Bhulan’s philosophy was simple. I’ve never seen a man so happy with a glass of country liquor. Gleefully inebriated, Bhulan’s day was made from sunrise. Bushy salt-and-pepper over a craggy scalp, his smile was a treat for the angels. That’s where Bhulan is, now. From today, he’s with the angels.
The drink which kept him going spelt his bane. Not a case of liver cirrhosis or banal asphyxia. The penniless owner of a dreary tea-shop in ‘Downtown Shanty-Niketan’, Bhulan today fell victim to the brutalities of a drunk. Dazed and clobbered by the blows, the simple man got no chance to resist. Body blue with bruises, he bled white. Debangan, tall and bearded, guardian angel to Bhulan for all times, saw him reduced to ashes. Probably it was Bhulan’s destiny to die in his arms, whom he affectionately called Dada. Probably it was Debangan’s part in the former's destiny too.
Bhulan came from Bihar. He was not aware of who Rabindranath was, nor did he care. But in an odd way, Bhulan belonged to Shantiniketan much more than lots of Ashramik-s, atleast to my eyes. A man who didn’t brandish his tooth and claw for existence, Bhulan believed in the maxim of loving and being loved. Unknowingly, he was a cog in the great wheel that the coeval bard has so eloquently spoken about.
Bhulan cared for the ill-fed students of Shantiniketan. I wonder how many students over the years have been pampered by him, with a pinch of love and a grain of salt, me included. When I used to turn penniless buying books at Subarnarekha, Bhulan kept me alive. Not at his tea-shop, but at his straw-thatched, dung-reeking hut, where serenity and bonhomie loomed large. We were his lifeline, so was he. That lifeline, alas, proved futile this Thursday.
When the call from Suchintya came through, I was shattered, to say the least. To me, Bhulan, his asthmatic wife and his sons Raja and Raju present a plethora of images. I had many a happy memories with Bhulan. Chhatu-r puri with chatni, tarka and dim bhujiya… endless hours of adda… Debangan singing… those were our days of backslapping camaraderie. Bhulan with his ready supply of cha was the cynosure of it all. That Bhulan is no more.
Going to Shantiniketan has always been a welcome relief for me. I wonder, whether I can bear to go back to my Alma Mater one more time…
No comments:
Post a Comment