The Barpali Days

Jul 12, 2016

Stories 8:37 PM

The Art of Fart

I recall an event of my school days during the ‘80s of the last Century. Then I was a student of Class 8^th of the historic Prithiraj High School of Balangir. We had our Christmas holidays. On 2^nd January our school reopened. Outside the school campus my batch mate Tingalu Bagarti spotted me. He was the notorious boy of our class. I use to be associated with him so as at the time of need he will safeguard me from the senior students of the school. I expressed my anguish to him, that I have not done my home work of the mathematics. He said “Just fart, when you can’t solve your math”. I was clueless on whatever he said. I wanted to know what does he mean, but he laughed loudly and ran towards the school gate.

The first class of the day was mathematics. The teacher entered the class room and took the attendance. Now I started shivering. In life I was never a topper in the class. I used to be a mediocre student, but was always obedient. I was occupying the front row of seats. The teacher made the students stand one after another and asked to show the notebooks. When my turn came I was shivering. I stood, bow down my head and told, haven’t done with the home work. He raised his stick and pointed its tip towards me and asked to stand on the bench holding both the ears with hands. By the time I took the elevated position as directed by my class teacher Taklu Sir, I sensed a bad smell. The teacher shouted, who the hell it is and if not attended the toilet since the day school was closed.

I recalled the brief conversation that I had with Tingalu just before entering the school. I looked towards Tingalu seating on the parallel bench. He smiled and looked towards the teacher as if an obedient student. Taklu Sir scratched his bare head with the fingers and asked me to seat and went to the corridor to take a fresh breath. When the class was over I expressed my gratitude to Tingalu. He said in the morning he had taken basi pakhal with raw onion. He asked if I have done the homework of science subject. I asked, but why ? He said in the lunch hour he would go home and will equip his stomach even with a more powerful punch i.e. Basi Pakhal with muli, the radish.

Whatever the food or drink we consume would come out of the body in one or the other form. The solid substance comes out as excreta, while the liquid portion comes out either as urine or the sweat. On the other hand the gaseous form is emitted as flatulent. Fart occur when the gas that was generated in the intestines get discharged through the anus. In India the act of farting is considered as a taboo in the civic society. If somebody farts with a noise then people around looks at him with an annoyed face. So it tempts people to fart without letting others know it. But certainly people get alert if the fart emits bad odour.

Note : The pupil shown on the image are different from the characters narrated in this post. At places fictional names has been used to safeguard the dignity of the persons.

WhatApp# +918249314972

kiranbima@gmail.com

E.Kiran Mohan(The Writer)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768029

Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 21

Jun 16, 2016

Stories 2:06 PM

Mango mania

[The charming story of school kids invading a mango grove to steal the raw mangoes]

It was the year 1983 and then I was a student of Class 7^th of the historic Prithiviraj High School of Balangir, Odisha. Though I used to be a below average student in studies, but was always loyal and obedient either to the teachers at school or the parents at home. It was the month of April and the summer holidays has just begin. Unlike the present generation of kids, during the 80’s of the last Century we did not had many options to play games. There were no video games, cell phones, tabs, computers or lap tops to play electronic games. We had to resort to play outdoor games only, that involve physical movements. But we the kids did not used to have much sports equipments be it either a football, cricket bat or badminton racket to play, since most of my friends were from the poor families. Our parents were keeping a strict vigil on our movements as during the noon hours of April and May in Western Odisha the temperature surpass 45 (°C) degree Celsius. They did not wanted us to be victims of summer heat stroke.

We were a gang of around eight friends who were always playing together. One of my close compatriots whom I calls as Marsad proposed to invade the mango grove that exist on the Sonepur road. We planned to raid the grove at noon hours when our mothers would go to sleep after partaking lunch. Out of the eight only four of us had cycles. I agreed to take a friend along in my bicycle with the condition, he has to pedal the cycle while I will seat on the front beam. On the state high way we raid our bicycles. The road was empty because of the summer heat. In those years vehicular traffic was scanty, because people did not used to have personal vehicles. My Marsad instructed us to park the cycles behind a bush and to walk final lap silently without causing any noise. And we just followed his instructions cautiously. Finally we reached our destination.

It looked something like a forest. There were as many as twelve to fifteen trees bearing raw mangos. We were about to invade the mangrove as if dacoits, but our gang leader Marsad halted us. He raised his hands and asked us to seat on the ground. We followed his instructions obediently. He said there is an old watchman who is guarding this mango garden. If he catches any of you, than he will rupture your bones into pieces with the thenga (thick stick) that he carries. He choosed three out of us to lead the mission. He said Mankad, Hanu and himself will climb to the top of the trees to pluck the mangoes. While Deba, Luku and myself will stand at the bottom of each tree to gather the fruits. And the rest two will be vigilant on the outskirt. And these two boys have been entrusted with the most important job. When they notice the watchman coming they will raise the alarm to the tune of a cuckoo bird saying “koooo……..koooo……..koooo”.

I followed Hanu to the garden. He choose a massive tree and halted before it. He removed his sleepers and touched the trunk of the tree and folded his both hands while closing his eyes. With his head he touched the tree. He paid his obeisance to the tree so as he should not fall accidentally from the top. Then he looked towards me. I raised my both hands to say be careful. With articulate movements of his limbs in half a minute he climbed the tree. While standing on the tree he located the branches of the tree that carry fruits. He went to one edge and plucked a few raw mangoes and started filling his knicker pockets. Then I spotted him biting a mango and eating it. I lost my temper. I raised my voice saying “kshhh…..kshhh……….”. Hanu looked towards me. With my hands I instructed him to throw one mango. Instantly he threw one raw mango. With much pleasure I picked the mango, but was disappointed to find it was bitten by Hanu. In a vulgar language I said “sala mankad (monkey) you are giving me a bitten fruit”. I asked him to get down so as I would climb the tree. But he laughed saying, one who sleep on the lap of luxury of an air cooler at night can never climb a mango tree during the day. I threw the raw mango back at him. But it missed its target and fell back on the ground. Hanu laughed at me. I was getting impatient. He dropped yet another mango. I was reluctant to lift the second mango, but he said it’s a good one. I believed on the voice with which he said and went to lift it. It was comparatively a bigger green mango. From the pocket of my knicker I took out the salt rolled in a news paper piece that I carried from home. While dripping in the salt I eat that mango. It was so sour in taste. I shouted back at Hanu. He said the most sour raw mango turn out to be the sweetest when ripen. I asked, does that mean I have to wait in this humid weather until the mangoes ripe. He said, go to the grocery store and buy “aam papdi”.

While I was relishing the raw mango Hanu screamed from the tree. I thought it to be yet another prank of this notorious kid. I asked him not to raise the voice, the watchman would come and catch us. But when I looked upward Hanu was moving further towards the edge of the branch while shivering and stammering. I noticed a monkey was approaching him. I shouted from the ground, “a mankad ja bhag, a mankad ja bhag” (hey monkey you get lost). But it kept moving forward. Hurriedly I picked a rock from the ground and threw towards the monkey, but it missed it’s target. It was non of the fault of the monkey, rather we invaded his territory. While shivering and moving backward the leg of Hanu skidded from the branch of the tree and he crash landed on the ground from a height of around 15 feets. I rushed to the spot to lift him. He was crying while saying “a Maa go, a Maa go” (Oh mother ! Oh mother). Other friends also gathered. Hanu was crying insistently while checking his left hand. We made him seat on the cycle and returned to our street. First we went to drop Hanu at his home and we all returned to our respective homes.

At late evening when I went to street to play, I found Hanu was walking bare body while his hand was striped in a white bandage. I went to ask his wellbeing. His younger brother said Hanu’s left hand has been fractured, because he fell while riding the cycle. I looked towards Hanu with concern and he smiled back at me. I asked him in which grocery store I can buy the aam papdi ? He said buying a pack of aam papdi with the stolen money is easier than stealing mangoes from a garden.

WhatsApp# +918249314972

kiranbima@gmail.com
E.Kiran Mohan(The Writer)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

E Kiran Mohan 7

Jun 8, 2016

11:33 AM

Nikita Bishi : A Child Football Prodigy of Barpali

Nikita Bishi is a student of Class 10^th of Govt. Girls High School of Barpali. Ever since she was eight years old she is playing football in her village Kadlipali. Initially she was inspired while watching the boys to play football on the playground. At Barpali sports is something which is subject to male dominance. In this region of Odisha the movement of girls are strictly restricted within the four corners of their home. Under the mentorship of coach Sampurna Bhoi she started playing football. It is a game that needs mental toughness. It causes enormous physical exhaustion. Nikita learnt the intricate techniques that are involved to play this game. Over the years with enormous practice she outperformed her colleagues in this sport. During April 2016 Nikita went to play football at Tajikistan in AFC Under-14 Girls’ Regional Championship 2016. She went on an all expenses paid trip to Dushanbe the capital city of Tajikistan. In the Team India she occupied the position of main striker at Left Forward.

[Nikita is the 5th seating girl from left on the first row at Tajkisthan]

[Dilip Bishi the father of Nikita in the liquor distillery]

Now you would be thinking Nikita might be a daughter of a sports coach to acquire the skills that are needed to reach an international tournament. But one would be dumbstruck to discover the father of Nikita to be a vendor of ground-nuts, eggs and other sundry items at Modbhati (local liquor distillery) of Barpali. Her father Dilip Bishi has under taken possibly the worst vocation available on this earth. From morning 6.00AM to night 11.00PM Dilip operates his business while every moment bruised by the drunkards. In life Dilip Bishi never travelled beyond Cuttack in Odisha, where as his daughter Nikita caught a flight and went overseas.

[Niketa Bishi along with her coach Sampurna Bhoi]
It is to be noted Dilip Bishi and his family belongs to Sanhara caste. She is a Schedule Tribe (ST) hence economically backward. Their ancestors were dwelling in the forests of Odisha. This girl Nikita Bishi needs adequate financial support to hone her skills in playing football. She seeks a sponsorship either from any individual or corporate to support her interest in sports. She can be reached at her Cell # 91-99-372-49680. She could speak either Oriya or Hindi, but no English. She is not computer literate so no email id. In case you want to forward any help you may communicate with this writer at the given below email id.

kiranbima@gmail.com

E.Kiran Mohan

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

WhatsApp# +918249314972

E Kiran Mohan 1

May 3, 2016

7:34 PM

Madhusudan Dharua : Paralyzed waist downward

Madhusudan Dharua of Kadlipali village is a Schedule Tribe (ST) person. His ancestors were dwelling in the forests. He is 38 years old and was leading life while working as a daily laborer in the agricultural fields of Remta village. During the year 2015 he fall sick with which his life was shattered. He experienced giddiness on his left leg. After few days he unable to move his legs as he was paralyzed waist downward. He was taken to different government hospitals be it Barpali, Digsira, Pandrani, Bargarh, Burla, Ulatpur and finally SCB Medical College at Cuttack. To meet the medical expenses he sold his one room house at Remta for Rs.70,000/- that was inherited from his father. At Cuttack the doctors asked him to deposit around Rs.80,000 /- (US $ 1,200) to get one emergency surgery. But by this time he turned to be a bankrupt. He returned to his village helplessly. He shifted to Kadlipali village and started living in a dilapidated house of a distant relative. His wife Basanti Dharua took the responsibility to manage the home. To support her sick husband and two school going daughters Basanti Dharua started doing sundry jobs in the agricultural fields.

His elder daughter Shivani is 10 years old and studying in Class 5^th, where as the younger daughter Rajani is studying in Class 3^rd. The only source of succor of this family is the Ration Card that was issued by Dept. of Civil Supplies, Odisha State Government. Basanti gets 20 kgs of rice at a price of Rs.1 per kilogram. She cooks rice two times a day to feed her children. Since vegetables are too expensive in the summer they eat Basi Pakhal with raw onion and salt. As they consume only rice three times a day this 20kgs of rice that is given by Dept. of Civil Supplies of Odisha falls short. Every month Basanti need to procure another 10kgs of rice from the market at a cost of Rs.20/- per kilogram. For some there seem no end to the drudgery in life. His postal address is :

MadhusudanDharua, Uppar Pada, Village : Kadlipali, PO : Lenda, Via : Barpali, Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India Cell # 91-73-269-41107

If you wish you can speak to Madhusudan Dharua on his Cell # 91-73-269-41107. He could speak Sambalpuri and Odiya fluently. He can speak broken Hindi as well, but no English. Madhusudan is not a computer literate person hence no email or Facebook id. In case you want to forward any help to Madhusudan Dharua you may ask the writer E.Kiran Mohan at kiranbima@gmail.com to make the needed arrangements.

The mother Basanti is worried about their two daughters Shivani and Rajani. Instead of worrying about the immediate priority i.e. education, she is rather worried how to get her children marry when they grow up. She has left with no tears in her eyes, only gloomy vision.

This writer is thankful to Dharmaraj Singh Bariha the other tribal person of Barpali who brought this issue into his knowledge.

Your little help could feed this family for a month. His wife got a bank account, here the details :

Basanti Dharua

Bank of Baroda

Saving A/c # 39790100006458

Barpali Branch
IFSC Code : BARB0BARAPA
The 5th character is a digit – zero

kiranbima@gmail.com

WhatsApp# +91 8249314 972

E.Kiran Mohan (The Writer)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At\PO : BARPALI – 768029

Dist.Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 1

Feb 5, 2016

Stories 10:22 PM

My tryst with a barber of Barpali

Apart from the career and the money that he earns, a man is identified either for the muscles that he builds or for the moustache that he grows. Incidentally I am not an achiever on any of these four aspects of the life. When I was in Class 12^th moustache started cropping on either side below my nose. Often while studying in the classroom or at home, my fingers would cuddle the moustache unconsciously. While standing before the mirror and dressing the hair, I used to measure the length of my moustache by counting the teeth of the comb.

Entire life I never attended any co-educational school. So on entering DAV College at Titilagarh (Odisha) I had the urge to have a girl friend. But unfortunately there was only one girl student in the entire Commerce faculty, since this was not a preferred subject for the girls during the 80’s of the last Century. I had a batch mate in the college by the name Santosh Sahu. Though he was of short stature, yet he possessed a dense moustache. He was active in all the college activities, whereas I was shy by nature. He said, “Kiran if you want to impress any girl of the art stream thanyou need to have an impressive moustache”.

As per his suggestion once or twice I remember even applying hair oil skin-deep on the follicles of the moustache to make it dense and long, but to no avail. Likewise the well groomed moustache of Laxmi Narayan Hota the reporter of Sambad at Sambalpur makes me feel envy.

At the age of 25 or 26 I was someone who was very much conscious about the outer looks of self. But with the passing age the charm has faded. Now at the age of 44, I am least alert either about the dress that I ware or the way I dress my hair.

I know many men for whom shaving is a daily course of action. As a ritual they religiously spend around 15 minutes to half an hour every morning for the upkeepment of their hair loom. For them moustache is a sign of masculinity. But I am very much averse to all these activities. My tryst with the shaving started with the use of single blade razors during the late 80’s. Many a time I injured myself while shaving. But during the mid 90’s things got convenient with the advent of 7’0 Clock twin blades. With the purchase of these expensive twin blades though I got relief from the injuries to my throat or the cheeks, but my wallet started bleeding.

There are a set of vocations to which you are incarcerated. For example the services of a lawyer, a doctor, an insurance agent, a housemaid or be it your barber are highly indispensable. You just can’t change these persons whom you have hired at your own will. It is not just for the valuable services that they render, but for the reason, they posses certain sensitive information about you and your family, which if spilled would adversely damage your dignity in the society.

My father by profession is a paediatrician. He is someone who talk scantily even with the family members. He is a man born with just a few words. By nature he is very strict and highly discipline. Even the attendee of the patients fear to ask him any questions about the diagnosis. He seldom speaks anything even with my mother, except asking either for a cup of tea or to serve the breakfast, lunch or dinner. But this regulation is not imposed on a barber of Barpali who is attending him for the past 26 years (ever since 1991) uninterruptedly. While applying the shaving crème on the cheeks and creating the foam he would start the weekly news bulletin with his familiar question “Jaincha ken ? ” Whch means, do you know ? And this début question raises a lot of curiosity in the mind to know what the issue is. While shaving the beard or cutting the hair of my father, he would talk everything that exist under the sun and about the solar eclipse too. He in fact is a living encyclopaedia of Barpali. As a reward he keeps on gathering lot of commodities, be it the physician samples, new year calendars, used wardrobes, even guavas, bananas or the berries of our garden. I depend solely upon this barber to size my moustache, since till date I have not learnt how to trim it. This man is highly unhygienic. While shaving he would bring his nostril so close to my face, that I could sense his breathing. Once I even lost the height of tolerance when he belched loudly on my face.

Two years back my Dad gifted me a battery operated Philips shaving machine. But I kept it unused in the cupboard for long three months, since I am someone who is averse to the use of new age gadgets. He warned me to return, so as he could gift it to a cousin brother of mine. Immediately I went to the grocery shop and purchased a set of two Everready pencil batteries to operate it. With the use of this machine life became simpler.

One day Esha my daughter spotted a few strings of grey hair near my ears and clapped while saying “Hey hey hey ; mor Nana Buddha heigala ; ha ha ha; mor Nana Buddha heigala” (Hey hey hey; my father became an old man; ha ha ha; my Father became an old man). With a sense of dismay I went to check the mirror, but consoled myself thinking so what if my hair is greying. It is greying since I left with hair on the head. Thank God at least my situation is better than my friend Sushil Mittal. He is an IES (Indian Engineering Services) qualified professional and works as a top notch General Manager (Engineer) of Bharat Broadband Network Ltd (BBNL). He avails the best perquisites ever given by Govt. of India, be it the accommodation and vehicle. And on retirement he will be entitled for a lifetime pension. But the irony is that he turned bald by the age he turned 40.

I am naive to any activities that is related to shaving. Incidentally the only aspect of it to which I am addicted is inhalation of after shave lotion.

PS : Barpalidays would like to express thanks to artist Saroj Rout for clicking the cover photo

kiranbima@gmail.com
Cell# +918249314972

E. KIRAN MOHAN(The writer)
C\o. Dr.E.R.Rao (M.D),

Tehsil Chowk,

At\PO: BARPALI – 768029,

Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India.

E Kiran Mohan 3

Jan 17, 2016

Children Stories 1:59 PM

Sreyanshu : A kid Lost and Found in a Delhi Metro train

[A drama in real life : How a kid got lost in a Metro Train of New Delhi and later traced back]

Sreyanshu the seven year old nephew of mine could be as mischievous as any other kid of his age group. Academically he is not a topper in his class room, but he got a knack for the machine tools. This boy has got a technical bent of mind. He enjoys dismantling any toy that is given to him for play. He would spend next couple of days to reassemble the broken parts to invent a never seen before alien toy. He is fascinated to watch racing cars, elevators and airplanes in the television. With his constant pranks this kid makes everyone breathless at home, especially his mother. So long he is awake during the day hours someone need to keep a vigil on every movement that he makes.

During the summer holidays of 2014 he went New Delhi to his maternal uncle’s home along with his mother and sister. His Santosh Mamu is a Chartered Accountant and works with City Bank as a manager. They reside at Nawada. One day his uncle Santosh wanted to take them to Connaught Place to show how glittering the heart of the city look like in the evening. It was 5.30 pm and the peak evening rush hours as working class people would return to their respective homes after the office. Sreyanshu along with his mother, grandmother and uncle reached Dwarka Mode Metro Station to catch a train. By the time they reached the basement of the station, there was an announcement in the speaker that the train is reaching the platform. And this freak out of four rushed through the stairs and managed to reach the platform.

Sreyanshu was the youngest and very much agile. He had the indomitable curiosity to traverse in a superfast Metro Train, to which he is not familiar with. The train reached the platform and some passengers disembarked. Since this boy is of short height, he managed to penetrate his body in between the shoulders of the commuters and swiftly entered one of the compartments. At the nick of the moment the door of the compartment closed, while his companions left on the platform. And the train started moving. The mother and uncle of this boy started running helplessly on the platform along the side of the compartment to stop the train, but to no avail. Soon the train left the station. The old granny of this boy set down there on the platform itself while crying and hitting her head with her own hands. The commuters on the platform reached to console her but to no avail. The mother and the uncle returned helplessly.

The mother of Sreyanshu was sobbing on the platform as she lost her only son to whom she had nurtured nine months in her womb, apart from these long seven years. Lot many wild thoughts hunted her mind. Delhi is the fourth largest urban settlement in the world with a population of 16.3 million people. Every day in an average around eighteen children go missing, whereas only a miniscule are traced and restored to their parents. The mother thought, what she will answer to the father of her child who is back at home in Odisha.

On the other hand, inside the train compartment Sreyanshu the seven years old kid was nervous. He was still looking outside the glass door with a glut of fear, as he is not acquainted with metro life since he is born and brought up in the rural area of India. At the nick of the moment someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt warmth on the touch and looked back. There was a young man who was standing near the door and was watching all that had happened on the Dwaraka Metro Station. He asked where are you from ? While stammering the boy said “Ba..Ba….Barpali”. The man now asked, but where is that. The boy said “Odisha”. The commuter exclaimed “Ahha i.e. the land of Lord Jagganath, Puri !”. He said not to fear and asked for the phone number if any. Fortunately this kid was carrying a piece of paper in his shirt pocket that carried his mother’s phone number.

It is not that every Delhite is cruel or a miscreant. In Hindi this city is called “Dil walon ki Dilli”. The boy gave the phone number to that young man to call. And when that man called, there bloomed thousand flowers on the face of the mother who was still crying insistently since the moment train left Dwarka Mode Metro Station. That man said, while carrying this boy he would disembark from the train on the very next station and you come to pick your son. Accordingly the mother, uncle and granny of Sreyanshu reached Uttam Nagar Metro Station in the very next train. They got down from the train and searched for the boy. They found the duo standing on the platform. On seeing his mother, Sreyanshu came running and hugged his mother.

Out of courtesy Santosh the uncle of the Sreyanshu invited that gentleman to have an ice crèam, but that unsung hero left calmly refusing to accept any gratification in return. Despite the high crime rate, New Delhi is a city that is moving ahead for the presence of a few good souls like this unknown Metro train commuter.

While they were returning home there started a new set of nagging by Sreyanshu. He said in the Metro train he had seen a kid was carrying a remote controlled airplane and he was adamant to buy that kind of toy for him.

kiranbima@gmail.com
Whatsapp# +918249314972

E.Kiran Mohan(The Blogger)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao (MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO. BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Orissa, India

E Kiran Mohan 1

Nov 6, 2015

Children Stories 7:38 PM

Hunt for the sugar canes

[The charming story of school going kids how they loot sugar canes

when a tractor load of it turned upside down due to an accident]

It was the year 1983 then I was a student of Class 7^th of the historic Prithviraj High School of Balangir. Though I was an average student in the class, but happen to be an obedient and a loyal follower of my school teachers. By nature I used to be very shy and calm. One morning on reaching the school my batch mate Bhuska (literally means hefty) told me that a tractor over-loaded with sugar canes has turned upside down by the side of the road. My batch mates lured me to invade the place and to steal the sugarcanes that taste sweet when chewed. They instigated me to join them. They said together we shall invade the place that is located one kilometre away on the outskirts of the town. Previous night that tractor was overturned while ferrying the sweet canes to the sugar mill situated at Tora of the Bargarh district.

[Prithvi Raj High School, Balangir]

Bunking the first class of the day i.e. mathematics, I joined the league of my friends. We might be six or seven students who picked our respective cycles and headed for the site of the accident. On reaching the location we found the presence of few residents living near around. They were gathering the scattered sugar canes so as to carry their homes. We were informed the tractor driver and the helper were injured and admitted in the district hospital. And their left no one to guard it. Immediately we took possession of the trolley as if we are the guardians of it. We started picking the sugarcanes. Holding each of the cane on the either side we broke them with our knees. Seating there on the side of the trolley we started chewing the sugar canes. My hands and the mouth were strewn with the juice of the sugar cane. While we were chewing the sugar canes a couple of buffalos reached and started pulling the leafs of the sugar cane out of the trolley load.

My comrade Sukta (literally means a skeleton) asked me “Do you know where the sugar comes from ?” I told from the grocery store. He laughed at me saying “hebo sala budbak” (you stupid). He said apart from white sugar, the yellow jaggery is also made by extracting and fermenting the juice of the sugar cane. I immediately recalled the mound of yellow Indian sweetener that my mother uses while making a few of Oriya sweet dishes like Kakra, Manda Pitha or Arisha.

While chewing the sugar canes I shared with my friends the memories that were associated with this stuff. One summer noon I was caught red handed by my mother, while I was stealing this sweet stuff from the kitchen. When she was resting at the noon I invaded the kitchen. I placed a wooden stool and stood over it, my hands managed to reach the cupboard where my mother keeps the circular Amulspray box in which jaggery was stored. While I was opening the cap of it the box escaped from my hands and banged on the floor creating a noise. My mother woke up and rushed to the kitchen thinking it to be an invasion of a cat. I was yet struggling to open the cap when I got a thrash on my buttocks. I was shocked and turned back. My mother was standing there holding a broom in her hands. I left the place while crying. After a while she called me to the kitchen and gave a piece of jaggery to relish. She pacified for her action saying the punishment was given not for the jaggery, but for stealing it.

At the venue of the tractor accident we too gathered a bunch of sugar canes and tied them with the leafs of it and loaded on our cycles. Even tried to fill our rectangle school cloth bags with its pieces. In the mean while a friend spotted a jeep was approaching us. One of the batchmate Bhoku (literally means barking) raised the alarm, “It’s a police jeep, It’s a police jeep”. As if the culprits, out of fear we all fled from the place while carrying some sugar canes. It was noon hours and I straight away went to home for lunch. On reaching home my mother asked, “where have you been?”. While throwing the school bag on the sofa with a exhausted voice I lied “To the school”. She pointed her finger on the collar of my shirt and asked what these dark spots are. I lowered my head and narrated the story of the invasion in which I participated along with the friends. She said the stains of the sugarcane juice will never erase during its life time and as a punishment I have to manage with that shirt until the end of the academic year. At evening I took out the school bag to do the pending homework, but was disturbed as could not find my mathematics notebook. I thought I might have left it in the classroom. But I wondered where it went, as I did not entered the class room that day at all.

Next morning on reaching the school the peon came to the class. He asked me to summon on the Office of Head Master. I started shivering. He escorted me to the office of the head master. I was nervous since never before I was summoned like this. I guessed something terrible is going to happen. I went to his office to face the worst court martial ever. I entered his chamber and stood numb. He was evaluating the answer sheets of the just concluded half-yearly exams. He removed his thick black spectacles from his face and placed on the table. And he lifted a notebook and handed over to me. It was that missing mathematics note book, carrying my name in it. He asked if I was travelling in the sugarcane tractor that over turned two days back. I started shivering and sobbing. I was speechless. He said the police have recovered my note book at the spot of the accident and sent to the school. In the mean while the bell of the first class of the day rang. He alerted me saying “You may go to the class, but remember not to spill the beans while gathering the grains”.

kiranbima@gmail.com

WhatsApp # +918249314972

E.Kiran Mohan(The Blogger)

C/o.Dr.E.R.Rao(MD)

Tehsil Chowk,

At/PO: BARPALI – 768 029

Dist. Bargarh, Odisha, India

E Kiran Mohan 10

Aug 26, 2015

personalities 7:30 PM

Poet Haldhar Nag : An Agent of Social Reform

[The Upper Primary school of Ghens where he spent his life selling peanuts to the children]

In the entire length and breadth of Western Odisha Koshali poet Haldhar Nag is someone who is revered to as a messiah. Needless to say he got lakhs of followers in Odisha and Chatishgarh, who congregate in large number to listen to his Koshali poetry when so ever he orates on the podium. You would be amazed to know Haldhar neither ever went to attend a high school, college or a university to hone his skills in Oriya literature. He in fact attended Oriya primary school only up to Standard Three in his village. He was born to a Gauda family. The basic vocation of this community is to act as cowherds. They rear cows and make a living by milching and selling the milk.

The ancestors of Haldhar Nag were from Baidpali village. During the year 1948 there was an epidemic in that village. Hundreds of people died in no time. His father Bhaja Nag took the emergency step to send his mother Gurbari Nag to Ghens to rescue her life from the clutches of death. Over night she walked several miles to reach Ghens. She came to Ghens to take shelter under the roof of maternal uncle of Haldhar Nag. Later in the year 1950 Haldhar Nag was born at Ghens. When Haldhar was barely ten years old his father expired. And within a year his mother as well passed away out of paralysis. At a tender age he was left alone as an orphan and his life was in utter chaos.

[The opinion of Hindi and Bollywood lyricist
Guljar about kabi Haldhar Nag]

The early life and the adulthood of Haldhar Nag was spent on hunger. In his own words he says, his entire life was a confrontation with only one hurdle and i.e. “anna kasta” or hunger. After the demise of his parents he never had a full-meal and was used to be contended with what so ever little offered by his sister-in-law. He remembers the days when he survived solely by consuming Kulhia Kanda. These are the roots of a wild plant which are bitter in taste. They are so bitter and inedible that even wild boars and bears don’t even dig the earth to consume it.

Haldhar was dropped from the village Oriya medium Government school while he was in Standard Three. To make a living he worked in Mangal Baba Hotel. He was cleaning the utensils in the hotel. While this young lad was working in the dirt filled environment of the hotel the Sarpanch of Ghens Late Braja Mohan Sahu spotted him. That village head invited Haldhar Nag to work as a cook in the hostel of the Ghens High School. Haldhar joined the school at a monthly salary of Rs.8/- (roughly US 10 Cents as on this date). He keep on working in the school for long 16 years. And his monthly salary enhanced from Rs.8 to Rs.16; to Rs.20; to Rs.25 and finally to Rs.40 by the time he left the school.

[Haldhar Nag standing outside his Kabi Bhvan]

It was the year 1975 when the Branch Manager of Balangir Anchalik Gramya Bank (now Utkala Bank) endorsed him a loan of Rs.1,000/- to undertake a business venture. Haldhar opened a stationary shop outside the premises of Govt. Boys Primary School. Haldhar was selling the blackboards, chalk sticks, note books, pens, pencils, chocolates and of course peanuts. His client base was purely made of school children. His business hours were strictly restricted to the functioning of the school. As a result, during the school holidays he unable to earn a single Rupee. Somehow he managed to meet the immediate needs to support his life.

At the age of 22 years Haldhar married Parbati. His wife Parbati was under prolong illness and could not bear any children. She forced Haldhar to merry another lady. She herself carried the maula bhar for the marriage of Haldhar Nag. It’s an Oriya ritual where different commodities need to be carried on the shoulder by the maternal uncle of the bride groom during the marriage function.

It was the year 1976 when the second marriage of Haldhar Nag was successfully accomplished. And his first wife Parbati voluntarily left for her parents house. Haldhar resumed his life afresh with Malati. And in another year the couple got blessed with a baby girl.

His anguish about un-touchablity is reflected in one of his poetry work titled Achian. Here he composed an episode from the Hindu epic Ramayana. He narrated how Lord Rama had accepted and eaten the touched fruit of a forest dweller named Sabari. Whereas in the Twenty-first Century we the Hindus don’t even enter the homes of low caste people. Based on Hindu religious texts he composed many works like Satia Biha, Tara Mandodari, Karam Sani, Rasia Kabi Tulsi Das etc. Apart from religious texts he composed poetry on Santha Kabi Bhima Bhoi, Rusi Kabi Gangadhar Meher, Vir Surendra Sai etc.

The suicide rate of students in India is 10.3 per 1,00,000. And most of the students die when they failed in the exams. But here is someone who able to reach the pinnacle of Oriya literature despite being dropped from a primary school. It proves, qualification and an educational degree is not a prerequisite to achieve anything in life.

Post script: He has been felicitated with India's fourth highest civilian award i.e. Padmashree title by the President of India Sh.Pranab Mukherjee in the year 2016.