Opinion Red steps to reminiscences

Our Bangladeshi navigator stopped at an over 100-year-old sweetshop. A hard,yellowish,six-inch dia,milk sweet on a banana leaf,totally displaced me,my grandma’s voice reverberated in my body and mind. So this unique shani kheer,available only in Siraj Dikhan en route to our village,was for real! The sweetshop owner even recalled tales of the revered Raisaheb Ruhini Sengupta,my great grandfather.

Going forward,our contact hailed a 95-year-old Hindu religious man in one of those colourful rickshaws that dot both the urban and rural Bangladeshi landscape. Everybody knew that he survives on fruits and knows everyone here from way back. Visiting after 63 years,my father started recounting long-lost experiences. The spritely,wrinkled swamiji corroborated each recall just as enthusiastically,and they’d hug each other like long lost friends. I’d never witnessed my father express such bonhomie. Swamiji embellished my father’s childhood tit-bits with detailed information on Ruhini Sengupta. He also mentioned that Bikrampur’s Durga festivities comprised 80 pandals before Partition,now only two Pujas are celebrated.

The road to the village was extraordinary. Arched trees on both sides touched one another to filter in patches of early winter sunlight to welcome our disoriented homecoming. I recognised the “shanko” my grandmother had described,the single bamboo walkway with bamboo railings that connect houses separated from the road by water bodies. People would balance tightrope-like,walking with perfect grace,even with large bundles on their head on up to hundred-metre shankos.

Veering into a small brick road alongside paddy and potato fields interspersed with water hyacinths,my heart skipped a beat as a signboard appeared: “Madhyapara Union Parishad”. Our navigator escorted us to the local village chairman,Mohammad Azim. The chairman was waiting with several old people. He honoured my father,making him sit on his tall chair. Myth-like stories were emerging of Raisaheb Ruhini Sengupta’s prosperity,power and fame. My father would start a topic,“My grandfather used to walk….” and old Karim Mia would excitedly continue,“…and “if turbulent oxen were fighting there,they’d stop and respectfully step aside to let him pass.” This reunion in the chairman’s bureau reminded me of mafia recognition methods where two unknown mafia-men on a pre-determined meeting are each given a torn currency note. If their two pieces converge exactly,the men know they’ve correctly found each other. The spontaneity of my father’s memoirs was as incredible as the response from the increasing number of white-bearded,hennaed men overcrowding the room. I was just an open-mouthed listener matching their conversation to my grandmother’s stories.

We walked the next 2 km to our lost ancestral home ‘Subal Dham’ in complete brotherhood. Amid lush greenery and mustard fields,several questioning people kept joining our party. My father’s eyes moistened when he saw his dighi or fishpond. He was shocked. His large red mansion was demolished,sprouting in its place small tin houses. All that remained of his homeland gone adrift were a set of red British-style steps that jutted into the pond,and a concrete bathroom for women at the back. A current inhabitant of our property,Md Mofiz,recounted the heritage property of Raisaheb Ruhini Sengupta,which amounted to 400 acres. He said,“The 360 degree horizon you see would have belonged to your family.” I was utterly shocked. After the Sengupta family was forced to flee during turbulent times,the Government appropriated the property,cut them into bits and pieces for many to occupy. Mofiz also knew that this was only the country house of Raisaheb,that his principal home and property were in Rangoon,Burma. My great grandfather was initially a PWD worker in British times. The British rulers rewarded him with the Raisaheb title for his excellent performance as the principal engineer in constructing the Burma-China border road. He maintained a high establishment in Burma,and my grandfather was the eldest son of his ten children. My grandfather became a successful advocate in Insein,Rangoon,before he suddenly died,leaving his family with his father.

As my father recounted his childhood memories of sitting atop the red steps,occupants of our erstwhile property crowded in to hear him. I’m grateful to Chairman Azim for making our visit smooth. Some people were scared that we’d come to repossess our 400 acres. We had to re-establish that ours was an emotional nostalgic journey to discover our vanished legacy,and not to reclaim our 400 acres that got branded as “enemy property” and auctioned off after Partition.

Shombit Sengupta is an international creative business strategy consultant to top management. Reach him at http://www.shiningconsulting.com