Comeback Trail

Lalung first hit the headlines in July 2005 when a routine National Human Rights Commission visit discovered him at the LGB Mental Hospital in Tezpur. An investigation found that he had been picked up by the police sometime in 1951, booked under Section 326 of the IPC voluntarily causing grievous hurt by dangerous weapon or means and had never been on trial. Records of the case were not to be found with the police or the court, the jail or the mental hospital, where he was referred in 1951 itself.

There exist, though, two letters dated 1967 and 1996 from the hospital authorities to jail officials, certifying that Lalung had 8216;8216;recovered8217;8217; and could return to regular incarceration.

Following the NHRC8217;s intervention, a personal bond of one rupee made Lalung a free man. Though the local media picked up the story, it was only after The Indian Express asked who was responsible for compensating this innocent, illiterate tribal that a lawyer8212;one F A Choudhury8212;came forward to file a PIL in the Supreme Court, asking the same question.

On January 9 this year, a three-member bench issued an interim order, asking the Assam government to pay him Rs 3 lakh as one-time compensation and Rs 1,000 per month till the final order is passed.

To Lalung, however, the court order makes little difference. After being out of circulation for more than half-a-century, he has little comprehension of money, let alone lakhs. 8216;8216;I had so many poisa in this can,8217;8217; he says, showing off a small can of Colgate toothpowder that he carries wherever he goes in the small blue bag his niece-in-law has sewn him. 8216;8216;This was full of poisa8212;bahut poisa8212;but somebody stole them all as I was preparing to get released from Tezpur.8217;8217;

But the money is the last thing on Lalung8217;s mind first thing in the morning. He wakes up, washes his mouth and then gets angry. 8216;8216;The only bad thing about this place is they do not have a pucca latrine,8217;8217; he mutters, a sentence he repeats almost every morning. 8216;8216;At Tezpur read the mental hospital, there are rows of pucca latrines. And taps with running water. I have been telling them about a pucca latrine every day. But nobody seems to understand,8217;8217; he says.

Lalung lives with his nephew Badan Pator in a three-roomed thatch-and-bamboo house. His sister Laldoi passed away five years ago, but not before she had told her children Badan and Sadhani any number of times about the uncle who disappeared way back in 1951. When word came of his release, this was the family8212;people he had never seen, had no idea they even existed8212;which stood up to embrace him.

Today, the whole neighbourhood seems to have joined in the hug. As he sips a cup of black tea while the bathwater comes to a boil on a fire he himself has set up in a corner of the backyard, a gaggle of local kids badgers him for tales of his life in detention.

8216;8216;He tells us about a deer that was there at Tezpur, about playing football and volleyball. And stories about a tiger he saw while cutting grass on the banks of the Brahmaputra,8217;8217; says little Dipu, a neighbour8217;s son.

Prior to going in for his bath, Lalung picks up a spade and works on a portion of the kitchen garden for a few minutes. 8216;8216;It8217;s a habit. He says he used to work in the garden every day at Tezpur all these years,8217;8217; says Sumbor, Badan8217;s son.

8.25 am.
8216;8216;Koka grandfather, it is time to go to the field. The meji the woodpile ceremonially set afire on Bhogali Bihu is ready,8217;8217; Jurmon, Badan8217;s second son and a Class XI student, tells him.

Lalung stares at him and smiles. 8216;8216;How many years have I not seen a bhela-ghar celebration hut and a meji,8217;8217; he seems to sigh. 8216;8216;Bahut bosor hol,8217;8217; he says when asked how long he8217;s been away.

8216;8216;But I faintly remember the Bihu we celebrated those days. We used to collect firewood and set up a huge meji in the field. We used to sing and dance,8217;8217; he recalls. 8216;8216;But there was no such Bihu in Tezpur. There was a feast, of course. In the initial days they used to give us huge pieces of borali fish. Later, they began giving us smaller pieces of rou or bahu.8217;8217;

Jurmon lets us onto a secret: 8216;8216;Koka was so excited, he wanted to go to the fields last night itself and see what the boys were doing. But he is so old. So we did not let him go. Instead, we had a feast at home.8217;8217;

Badan accompanies his uncle to the field behind the village. Several elderly villagers are already there; they are all waiting for Lalung8212;herowa manuh-to, the lost-and-found person of the village. Each member of the grey-haired group holds a bamboo torch in their hands, Machang too gets one. Then they circumscribe the meji seven times in all as one elderly person chants a mantra in Tiwa, the local dialect, and Lalung is given the honour of setting his torch to the meji first. A young boy plays a drum. Others sing and dance. Lalung watches for a minute and then joins in in the merrymaking. 8216;8216;Khoob bhaal lagise,8217;8217; he says pithily.

Rituals over, the group walks back to the village to gather in Dilip Pator8217;s courtyard. It is Dilip8217;s turn this year to host the community feast on this special day. But first, the village priest chants some mantras, sprinkles water and breaks an egg to perform a shuddhi of Lalung, he who has been away for so many years.

Then all those present sit down in a semi-circle for a round of zu, the local rice brew. 8216;8216;I don8217;t like it much. They don8217;t permit you to drink at Tezpur. Doctors told me it is not a good thing,8217;8217; Lalung says. 8216;8216;Once or twice Jagat-driver gave me some bilati mod foreign liquor to drink. I did not like it.8217;8217;

Three servings of zu and then it8217;s time for rice and a tasty pork curry.

10.45 am.
8216;8216;Momai! We were supposed to see the doctor today,8217;8217; reminds Pradip Pator, his niece Sadhani8217;s husband, who runs a steel fabrication unit at Nellie, the nearest town with a government hospital and the site of the infamous massacre of February 1983. Pradip requests us for a lift, and we accompany them to the doctor.

Dr Jayanta Kumar Nath, who had checked up Lalung soon after he returned home, lays out the red carpet for his VIP patient. Lalung gets a few minor doubts cleared up, but Dr Nath suggests he be taken to Guwahati for a thorough check-up. For good measure, he hands him two phials of tablets and a bottle of vitamin syrup, the latter from the collection of samples that medical reps give him.

The next stop is Dutta Studio, the only photo studio in Nellie. 8216;8216;He needs some passport-size photographs. We have to open a bank account for him. You know, the government is giving him Rs 3 lakh,8217;8217; Pradip8217;s voice drops to an awed whisper.

8216;8216;What will you do with the money you are going to get?8217;8217; I ask. 8216;8216;I will construct a pucca latrine. Will the money be enough?8217;8217; he asks.

Just past noon, and it8217;s turning out to be a busy day for Lalung. At the local branch of the Assam Gramin Vikash Bank, manager Biman Gogoi greets us with the news that superintendent of Guwahati Central Jail is on his way with the court papers relevant to Lalung8217;s case.

The septuagenarian looks around the bank, located on the first floor of the only double-storeyed building at Nellie. A few minutes later, Sariful Haque, the jail superintendent, arrives with Sumbor. He hands over photocopies of the Supreme Court order to Gogoi, and the manager gives him the forms required to open a bank account.

8216;8216;Can you write your name?8217;8217; asks Haque. Lalung replies in the negative. Gogoi lifts up Lalung8217;s left hand, takes his thumb, presses it into an ink pad and puts its impression on the specific spaces on the application form.

Haque pulls out Rs 200 from his wallet and gives it to Lalung. 8216;8216;This is a gift from me to open your bank account,8217;8217; he tells him. Lalung doesn8217;t seem to register much, but politely takes the two notes. 8216;8216;Give them to the manager,8217;8217; Haque tells him.

Gogoi hands over the counter-foil of Lalung8217;s first-ever bank deposit: Bank Account No SB 7261. Machang Lalung. Age: 77 Years. Father8217;s name: Ladan Lalung. Occupation: Old aged person.

Back home, it8217;s time for lunch: Rice and pork once again. 8216;8216;Koka loves pork,8217;8217; Sumbor8217;s wife Ratna tells us conversationally. 8216;8216;We wonder how he chews the meat8212;he doesn8217;t have too many teeth.8217;8217;

Some villagers drop in to see Lalung. 8216;8216;I remember him as a young boy,8217;8217; says Numoli Sonamati, who claims to be three-four years older to Lalung. 8216;8216;He was a gentle boy, slightly benga simple. He used to wear a small piece of cloth and look after the cattle. One day we heard he had gone missing,8217;8217; she says, reaching out to be sure it is the same old Machang sitting before her.

It8217;s customary in Assam villages to spend the Bhogali Bihu afternoon greeting friends and neighbours. Lalung decides to honour the tradition. 8216;8216;The roads should be pucca,8217;8217; he mumbles as a nephew helps him walk without stumbling.

Wherever he stops, there8217;s a plate of food. 8216;8216;One must eat something in every house one visits on Bhogali Bihu,8217;8217; says Jurmon.

The custom was prevalent in Tezpur too. 8216;8216;They used to give us halwa in the afternoon. Sometimes it was puri,8217;8217; recalls Lalung. That chain of thought leads to Basanti and Binu, the two nurses who looked after him.

8216;8216;Bor bhaal chowali very good girls,8217;8217; he remembers them affectionately, even as he wonders what they do now they don8217;t have to look after him.

4.00 pm.
Jurmon wants the whole family to pose for a group photograph with Lalung. But the old man is getting a bit restive. 8216;8216;How many photos will you take? Aren8217;t you tired? I am getting annoyed,8217;8217; he says.

The stream of visitors continues, probably prompted as much by curiosity as custom. Questions fly in thick and fast: Where were you so long? Did they keep you in a jail? Oh, you still remember our language? How did you preserve it? Did you find anybody else in jail who could speak our language?

8216;8216;It is my language. I kept it inside my heart,8217;8217; Lalung says sagely. 8216;8216;But you people speak so fast, it becomes difficult for me to understand.8217;8217;

And then he recalls an old Lalung tribal adage. 8216;8216;It is about the innocence of children and old people. We say old people are as innocent as little children,8217;8217; explains Sumbor.

As night begins to play catch-up with the day, the visitors keep coming and the zu keeps flowing. 8216;8216;Don8217;t drink too much,8217;8217; Lalung admonishes the guests, the discipline of 54 years in government custody finally apparent.

Meanwhile, the news of Machang Lalung opening a bank account has spread like wildfire. 8216;8216;Has the money come? How much is the total amount?8217;8217; asks one elderly visitor.

But such distractions are not for Lalung. It8217;s 5.30 pm, and his mind drifts gently to the routine of life as he knew it. 8216;8216;They always gave us food on time,8217;8217; he says. 8216;8216;Six-thirty every day.8217;8217;

Sonali, his grand-niece, knows the signs. 8216;8216;Koka, your food is ready. Can I serve it now?8217;8217; she asks.

Dinner is rice with pork and a curry of green vegetables. 8216;8216;He is very fond of green vegetables. He tells us they gave them green vegetables every day at Tezpur,8217;8217; says Sonali.

Lalung goes to bed early. 8216;8216;It has been my habit. Everybody there at Tezpur sleeps early. They also get up early. It is good for health,8217;8217; he says, as Sonali and Jurmon prepares his bed, a wooden cot, with a quilt combined with a new blanket.

8216;8216;Go away. Don8217;t disturb me,8217;8217; Lalung tells us.

We let him have his way.