Kala Shah

Kher Kalan used to be a small village, about 100 houses scattered around zigzag, narrow, brick laden lanes. The road from the state highway, running north of it, was a dirt track used normally by Tonga or a Bullock cart and of course bicycles. The road skirted the village and went further south by few more miles, to another, even smaller, village called Taali. Residents, mostly migrants from Pakistan in this belt, were farmers with their own land and some others who were part of self sufficient daily activities like a baniya, a carpenter, a primary school etc. The region was reasonably prosperous, mainly due to the old  but functional irrigation system from the British era. A small canal which fed the village fields ran about two miles to the east at its boundary. It doubled as a limit for most of the residents, except for our duo of Prakash and Jasmeet, who used to cross it daily for going to the high school in the town named Hajipur. A rarely used, narrow walking track from the village, through the lush fields, led up to a banyan tree on the edge of canal, from where they crossed it. They had placed a large boulder in the centre, to ease the effort of jumping over its three metre width. This was also their favourite spot for a dip in cool waters during hot summers. The shade of tree meant long hours in water without getting sun burnt. Their passionate discussion along with jumping from one topic to another, where the plans of future were routinely made and discarded even faster.

One day, they heard about the village getting electrified and the work to place the poles was going to start soon. The banyan tree was marked to be cut as it lay in the path of proposed line. This was an extremely sad development for them but they could do nothing, as electricity was obviously more important than their comfort during the dip. Every time they crossed the spot, the thought of losing their beloved tree, made them unhappy. One sunday afternoon, when they were seated under the shade they thought of  plan to save the tree.

On every Tuesday and Saturday, early in the morning,  they would light a diya under the tree and tie kalaawa thread around the trunk. This ritual was followed sincerely for next few weeks. When the team of electric department came to check the place, they were astounded to see the tree marked for cutting was a sacred one. Having had the experience of going through the trouble of firstly finding someone to cut a sacred tree and then public sentiment in such matters, they decided to move the mark of the pole away from the tree. The friends were thrilled at their achievement and continued with their sham of  lightning diya under the tree till the poles were placed.

A few years later, almost out of the college now, they had gone to the canal on a lazy afternoon. There they found a dead body of a dog stuck along the boulder in the canal. Not exactly dog or animal lovers, they were sad to see their spot being spoiled by the corpse. There was a collar around its neck with name Kala written on it. It must have fallen in, got entangled with the bushes and drowned in the night a few villages upstream, they thought. The flow of water was not strong enough to take it along any further. So now they would have to solve the problem on their own. Having contemplated, they went back home and got a spade, rope and a bucket to take out the corpse and bury it somewhere. Initially they thought of burying it away from the tree but due to the heat of afternoon sun, they decided to do it in the shade. So a pit was dug up, dog was dragged out, lowered into the pit and it was covered by the sand. The ground appeared like a small mound about 4x2 feet and about a foot high. After the hard work in hot summer afternoon, they were lying down next to the grave when a group of old ladies from Taali, going home along the canal, saw them. In their usual curiosity they enquired what were they doing and jokingly Prakash replied they were here to light diya on the grave of Peer Kala Shah. The ladies without any fuss continued towards home.

Many years later, Jasmeet returned to his village from abroad, where he had migrated soon after college. He had rushed home to attend to his father who had suddenly fallen very ill.  To his astonishment, he encountered a traffic jam on the highway at the junction of his village. He  had kept quite throughout the journey and was gathering all the changes which had occurred in his absence. The driver of the taxi, which brought him from Delhi airport, too was clueless about this sudden rush towards a trivial village. After reaching home and done with the pleasantries and health update, he asked his father about all the traffic. The reply brought a roar of laughter even in this sombre moment. As it turned out, one of the lady in the group, on that day at the canal, was blessed with a grandson that night. She proclaimed that it was the blessing of Peer Kala Shah which had made it possible after the doctors in the hospital informed her of complications in the pregnancy. On her way home, she had prayed to the peer for a healthy grandchild and promised to get a proper mazaar made. After the successful birth, she asked her son to do as she had promised . So her good son brought the place up. In a short time, the fame of Kala Shah spread to many villages. People started thronging the site and many claimed their prayers were heard. Even his father desired that he should go to the peer and ask for forgiveness as he had never visited the place. At first Jasmeet thought of telling the truth to his father but then he let it pass. His father had returned back to village a few months ago, after he started keeping unwell while he was staying with his son. He had the desire to return to his roots now, but lack of proper medical care had deteriorated the health even more.

 Jasmeet decided to take his father to the Dargah next morning. He borrowed a motorcycle from a neighbour for going. It being early in the morning, very few people were present at the Dargah. He was amazed to see the large compound which had come up at the place. The boundary wall had encircled the tree which was looking even more majestic. The gate was manned by a young boy whose father was the caretaker of the shrine. They had a two room house within the compound. Jasmeet helped his father to the centre where the small room was built to protect the grave. All the walls were painted light green and flags of green colour were tied all around. The grave itself was covered with a green cloth with many glittery stars and moons stitched on top. His father sat down on the doorway and closed his eyes to pray and Jasmeet wandered out towards canal. The area had completely metamorphosed with a 10 feet wide pukka bridge across and the road along the canal towards Taali and Hajipur. Some small shops were also there selling goods to pilgrims who must be coming regularly now. The area was littered with polythene bags and disposable cutlery indicating frequent langars. 

The caretaker told him a standard story of a Peer who had done penance at this place for the good of the locals for extended period, a long time ago. After his demise locals built this shrine and he was revered, for he fulfills all their desires. 

It was about 20 years since he had left his ancestral village. Within this span, so many things had happened. He wanted to share his discovery with his dear friend whom he had lost contact many years back. He knew Prakash was working in Bangalore when they had spoken last time. Being at this place and thought of his friend had made him flush with emotions. He surprised himself by the way he started missing being with his friend at that instant. As soon as he got back to the village, he dashed to Prakash’s place. He already knew that no one from Prakash's family stayed any longer in the village, but still he hoped somehow it was not true. He wished to see his friend open the door when he knocked at it. Subconsciously, he even prayed to the Peer hoping Prakash is still at this house. The apparently long wait with a racing heart was broken by the sound of the old man's voice. The visit was not totally worthless as the old man, whom Jasmeet recognised as Prakash's uncle had his contact number. Feeling elated at chances of being able to meet his friend, he called up the number.

He didn’t know when was the last time he felt such nervousness. It was as if, he was appearing for a job interview and asking a girl he loves for a date, at the same time. First twenty one years of their life, they had been almost inseparable. He couldn’t remember one single day where they had not been together. Not only their parents but entire village considered them and treated them as twins. But in pursuit of earning a living, coupled with deteriorating social structure in wake of separatist movement in Punjab, they were thrown in different directions. The eagerness to stay together, had subsided under pressure of responsibility. The mental gap overtook the physical distance and interval between phone calls continued to increase exponentially with time. The ease of social media had proved to be inadequate to reconnect the strings. But returning to the village had ruffled and exposed the feeling of belonging in an unprecedented fashion. 

The call went unanswered. After having thought of numerous reasons, he finally settled for, “It’s a working day” excuse. He decided to call again in the evening and lay resting on his bed. As he drifted in the river of images of his past, he didn’t realise ringing of his mobile. His father had to call out to him, a couple of times, from his room for him to shake out of his thoughts. It was an known number with Delhi's code. As he said hello, there was a long pause before the voice from other end was heard. The voice said, “Jassi” in a quizzical tone. Jasmeet, in an instant, was brimming with emotions again. He could only manage to say, “Haan yaar”. Prakash could sense a lot of sadness in the words. It took them more than a minute to overcome the sudden surge of sensations and talk logically. As it turned out, Prakash was in Delhi for some official work. By the end of their conversation, through various episodes of life, Prakash promised to start on Saturday evening so as to be here in the village on Sunday morning.

A moment can last for ages, years just flash by. They could recall most of the moments of them here in the village. But in terms of years, it  appeared to have happened long time ago. Every moment lived, is eternal.