‘In the evening hours when the electrical load goes up the generator fails to cope up; so everyday before dusk load is transferred to the No 2 generator and the No. 1 is shut down,’ – reported the in-charge engineer of Pump Station 9, Dumar of the Duliajan-Barauni crude oil pipeline. As the Engineer responsible for maintenance of all the mechanical equipment in the installations of Bengal-Bihar section of the pipeline, I guessed that the job would be slightly delicate and intending to handle it myself, started from Pump Station 8, Sonapur in the afternoon with two workers and reached Dumar just before dusk and got onto the machine for rectification.
As final part of the rectification, we adjusted the governor of the engine and as the generator took the full load, I moved down the ladder to get off it; but the moment I lowered my last step from the ladder on to the floor, my right foot got into the cable trench, the cover of which someone had removed for no one knew what reason and I found myself straightway inside the trench. I did not feel hurt and with the help of a worker got out of the trench. But as I tried to stand erect on the floor, I felt a creaky sound on the right leg and a stinging sensation going up my body and could not keep standing. The others at the spot helped me out of the generator house to the open and sat me on a chair. Observing the swelling and intense pain I was pretty sure of a bone fracture. The Station In-Charge Srivastava came down rushing and sent for the Doctor. The Doctor arrived from Kursela town and observing the symptoms said almost with certainty that it was a fracture and advised immediate hospitalisation in Purnea.
That was the time when we were expecting our first child. My wife was in our residence at Pump Station 8 Sonapur and all of the immediate family were way off in Guwahati. Even while being fully sure of all possible help from my colleagues and their family members I felt it won’t be prudent at all on my part to get into a hospital in Purnea leaving her at Sonapur. Moreover, I had the impression that the hospital facilities would be better in Siliguri. I, therefore, told the Doctor firmly that I would, anyway, move to Sonapur and get admitted in a hospital at Siliguri. The Doctor pushed three injections around the injury and let me go. The people laid me down on the rear seat of my Ambassador car with cushion of pillows; two persons got onto the front seat with the driver for helping on the way. We started from Dumar at around eight in the evening. Those days, travelling along the narrow potholed highway, it used to take five hours from Sonapur to Dumar. With pain, hunger and vomiting tendency (probably the effect of the injections)we moved slow and at dead night reached Sonapur. Large number of people were waiting for my arrival and good number of ladies were around my weeping wife consoling her- probably the gathering enhanced her worry despite my telling her over phone from Dumar about suffering a minor injury. Company’s physician and my friend Dr Phukan asked the gathering to leave, helped me to the bedroom, examined and assured that there was no cause of worry. He advised me to sleep for few hours peacefully with the assurance that he himself would take me to hospital in the morning.
However, the next day, for whatever reason, we could not move to Siliguri. On the third day Dr Phukan took me by ambulance over a distance of 50 kilometres to a nursing home in Siliguri; Mala also accompanied us. The orthopedic Dr Mohpal did the x-ray and confirmed the fracture and at night in the OT, putting me under general anesthesia set the bones and plastered the leg from thigh to ankle. The Doctor opined that the plaster would have to be there for at least four months. Though the Doctor advised me to stay in the hospital the next day I preferred to return to the comfort of my home at Sonapur.
Adhering to the Doctor’s advice I kept myself confined to home mostly sitting. Everyday in the evening hours one or the other of my colleagues would pay a visit- someday in group of two or three and someday with family members. Despite opening talks on varied matters I would finally have to veer to narrating the incident of falling into the trench and fracturing the leg. Listening attentively the story with a ting of sadness the guests would hurl harsh words at the till then not identified person for the unjust act of removing the trench cover and then we would have tea and snacks and by around nine the guests would leave. After a life like that for a fortnight I started feeling restless. My days of frequenting from near Alipurduar in Bengal to Barauni in Bihar looking after well being of pumps, engines, generators and ancillaries engaged in 24x365 oil pumping operation, evening hours on tennis and badminton courts and social activities had come to a grinding halt and it started itching. Mala also had to remain engaged in kitchen in the evening arranging for guests instead of the much-needed evening strolls. One or the other family member from Guwahati also kept visiting us.
On Doctor’s advice Headquarters granted me conditional permission to join office for desk work in a straight shift from 7 am to 2 pm without break. With trusted driver Rajkumar by my side I started attending office. But from the afternoon till night I had nothing else than reading books and newspapers and sitting in front of the TV. With time elapsing visit of well-wishers dwindled a bit; but even then colleagues and their wives would often come for a brief visit and one or the other worker of my department would also come – sometimes alone and sometimes in group of two or three. Few acquaintances from the nearby villages also made hesitant visits. In the evening on hearing the sound of the front yard gate opening I would say to Mala,-“time to repeat the story of falling into the ditch.” –“And time for me to make a dough for luchi.”-Mala would leave for the kitchen. The remote awkward place had not any such shop around from where sweets and salty items could be brought readily for entertaining guests; for every provision we had to depend on Siliguri.
About a month and half passed by. One evening while talking to Dinabandhu Dey and Shantiranjan Paul, both senior workers of my department, who came on a courtesy call, I in a matter of fact way said,-“Let’s stage a drama on 15 August.”
--“Drama! with that broken leg?” They were almost shocked.
--“My leg bone only has broken not the mind – it’s intact.”
--“Even than, would it be advisable!” They were hesitant.
--“Oh! I am regularly going to office, so I can go for drama also. And I intend to only direct the drama -- no acting. I will go to the club with Rajkumar and you will, in turn, bring homemade tea, pakora, luchi-bhaji and we would together gulp that and rehearse the drama as well—evenings will be enjoyable.”
--“I-t s-ounds go-od !”
--“It not only sounds good, it is good. You people only keep on ruing lack of social activities in the colony and that there has not been a drama being staged since long. 15 August is still one and half month away – enough time to perfectly rehearse a stage act. The colony children would definitely come up with few songs and dance items. So we can have an attractive function on that day with the drama as the main programme. Once we start it the atmosphere, you all desire, would be back again.”
The duo got elated.
--“You do me one favour – get me few books of drama from the club library; I will go through and select one script.”
Next day they brought me five books and I, in turn, sought five days to finalise. First I read through the script of a full length drama by Manoj Mitra, a renowned play-writer of Bengal. It was a lucid script of grandpa, grandchild and children of the neighbourhood preparing for celebration of Saraswati puja. Within two days I translated the script to Assamese but then decided to stage the drama on Saraswati puja. I felt that as the drama would be staged after a long lull, a comedic one act play of maximum forty five minute duration would only be appropriate. Accordingly, I selected one older day play titled ‘Basanter Bipod’ (Basanta in trouble). The theme was based on small pox (basanta in Bengali) epidemic over a large area – the epidemic creating panic, teams of government medics roaming around isolating the houses having any patient, picking up patients for hospitalisation, doing rounds for vaccination and in the midst of the hue the troubles faced by the family members of a simple village chap, still safe from the disease, for his name Basanta. A team knocks on his door shouting –“Basanta Basanta”(do you have any small pox patient?), Mrs Basanta slit opens the door and replies,-“Basanta nei”(Basanta isn’t). From backyard Basanta hears the knock and comes to respond but by then the team moves on; Basanta fumes at his wife,-“What kind of a person are you ? I am up there standing and breathing and you said Basanta isn’t in?” With such comical situations interspersed with serious dialogues the drama would be enjoyable if acted well, I felt.
Then came the turn of selecting the actors. I had no idea about who all had any previous experience in acting, so decided to go by my hunch. For the character of Basanta I had already finalised for Dinabandhu Dey while still reading the script as he, owing to his simplicity, would fit well to the character and I had a feeling that he naturally had it in him to enact such roles. For the other important characters, depending on my observations of their general ways and looks, I decided on Shantiranjan Paul, Ramaniranjan Ghosh, Devakanta Barua, Sunil Barua and Piyush Dutta and for the role of Basanta’s wife a highschool girl. Called all of them to my home the next evening, briefed them and requested them to be come for rehearsal from the next day. Feeling elated they returned home.
--“Sarma sir is staging a drama with us in roles.” – it spread in a trice in the colony. Next morning in office I had to deal with several grumpy faces –“I had acted in dramas earlier, but my name has not come up” –“I have immense interest in drama, Sir only if you had asked me once” – “Oh I am so much interested in drama, just see Sir if you can fit me in a role.” Felt sorry for not being able to fulfill their wish. Two young engineers, who joined the company fresh, also expressed their desires for roles in the drama but I adoringly calmed them with sweet words that little patience would help their turns in dramas to be staged at regular intervals from thenceforth.
In the evening, besides the ones selected, a good number of aspirants arrived at the club for rehearsal. I quietly explained that as all of them would understand there could be only few characters in a drama, so only that many persons could be taken in; but to successfully stage the drama, a good number of supporting hands would be necessary such as a stage manager, two prompters, a team for stage setting, a team likewise for lighting, a team for background music, an announcer and so on; requested them to get engaged in backstage roles as per interest so as to extend helping hand in success of the drama that was long awaited by all and further said that few side roles for stretcher bearers and patients were still there for grab and anyone could get one.
Ever enthusiastic young worker Bappi Kundu immediately took the responsibility of stage setting and lighting and promised to select his teams. The two young engineers were included in those teams. Two college students of the colony volunteered to be the prompters. In about a week’s time a team with tabla, harmonium and guitar also got arranged for the music cast. Rehearsal started and picked up momentum. Tea with homemade pakora, singra, puri-bhaji would enthuse all for doing better and better. In between, twice of thrice, courtesy Mrs Ramdoss, we tasted small sized plain dosa with samber and chutney. One of the two stretcher bearers once put up a mild complaint,-“If only if we could have few dialogues; only getting in and out with the stretcher is no acting.” His companion also put in weight.
On a Sunday, rehearsal was skipped and few colleagues came in to enquire about my well being. In the midst of the gossip I mentioned the complaint of the stretcher bearer. Witty Roy da, always a charmer in addas, immediately quipped,-“Oh Pulak find few dialogues for him, else he would face a thrashing at home –‘see how cleverly, that Shantibabu and Ramanibabu cornered nice roles—and my man a big dud; got to just carry a stretcher in and out – not even a word for dialogue – a mastan only inside your doors.’ Ha ha ha –.”
So I put in few short dialogues for the stretchers bearers. Then the ones, who would have to act like patients not being in sense with high fever, lying on stretchers, complained,-“We also deserve few lines to say.”
--“How can patients not in sense have any dialogue? Ok, while crossing the stage you may keep murmuring or shouting, - Ooh oouch , magoo re, morlaam goo (o’ my mother, O’ ‘m dying).”
On the day of 15 August, the drama was staged as the last item of the cultural programme amidst tremendous excitement of the audience. Just before the screen going up Dinabandhu Dey murmured, - “My chest is thumping; oh how strange ‘m feeling.”
Sunil Barua also stammered-“I am also trembling; know not how would I do.”
Damn care man Ramaniranjan Ghosh rebuked them,-“What kind of fear you have ? Our leader has done so much for us with a fractured leg and you say now you are afraid !”
I enjoyed the drama from side stage sitting on a chair hidden by the wings. With fluent acting by one and all the drama came up very nicely except only that after entering the stage a patient sat up on the stretcher showing up his face till exit to the cheer of the audience. With limited resources and their own idea Bappi Kundu and the two engineers did admirable stage setting and lighting and the background music finely created the mood and enhanced the ambience.
At the end the complete drama team assembled on the stage for the customary introduction and photo session. Putting my crutches away I stood erect with support of two persons on either side and two others, sitting on the front row, carefully kept my plastered leg covered. The announcer introduced each one with a round of praise for his work and lastly profusely thanked their Sarma Sir for taking the lead role in organizing the drama despite his ‘bhanga pa’.
The photographer, hired from Bidhannagar, clicked the last photograph of the cultural evening.
That photo, after nearly three decades, alongwith in a paper and plastic album, is stored fresh and bright in my heart’s album laced with fragrance of memory.