Bankim felt an ant crawl up his forearm as he woke up to a cool breeze whistling past his ear. He removed it almost instantly and looked around to ascertain the surroundings. It was quiet and calm as usual. He checked his wristwatch, it was still three more hours before his shift would end. But that hardly mattered as there was no one to supervise his work in this remote village. It has been two years since someone came here, a clerk from the department, he remembered, to find if the post was actually there. Bankim has to walk nine miles to get his salary every month from the only post-office for 150 villages. It was like god himself has forsaken this hell hole where he worked.
Bankim was born to a farmer in Devipur village of southern West Bengal. His father was killed in a confrontation with cops when he was 5 and his mother moved to her relatives in a nearby village. He was deprived of education due to financial constraints and ended up working as a daily wage worker in a landlord’s farm. But it was then when his uncle from Calcutta came and offered him a job, as a guard in the forest department. He even offered to take care of the forged certificates for 5,000 rupees. Bankim remembered he had to take a loan from the landlord at a very high interest. It took him 4 months to repay the loan.
But his life seemed to settle for now as everything was working well and he was in a position to save some money and send home. And the work was a treat in itself, just sit in the post throughout the day and lookout for poachers, which he hardly ever did. Most of them had weapons with them so it was really not worth to confront them. He stayed put for most of the time.
The post was deep inside the forest, and comprised of a hut, a chair and bedding. There was a mud pot where he stored water form a nearby stream. The forest was dense, green and filled with the occasional whistles from birds. No animal ever wandered around the post as they preferred to come out only during the night, when Bankim would retreat to the village, after an hour’s walk. Bankim was alone almost all the time and was used to this. He had his radio and ‘beedi’ to keep him company.
Bankim was preparing to leave when he saw a group of people walking towards him. They were still far way, and he was not in their line of sight. Following the usual protocol, Bankim hid behind a tree. As they came closer, he noticed some of them were wearing red bandanas. It took him no time to realise who they were. Almost everyone of them was carrying a rifle with him. They stopped when they noticed the hut. They quickly scattered and positioned themselves all around. It was then when one of them saw Bankim hiding and seeing his ‘khaki’ uniform, fired a shot which hit Bankim on the shoulder. Bankim fell to the ground, revealing himself. No body moved for a while when another shot hit Bankim on his legs leaving him in tremendous pain. Slowly two of them came forward, one covering the other, and positioned themselves on both sides of Bankim, still hiding themselves. After a while, one of them came and checked Bankim who was rolling around in pain. The man gave a signal, and everyone came out towards the hut.
Few of them went inside the hut to check for supplies while others relaxed and some positioned themselves to secure the area. The leader of the group came and stood in front of Bankim, who was begging for his life.
“Shut up you scum! We won’t kill you. For now.” Said the man.
But Bankim kept on screaming and begging. He couldn’t stop it as the pain was too much to bear. The man kicked him in the face, which left Bankim numb as everything went silent for him. The next thing he remembered, was being tied to a nearby tree with a piece of cloth stuffed in his mouth. Bankim was losing blood rapidly and finally lost his conscious.
Bankim felt warm when he woke up and saw a bonfire in front of him. He noticed that his wounds were dressed. He was alive. This gave him a sense of relief but he was still not sure what was yet to come. It was dark and the forest was full of distant howls of animals. He was trying to grasp his situation when someone saw him and informed the leader. Then two men came and untied him and took him inside the hut, which was transformed into their temporary headquarter. A walky-talky sounding continuously, and three men arguing furiously over some issue which Bankim couldn’t understand.
“What to do with him?” said the supposedly junior of the men. “Should we kill him or let him go?”
“He can give some information to the CRPF to track us. I say finish him off right now.” Said the other.
The leader looked at Bankim and asked him,” Who do you work for?”
“M…m..me huzoor, the f…forest d..d..department.” said Bankim in fear after hearing the earlier conversation.
“Does anyone else works here with you?” enquired the man.
“No janab, just me. I swear ,I won’t tell anyone anything. Pardon me sahib, I will never come back here.” Begged Bankim.
“Take him away, he will go with us.” Ordered the man.
Early morning when it was still dark, the men prepared to leave. Bankim was given a stick to assist him with walking and was position in the front file of the group. Bankim walked, hopelessly.
It took 4 days for the people of the village to realise Bankim was missing, and 2 years for the department. But overall no one bothered to find him. It didn’t mattered to anyone that a forest guard was missing. The hut lies abandoned for now. No one comes here. The poaching business goes on as usual. The pot lies in the hut untouched. One can still find some water in there, but whether it’s fit to drink is hard to tell. Just the other day a fruit peddler heard that CRPF shot down one of the most notorious Naxal leader in Dantewada.
“Who was it?” asked the man.
“It was our Bankim.” Replied the peddler.
#bySagar
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