” he looked at us raising his head…trying to focus his eyes on us...sitting on the floor and removing the tubes from the tyres.

 

"Everything.... tell us everything... about the bus…and... and how you used to repair its tyres”, i said in hurry.

 

"You both seem to be very interested in the story of the past.... well okay....so listen...." he was speaking while working on the tyres.

 

I and Kanti were sitting on the mud table, attentively listening to the story. Like a great mystery was about to unfold by this old man.

 

He proceeded, "Long time ago there was a chief of the village. This chief had two sons and many daughters. Oldest son left for the big town, left the agricultural work and never came back. The daughters were married in nearby villages. The youngest of them all was Parimal. When chief was dying he gave all his farms to his son Parimal. Parimal was married to the daughter of chief of Khemkha village. He had seven daughters and one son. Son was the youngest. His son…and…I were of equal age. Parimal’s wife died after birth of son.”

 

He continued, the patches of punctured tyres were being taken care by him simultaneously, “Parimal was a pleasant and wise man. He always had many plans for village. Sometime he would ask us to change the crop and sow something different than rice and sometimes he would ask us to organize our homes in a particular pattern. But….. even wiser men are tricked by the mystery of time when ego overcomes the wisdom and hope is mounted over a shallow foundation.”

 

Deeply engrossed in his memory he was unlocking the doors of past one by one and we were entering in those in doors equally engrossed in his memory.

 

“Parimal’s son, Sonmal was much pampered child. He was much taken care of and protected by his sisters. He was 11 but still did not learn a single work to earn his incomes. In our times… a person would start learning atleast one work from childhood to support his family; it was our school … the exams were taken by the real life … if you pass, you survive…if not, you die! but Sonmal… Sonmal never thought of working…. I think Parimal could not guide his son properly….. well…. Parimal was all deeply involved in bringing new ideas and things in the village… much involved that he often became careless for his children. His eldest daughter had taken place of her mother for her sisters and brothers long time ago… of which Parimal was not aware… till he had to give her in marriage. He arranged her marriage when many village people made him realize that she has come to marriageable age… After which Parimal started observing the untidiness in his house. After few months when his money got dried up ….He found one solution of it. Give away all his daughters in marriages. But.. for Sonmal… he had no plans… I think…. He thought that Sonmal was too young and that marriage will make him also disciplined.”

 

The front tyre was fixed. Now it was time for the second tyre. Me and my friend were listening to the old man without making any noise. The sun was further down and outside the ground was appearing orange. Unaware of the movement of planets…. We were wandering in the past… with this old man….

 

 

“They had huge house..... behind the Jungle... other side of this colony (he pointed towards the opposite side of village). The house used to be filled with many people since the time of father of Parimal. Women of that house were much respected. In front of the house there was a huge banyan tree. Village people used to go there for worship and also for organizing meeting. I also accompanied my father many time. In the village, we… kids of my age and Sonmal used to play together. At that time I observed that Sonmal was different from each of us. He would speak false language and do some cheatings in game…. In our days cheating in games were major sins.. they were taken as reflection of future character of the person!”

 

 

“One day in the season of winter, while many of us were working on our farms, we observed one blue metal object entering the village. It went towards Parimal’s house. Scared, we rushed towards his house. When we reached his house, we saw Pratap Singh was sitting under the Banyan tree and the monstrous ‘thing’ was standing in front of him. He told us that he has purchased it from a town far away and we all can travel together in it, much faster than our bullkarts. He called it a bus… a blue bus!”. Old man’s hands stopped working for a while.

 

Listening to reference of blue bus…..me and my friend looked at each other and smiled.

 

“Pointing at the bus, hopeful and proud Parimal said… ‘Now onwards we all will sell our crops and farm yields to distant and bigger markets. This will earn us more income. We will visit many places. I know some places where big markets are organized monthly… bis businessman visit them and offer good prices… we will also purchase new things for our village….’ I still can see him, that big and strong body, covered in nicest of cotton clothing, looking at the bus…. Blue bus… like …sky…. He was seeing great fortunes for village in this bus … but … he could not see the disaster in the bus which was about to fall on his life.” Old man became serious for a while and again started to fix the punctured tyre.

 

“Disaster..? That bus was disaster….? Why.. ?what happened..?” I was unable to curb my curiosity any longer.

 

“Oh… well… will see…. Will see…. I tell you… how that giant blue thing…a dream turned into a night mare… it happened all because Parimal’s dreams could not be matched by the speed of village… I remember first time I sit on that bus…. we were very happy….. When I sit inside it first time, I was surprised to see that this big metal container was moving forward without ….. without any animal help. Even it was moving much faster than our usual bullkarts. It had speed but with a bad smell … bad smell of smoke … smoke of the fuel of bus ……  The fodder of this big metal object was much costly than our bullkarts. Parimal used to carry a barrel of fuel inside the bus. Because, fuel was available only in the big market.

 

One day, many villagers were traveling to the big market on the bus and the bus stopped in the middle of farm. Oh...hahahaha..... I forgot to tell that the Parimal could not realize that bus was not strong enough to run on the roads (village roads) like a bullkart … it needed road of koltar …. They were found on big towns like Kolkata on those day… because of the muddy and stone roads of our village, the structure of our legendary bus started to become very weak … the metallic structure had damps… tyres were weak …..  And the money Parimal got from the villagers was not enough to pay for the repairing of the bus.”

 

“Why? You did not pay him the price he asked for?” asked Kanti with concern.

 

“How much money we villagers could have given him? We had small yields in our farms. And we did not care much for money… or earning more … we were happy with one season crop and then we would spent days playing  around, roaming around, talking with each other… raising animals… it was only Parimal… he had those big dreams… he born before his time … I think…. Well….” Answered the old man, looking at the tyres he was working on.

 

He continued… “Anyways….that day, when suddenly bus stopped, it had no fuel … Parimal could not purchase enough fuel for bus the previous day because of shortage of money …. And the bus was eating more fuel now … the cost of bad road was taking on the bus ….. we had no choice to walk either side…. So we all pushed it... we pushed it for 18 miles on the road of farms.....we pushed it.... it was like pushing an elephant…. By the time we reached the market, it was dark, and market was closed….”

 

 

Unable to pay for the repairs of the bus, Parimal would go very upset. He would sit under the Banyan tree and think a lot for the ways he can make his dream come true. After that pushing experience, noise and smell of bus, many people started to visit nearby markets once again on their bulllkart. It is difficult to make already content people to strive for more… make them to go in adventures, in endeavors with hope of bringing more satisfaction. If they find any uneasiness, they will go back in their original state…. You will have to fool them to believe first that they are not satisfied…. Parimal did not do that with the villagers. His income further reduced. We asked him to sell the bus, and start farming again, but he refused. He was in deep love with this bus and foolishly hopeful for the village future.

 

So he ignored the losses he was making in it. To attract villagers he started visits to far temples... people would go… but they were unable to pay huge for such visits. Parimal never asked for more. May be he did not do the calculations. He was in illusion that this was bus of village… in reality… for village… it was his bus only….

 

In the meantime……, (Old mad said with force. He was attaching the tyres to the cycle now) We heard rumours that British are going to establish their office in the village. News was brought by Parimal.

And… Sonmal… he was becoming nuisance for village. Nobody liked him. He used to cause troubles to others, would make fun of others… in absence of any women discipline in their house, he was becoming more and more notorious… when Parimal stopped giving huge money to Sonmal, he started stealing from others and some times from his own house. We respected Parimal, so we never complained about Sonmal.

 

 

During one visit of the market, I saw a mechanic repairing the tyres of our bus. He got much money from Pratap Singh. I thought I will also earn huge respect and money in village if I also repair the tyres. But...my fate was also dull like that of the bus.... here...nobody pays you much....

 

 

During those time... we even did not have cycles....Parimal’s bus was our proud...but we were unable to help him. I used to repair the tyres of the bus. Parimal would give me some money, which was not enough for me but then I started repairing wheels of bullkarts. The cost of bus…. it was not a structure that will feed on straw and drink water...but what it needed was very costly....

 

Anyways.... looking at low incomes, he started to give his daughters in marriage. In hurry he married them to anyone who came first. Most of them got married in poor houses. The daughters were very angry with their father. They never visited him again. We and the village never saw them again. But the Bus... it was the bus …the last thing… they sit on it when they went outside the villages…. forever.

 

 

Only Sonmal was left with his father. But till now he was very irresponsible and did not take any interest in father's economy. Even Parimal had no plans for him.

 

One day we heard that Parimal has sold his house to a person who called himself a British agent. He liked the house and gave few sum of money to Parimal and told him that British office would be opened there soon.

 

Now Parimal started to live in a small house with Sonmal. He got his bus repaired and painted. And came back to the road with that unique, hopeful smile. He told us that he has enough money to support the bus service for a year and during this time he will find out a way to continue it.

 

The news that British office was going to be opened here, gave him much more hope, “they will make a koltar road… here…. I heard in market… these British… whenever they go… they make Koltar roads to support their vehicles….” He would often say.

 

The village was very happy seeing him confident again. That day we all went to a far … far temple..... All the way Parimal was kissing the bus and singing that all the worries are going to end.... no need to worry..... we all were singing with him. This was Devi’s temple. One of the holiest places for us. Parimal along with us had prayers for the bus.

 

In the same night, Sonmal, needed some money …… he stole away one part of bus and in the morning left for the city. When he returned home in night, Parimal, could not control himself and beaten him up a lot. Sonmal was running all over the village crying loudly as it was his first beating after his birth.

 

Things seemed to improve a bit... but the repairing of the bus and fuel of the bus again started to mount up... Parimal would say, “wait up...wait up.... the road will soon be there.......”, I think, it was an act of comforting self than others by him.

 

Anyways, Slowly the British started to appear in the village ...in his house... but road was still not visible....

 

One day Parimal took all of us to a market which was far away and organized monthly.... Businessmen from various villages were visiting the market. We were very excited and earned huge profit....but he...he earned a great loss...The fuel charges were huge and multiple repairs were waiting....

 

Parimal promised us that he will search for more markets... and would take us there... and someday... hopefully we will be able to pay him something....but that day never came...

 

 

Next morning, we were informed by a British officer that a dead body is found under the banyan tree in front of their office.

 

We all rushed and with a sinking heart saw that Parimal was sitting under the tree leaning against it. His eyes were opened and still filled with same hopes…

 

He was sitting there as if now he is going to tell us his new plans.... but he did not say single word…!

 

There was no sign of the bus!

 

 

After few days, we found out that Sonmal had stolen all the money from Parimal and run away from his house. Parimal could not bear the loss. The loss of son, the loss of the money, the loss of his dreams, loss of hopes and loss of the bus... he realized that he had no hopes left now….he died under the same tree where he used to play when he was a kid and watch dreams for village when he grew up!

 

 

We searched for his bus... we found it in between of a huge dried farm….... it was not a season of crops so farms were dried…. he abandoned it there …his dreams, his hopes were abandoned by him in that dried land…. Far away from his house….

 

It appeared to us as if the bus was the cause of the all the troubles of Parimal. It was unlucky for him, for us and for the village. We never went that side again ... nobody ever ploughed there.....nobody ever touched that bus again…!

 

The bus was a haunted object for us… an object full of evil spirit which caused Parimal to go insane ….

 

I also don’t know... what happened to the bus.....  but I never liked to go there anymore.... It was the place where we saw our dreams and also saw or dreams got broken.... we heard Parimal speaking and saw him dead!"

 

The old man was looking towards some distant point... Me and my friend were silent …..

 

My cycle was ready... I paid him.... we did not say a single word to him walked away...

 

On our way back... we both were very silent and sad.... we did not realize that there would be such upsetting story behind that bus.... our expedition was going to bring such sad culmination…

 

I was thinking that maybe this is why nobody told their children this story so that they won’t become upset and become scared of dreaming... and they forbid their children to visit those farms so that they can find the bus…and they have to tell them the story of the bus…. and the farm became a jungle…. The trees buried the bus inside them… protecting its sad story to spread around…

 

In this village nobody knows about Parimal...nobody knows about the bus.... They never told this story to any of their child…. The man who had many dreams for the village, was no where in the memory of village. Intentionally erased from the collective memory!

 

Reaching my friend’s house, disappointed my friend took a good bye from me and told me that she never wants to talk about the bus and would not tell anyone about Parimal and his dead dreams. She asked me to never ever talk to her about the bus.

 

When I reached to the main road, outside the village, it was time of Maghrib. The time when Sun sets. Azaan, prayer call for evening, was reaching to my ears. The sky was orangish red. The road was also appearing red… There were voices of small summer creatures in the air… Thinking about the blue bus, Parimal and the villagers…. I was rushing towards my home… I knew my mother was about to scold me a lot… according to her… at this time of evening… when it is neither night nor day…. Evil spirits… bad things….. Diseases roam around… it makes us sick…!

 

After few days, when my summer vacations were going to finish, I told my brother the entire story. Listening to each of my words, he praised such articulacy of the story ‘made by me’ to add mystery with the bus, the blue bus that no one ever cared for. He accused me that I have made all that story or maybe I saw that in the dream to satisfy my urge to reveal something mysterious about the bus.

 

We had a long quarrel and also visited the hut of the old man. Well… I realized that the hut was not at the other end of the village… but the hut was in front side of village… the side where it is attached with the main road. I could not locate the tree and the hut in the temple side.

 

We also knocked at my friend’s house. First she laughed and said that she does not want to talk about the bus. This riddle was long solved by our parents.

 

I also remember. In our childhood, when our fathers found out about our craziness for the bus they told us a story. My father told me that when our colony was established, some 15-20 years ago, people of colony purchased a bus, sanctioned by government. They used to visit the town twice in a week together. Slowly, as everyone did not like to match up the timings, they started to have their own vehicles. Slowly, people forgot about the bus. Most of them had their own vehicles so they did not like going in the bus. As the bus was not owned by anyone, nobody cared for it where it went! The same story was also told to Kanti by his father.

 

I did not tell before about it because all the beauty with the bus would have been gone with this lade up sluggish story.

 

We visited the hut again…. tyres were hanging on the veranda but there was no sign of any habitant of house. There was no any old man. Even people of neighborhood denied of seeing any old man repairing tyres there. We came back.

 

My brother said that he believed our father about the bus. He asked me that why did not I? Do I want such dramatic story to be unwrapped to fulfill my foolishly hyper curiosity? Is a simple story not enough to satisfy my urge!

 

But… I know… there was an old man…. Who told us the story! I knew why Kanti was not talking about it. She was too sad and sensitive for the story of bus and the village to repeat it again. May be she made herself convinced that there is no such story, there is no such old man, we never visited temple, we never had such story!

 

I was feeling so much dejected and hurt that I felt having thorough investigation. I felt like searching all the government documents to see the agreement between British and Parimal.

 

But…. In my story… so many loop holes were discovered by my brother. Date of invention of motor engines, busses, koltar roads etc..

 

I had no answer of it. I did not know how to make anyone convince that what I was told is authentic. How my mind will fill up with such stories? And how come there is this memory of the old man? The hut? Did I do all these things to my brain myself? Did I manipulated my memory myself to give a mysterious satisfaction to my curiosity? Is it possible? I don’t even remember now. It is 2016, many years gone by. Memory is obscure now. And I have a little and blurred memory of everything. I keep on believing the story I discovered myself and not my others. The bus had indeed taken villagers to far distant market. Parimal did own the bus.

 

 

In 2010, again I visited the bus. My parents do not live in the colony anymore. They live in the town. My brother got a job in another town. In the summer, when I reached the entering point of the jungle through our colony, I realized that the jungle was no more. It was now left with few trees. In distant many construction works were progressing. I walked the way towards the bus. I got a pang on my heart. The walls of the bus were all gone. Even not a single seat was left…No rotor no engine. The bus was decaying… its parts were taken by thieves…. I climbed the leftover of bus… driver seat was still there. Sitting on it… I found out that the steering wheel was still working… I saw in front of the bus…. The dried up ground and the construction work in some distance… disappeared… and a straight long road was visible between a huge green ground…. At the end of which there were huge green trees..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Do you find this story interesting? Or missing details?