Crossing Over

One

Nayan tore off his wet shirt, took the towel his cousin held out for him and began to dry himself off. He had been in the rain for so long that his fingers tips had started to wrinkle.

“Did that uncle come in?” he asked his cousin Debu.

“Uncle?” Debu asked.

“The old man who guided me here. He said he knew you all well. He was right behind me. He was just going to leave his umbrella in the shed and come inside.”

Debu gave him a quizzical look and stepped out of the small room into the landing of the house where the family had excitedly gathered.

Nayan’s grandparents along with his mom’s brothers family - his Mama, Maima and Debu- lived in two small mud houses that faced one another. The fence-encircled compound included a barn that doubled as a shed.

His grandmother - Dida - nearly fainted when he had walked in. Nobody had really expected him to arrive in the middle of the night amidst the monsoon downpour. And whatever little hope Dida might have been clinging to would have dissipated with daylight. Even she - who had spent her whole life in this area - would not take that walk to the river in the rains especially after dark.

Everything Nayan had brought to wear in his carry bag had gotten rain-soaked on the journey. And as he changed into some of Debu’s pyjamas, he could hear Debu talking to Mama. People shuffled about. And in a moment, Debu came back into the room.

“Doesn’t look like anybody followed you in,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Come see for yourself. With your terrible Bengali, maybe you just misunderstood what he meant,” Debu winked. Nayan’s terrible Bengali never failed to amuse.

“I don’t think so, bhai. We seemed to understand each other well enough for me to get here, na?”

“Well, there’s no uncle here. But, we’re so glad you could come,” said Debu opening the door to the room and motioning him out onto the porch of the house where everyone else had gathered.

Even in the flickering yellow flame of the kerosene lamp, he could tell that the place was decorated in preparation for the puja the next day. This had been the occasion of his visit.

Now, his aunt and Dida fussed around him. Happy to see him, their love manifested in food: daal, bhaat, and tarkari. His favorites. As he ate on the porch that doubled as the living room, the rain continued to fall. He felt relieved to be out of it now, and didn’t mind the usual questions his extended family asked whenever he came to visit. How was his sister? How were his studies at the university going? What did he plan to do after graduation? Did he like living in America? Did he miss them when he was there? Would he marry an Indian girl?

A flash of lightning interrupted their banter. A raucous roll of thunder followed.

“I can’t believe you came in this weather,” Dadu tsked.

“Believe me, if it weren’t for Debyendu uncle, I wouldn’t have –” Nayan started to say.

“Debyendu uncle?” Dadu interrupted, eyebrows scrunched.

“He must be talking about somebody else,” Dida said to Dadu, stroking his back gently.

Debu started to explain seeing flicker of confusion on Nayan’s face. “Dadu knew a Debyendu uncle from our area,”

“Yes, yes. That Debyendu uncle. Old man. Medium height, scrawny build, grey beard. He said he knew you all well. That’s why I wanted him to come in. He said he was just going to leave the umbrella in shed and follow me.”

“That’s enough Nayan,” Mama cut him off. The family members had gone silent and exchanged glances. Despite the heat and humidity, Nayan felt confused and cold. Even with a change of clothes, he felt a lingering dampness after all of that time in the rain.

Two

He hadn’t wanted to come really. While he was always happy to see his Dida and Dadu, he didn’t care much for pujas. If somebody has asked Nayan what this puja was about, he wouldn’t have been able to say. And, such meaningless rituals made him uncomfortable. If it was all the same, he’d rather avoid them.

Nayan had come to India over summer break from college. He was doing an internship at an NGO in Delhi for a couple of months to jump start his thesis work.

All summer, he had been feeling guilty about being in the country and not going to see his grandparents. This puja, his mother had informed him the week before by phone, would be the perfect opportunity. He could go to Dakshinkul the village where his mother had grown up and where his grandparents still lived. She had said it would mean a lot to Dida, and Nayan – puja not withstanding – couldn’t say no.

“But be careful,” his mother had warned. “July in Bengal is monsoon time. And the heavy rains can be treacherous; the village will be difficult to reach.” He’d have to fly into Calcutta from Delhi, take a train to a station a couple of stops from the regional city of Burdwan. And after that, there would be a ferry crossing of the Damodar river. Finally, there would be a long walk over a windy stretch of country road to Dida’s house.

“Whatever you do,” she had said, “cross the river and get to house before sunset. It’s too dangerous to navigate the flood swelled river in the dark. I remember many childhood stories of people getting swept away on those small ferries. And, the path after the river crossing will be muddy and confusing. You’ll might get lost in the dark.”

“Yes ma! I’ll figure it out,” Nayan had said absentmindedly in response.

And his mother, who like all mothers, felt it to be a sacred duty to give well meaning but unsolicited advice, had yet more to offer. In that era before smart phones, she advised Nayan to ask people often for directions. “Everybody will know Dida by name so keep asking. But, after dark, there won’t be people out on the road to help.””

“Your best bet,” his mother had concluded was to “cross the river and try to catch a ride with a gorur gari – a cow cart – that was going towards Dida’s house.” “Catching one,” she said, “would be easy enough in farm country. Just so long as you get there before dark.”

Three

Of course, as it happened, by the time Nayan stepped off the train at the station closest to Dida’s village, the sun was dipping below the horizon.

All day, it had been a race against the sun that he knew he would lose. His mother-approved plans were in trouble the moment he had arrived at the airport in Delhi that morning. “…The inconvenience is deeply regretted…” came the flight announcement informing him that his morning flight to Calcutta, now rain-delayed, would be an afternoon flight. “Regretted by who?” Nayan thought to himself. He had developed a grade school English teacher’s dislike of passive voice.

Even after arriving in Calcutta, the taxi ride from Dum Dum airport to Howrah station was snarled in traffic. Much of the roads were invisible in knee deep rain water. He had considered just canceling the trip at the airport, but the thought of disappointing Dida had held his resolve.

Now looking around the train platform, he could see the station was a small one. An out-of-place, accidental slab of concrete in the midst of a sea of rice paddy. Only the blue covering and red brick ticket house indicated that it was a station at all. That, and of course, the train tracks.

And even through the pouring rain, he could see the swollen Damodar river – a tributary of the mighty Ganges – rushing by a short distance from the station. A small cluster of ferry boats pulled mightily at the ropes that tied them to shore. He’d have to cross the river on one of those.

He expected at least one or two of the other passengers would also be making their way to the river with him. But they seemed to be headed for destinations on this side of the river. That or they just knew better than to try to cross in the rains.

Four

The men looked at each other blankly in response to Nayan’s greeting. He thought maybe his broken Bengali was not being understood. He tried again.

“When will the next boat to the other side start?”

Again, he was met with blank stares. Smoke drifted up from the bright orange tips of their bidis as they dragged.

Nayan had walked to a thatched hut near the cluster of boats he had seen from the station. The short walk was muddy. He had a small umbrella with him, but in the windy, sideways rain, it hardly made a difference. Before he had reached the hut, the rain had drenched his hair, soaked into his shirt, and into his bag.

Now he shuffled his feet, felt the dampness of his shoes as he awaited some response from these men.

“It’s not possible any more today,” one man replied at last gesturing his hand towards the river. “The water is too rough. And it’s too dark now to see,” added the man next to him. The third man simply looked on avoiding eye contact.

Nayan felt his stomach tighten and a sense of panic growing as the last glimmers of light gave way. What was the back-up plan? he thought. Probably best to take a train back to Calcutta. Then either find a hotel or find a way to some relative’s house in the city.

Sad, angry, soaked. Nayan left the boatmen’s shelter and started to wade through the mud back to the train station.

Five

His other immediate thought was to find a phone so he could leave a message with his Aunt. In the era before mobile phones, he would not be able to get a message to his Dida directly. She didn’t have a phone. He knew she would be worried tonight when he didn’t show up. And at first light, she would rush to the nearby village. At the grocery store there was the only pay phone in the whole area. She would use it to call his aunt to inquire about his whereabouts.

“Oye. The other side? You want to cross?”

His internal dialog about finding shelters and phones was interrupted by a whispered voice to his left. Nayan turned toward the sound and used his umbrella to block the wind and try to hear more clearly.

“I can take you,” came the voice again. But Nayan still couldn’t see who was speaking. He turned back and could see the thatched hut where he had spoken to the men, but there wasn’t anyone about.

“I can take you to the other side,” said the voice again.

“Who’s there?” asked Nayan as he stepped towards the voice. Now, he could see the faint shape of a man on his left near the riverbank.

“I’m Debyendu Kaku. I know your family. Your Dadu sent word that I am to help you cross,” he said.

“Dadu sent this uncle to help me cross,” he thought to himself as a wave of relief swept over his body. “Of course he did”. Nayan walked toward the old man standing on a narrow boat swaying with the rushing water.

Six

“Get in,” Debyendu Kaku said as Nayan approached the boat. Nayan gave up on his umbrella, folded it, and stepped unsteadily in.

With the light coming from a small torch on the floor of the boat, Nayan took note of his boatman’s brown complexion and gray stubble. He had a rain soaked shirt draped across his emaciated, short frame. With one hand he held a long stick plunged into the water anchoring the boat against the strong current. With his other arm, he held onto to a rope tied to what was visible of a small dock almost engulfed entirely by the swollen river.

“Sit there,” Debyendu Kaku motioned with his head toward a strip of wood a quarter of the way from the back of the boat. Nayan sat down gripping the edges. Water sloshed into the boat on all sides as the rain continued to fall steadily.

“Pick that torch up,” Debyendu Kaku shouted over the gush of the river. “Point it towards the other shore.”

Just as Nayan picked up the torch, he felt a rush of acceleration as Debyendu Kaku let go of the rope holding them to the dock. The boat lurched into the current and was whisked along the river. Debyendu Kaku plunged his pole into the river bed, changing direction but not by much. The current was too strong.

Nayan could hardly grip the torch, it’s light disappeared into darkness a foot or two ahead. He couldn’t even see Debyendu Kaku at the front of the boat as it seemed to hurtle down the river of it’s own accord. Faster and faster, nearly out of control.

The boat jerked, and the torch slipped from his hand onto the bottom of the boat and went out with a dull thud. Now he couldn’t see anything at all. He held his breath in panic. All he could hear was the wind blowing by and the rush of the river. All he could feel was water on all sides. He closed his eyes tightly for what felt like an eternity.

Suddenly, Nayan felt the boat edge and turn, and ultimately slow. He opened his eyes. Somehow, they were approaching the other shore. They had made it across!

However, the strong current had pushed the boat further down the coast from where boats typically landed so there was no proper dock to receive them. Nayan turned toward Debyendu Kaku for guidance, but could barely see him through the rain and darkness.

A moment later, Nayan heard him pick up the torch he’d dropped and turn it on and point to a spot on the riverbank. “Step out there,” Debyendu Kaku said. Nayan took his bag and felt lucky to step onto the shore.

Seven

Nayan’s family had been listening incredulously as he recounted his journey. Their eyes progressively getting wider.

“He must have come ashore near the old docks” Mama said to Dadu who only looked on in response, his face ashen.

Mama turned towards Nayan now: “was there a small, faded pink Kali temple?”

“The one with blue doors?” Nayan asked.

The family again exchanged glances. Nayan took that as a yes.

“Then you must have gone quite a distance downriver. How did you manage to find your way here?” Debu asked.

“Debyendu Kaku” Nayan said and resumed to his account of events.

Eight

Debyendu Kaku got out of the boat and tied it to a sort of brick which anchored the boat in place. He handed Nayan his umbrella back, and he unfolded one for himself. One of those old heavy ones, worn for wear with several spokes bent and one missing altogether.

“Come this way,” he said pointing the torch towards a path up the muddy riverbank. Outside the protection of the umbrella, the wind, rain and darkness engulfed Nayan’s surroundings.

As they made their way up the bank, the light of the torch flashed off of something bright blue in the distance. Nayan could see it more clearly once they got closer. It was a temple. A small building enclosed by a wall with a metal gate through which one could see the statue of the goddess. And in this case, the wall was pink and it looked like the entrance doors had been recently repainted reflective blue.

Nayan though he might ask what this temple was, but he felt too tired and rain soaked to break the quiet. Whatever focus he could muster was about putting one foot in front of the other and getting to Dida’s house.

So Nayan was surprised when Debyendu Kaku spoke up. “It was here that I met your Dadu” he said.

“What is this place?” Nayan asked projecting his voice forward. He looked ahead towards Debyendu Kaku but could only see the torchlight as they kept walking.

“This is a Kali temple,” Debyendu Kaku said.

“When did you meet my Dadu?”

“It was a long time ago. We were both young. Actually, it was a day like this. Torrential monsoon rains.”

“Was there some puja?” Nayan tried to imagine a puja at the Kali temple, but couldn’t muster up an image.

“Your Dadu was a young man then and he had come with his father and sister to the riverbank by the temple. In those days, where we came ashore was the main river crossing. Your Dadu’s sister had suddenly fallen very ill. If I remember right, the family suspected typhoid and had come hoping to cross the river to go to the hospital.” He paused to point the torch back towards Nayan to light the path through a large puddle.

Off in the distance Nayan could make out a cluster of huts with thatched roofs. Lights from the kerosene lamps flickered like fireflies.

Debyendu Kaku resumed. “Of course the boatmen could not be convinced to cross so late in the evening and in the midst of the heavy rain. They urged the family to wait until morning. And with no way to get across, the family took the sick girl to this temple to pray.

“I was here just by chance. That day, I had forgotten my umbrella. Once dusk had settled, I tied up the boat and started to walk home. But, it was raining too much. And I decided to shelter at the temple for a while hoping the rain would let up some.”

Debyendu Kaku stopped speaking. And they walked on in silence over the narrow road between endless paddy fields submerged in water. To Nayan, it felt like he was walking through the middle of a vast sea. Only tip of the rice stalks that poked up from the water gave away that there were fields at all. The rain continued relentlessly, and Debyendu Kaku spoke again.

“While I was waiting, your Dadu and his family approached the temple. Anyone could see that the little girl was terribly ill and might not make it through the night. So while the family started to do a puja, I went to your Dadu and offered to help them cross.

“Your Dadu’s father was overjoyed but also afraid. He understood the risk. He said he would go alone with his daughter to the hospital. So your Dadu stayed behind. Anyway, the small boat would have struggled to carry four people.” Debyendu Kaku trailed off, and the silence lingered again.

The rain slowed down a bit allowing Debyendu Kaku to pick up the pace. He stayed ahead of Nayan several paces so Nayan could hardly see him at all; only the torchlight.

Nayan knew the rest of the story. His Dadu’s sister had survived the illness. He associated her with foods he loved to eat: incredible luchis with aloo. She made them like no one else.

“Luckily she turned out to be ok,” Nayan said eventually.

“Yes. It was difficult, but we managed to make the crossing. And we were able to take her to the hospital just in time. Your family has always been grateful to me for that. Your Dadu came to my wedding. I attended his. And over the years, we came to be friendly whenever our paths would cross.”

They walked on again for a time. And Nayan could see a cluster of villages approaching.

“See there, that light ahead? That’s your Dadu’s house,” he pointed with the torch.

And soon they reached the narrow lane leading through a barn and a storage shed to the compound door to Dida’s house. Inside, Nayan knew would be several different single room huts where his mama lived with his family. Another for Dadu and Dida. And another that was the common kitchen. A covered space led down to the water pump and the washroom.

“Go straight down this alley and you’ll reach the door,” Debyendu Kaku finally said. And then he motioned to walk away.

“You’re not coming in?” Nayan asked. “They will want to say hello and thank you for bringing me safely.”

“I will certainly want to see them, but my clothes are soaked in rain. It might be better for me to continue to my home nearby and come by in the morning,” Debyendu Kaku said.

“Please just come for a moment. They will be quite upset with me if I let you just go off.” Nayan said.

“Well perhaps, just for a moment. I should very much like to see them. It has been a long time,” he said. “Why don’t you go ahead. I will go through the barn and leave our umbrellas there to dry.

Nayan closed his umbrella as best he could. and handed it to Debyendu Kaku. The rain had slowed considerably but a light drizzle continued. And without the umbrella, he dashed into the alley and called out through the door.

His family, astonished at his arrival at this late hour in the rain, ushered him in joyfully.

Nine

Nayan concluded his story and looked around at his family members. Their faces had gone pale. Dida held Dadu’s hand. No one spoke. Mama looked agitated.

“What happened? Did I say something wrong?” Nayan looked at his family wondering if maybe he had fumbled in Bengali. Turning to Debu, he asked pointedly, “What did I say? What are you all not telling me?”

Debu looked at him with a blank expression as if grasping for words.

“Go and see once more.” Dadu motioned Mama towards the compound door. “Check the cow shed.”

Mama got up, put on his chappals and started off in the direction of the shed.

“I’m going too!” Nayan said and followed before anyone could protest. Debu too came along.

In the light rain, they rushed back out the compound door into the narrow alley. No one was there. The made their way into storage shed and turned on a yellow light hanging from the ceiling. Nothing.

They then moved across to the other side of the alley where the cow shed was. There they were startled by the grunts from the cows when they turned up the light.

As Dadu and Dida also joined them, Mama gasped. He pointed to a small wooden beam. From it hung Nayan’s umbrella. The water still dripping from it and creating a puddle below it on the earthen floor. Mama was pointing to the umbrella next to Nayan’s. It was an old, heavy, weather-beaten umbrella still damp from the rain. It too had a puddle below it, next to the one from Nayan’s umbrella.

“That one is mine,” Nayan said an whisper. “And that one is Debyendu Kaku’s,” he said pointing towards the old one.

“It can’t be!” Dadu said in a whisper moving towards the old umbrella. “I have never seen this umbrella before.”

Just then, the lights flickered. The cows unsettled, mooed again briefly. A cool wind blew through the barn rattling the door. The light bulb from the ceiling swayed like a pendulum. Back and forth. The moment hung in the air.

“It’s not possible,” Dadu said again.

“Why?” Nayan’s felt the hairs on his arms stiffen and stand. “Why isn’t it possible?”

Debu turned to him. “Nayan. Debyendu Kaku did help Dadu and his sister long time ago, and many others since. He is a legend in these parts,” he whispered.

“But, about ten years ago, on a night very much like this one, he was trying to help a small boy cross the river when his boat capsized. The boy was found the next day alive on the riverbank. But Debyendu Kaku, he could not be found. And neither he nor his boat were ever seen again.”

Image Credit: Krishnendu Chakraborty via Flickr