He stood there busking in the glory of youth – albeit a trifle late youth but the sun still glowing with full glare in the middle of life’s sky-span. He stood there– Apu the engineer--by the side of the river. --“A narrow river, may be called only a rivulet and it can’t be allowed to play menace.” –Apu thought and decided to take it on by boldness of his youth.
The Duramari Jan had been the cause of sleepless nights for him and his seniors. The innocent looking Jan- the rivulet- was playing truant. Long time back the pipelines were laid much below the bed of the Jan as submerged crossings and at a lesser depth beyond that. But the truant Jan decided to veer away from the original path and cut a new flow-way eating up lot of soil across the pipeline Right-of-Way and show the world up what had laid hidden beneath – the priceless petroleum pipelines.
Pipeliners know that it’s a matter of fact for rivers to go astray and expose up pipelines; they know how to mend that. But Duramari conspired with time to play her game. It was a time of uncertainty, of suspicion. A mass movement calling for dividing Assam 50-50 was at high spate. Not all people agitating for their cause believed in Ahingsha- nonviolence. Many a people thought it to be the way for cowards. They believed in forcing their will, their demand on all by Hingsha- violence. They brandished guns and fired bullets, they threw grenades and detonated bombs; they sabotaged railways and blew up bridges; they threatened and kidnapped, maimed and killed people, turned live bodies in instant to mere lumps of blood and flesh nonchalantly. There was rant of emotional slogans, there was smell of raw blood and gunpowder in the air.
The exposed oil pipelines were soft targets put up on a platter to the saboteurs. It was reason enough for worry, reason enough for nightmares and sleepless nights for the Company's officers and the state administration. It was Apu’s bounden duty to go to the dreaded Kokrajhar area and set things right at Duramari.
“Let Duramari flow as she feels like. We shall lay new sections of the pipelines under her belly – yeh – new submerged crossings – challanging na ---.” Apu decided and started shaping his plan taking measurements with his guys and preparing a sketch.
“Oh!- that will need cutting the pipelines and lot of oil will spill out – hum – how to control ! The refineries may starve – will they agree – hoo – “ creases appeared on his forehead though he continued with his measurements and the sketch.
“But what’s the way out! –hoo--a big pool of oil will be of big havoc value for the guys to paunch on for sabotage or perchance the oil spills into the jan and flows down ! say by sabotage or by accident the oil pool catches fire—then what ?” Apu kept on pondering.
“But I see no other way out to set the exposed pipelines right.”- Apu thought almost aloud – “Making the submerged crossings anew is inevitable. Yeh- that would be a good engineering solution.” – Apu declared to his team and all the guys nodded.
At that moment Apu sensed someone approaching him from behind. His heart missed a beat in apprehension, he felt a shockwave running down his spine. And then he felt a mild tap on his shoulder--“Sir”- a mild voice behind him; Apu felt relieved—he had stiffened expecting a harsh call, a hit, a thud. He turned and faced a lean suntanned man – bare bodied, dhoti to his knee. Might be in mid-fifties, but toil of living had taken a toll of ten more years.
“Sir, you are from Pipeline company I believe!”- started the man.
--“Yes, I am.”
--“Sir it’s not safe to be here for so long. You might understand Sir, I mean to say you should leave. There may be trouble. I mean Sir you have – I mean – kidnap value for ---.”
Apu got alerted, he with his guys wound up to leave.
--“Sir, don’t leave right now. Be in my home for sometime and send the jeep to the police station.” --pleaded the man-“You should leave a little later after talking to the police.”
Once seated inside his dilapidated but cleanly kept mud hut with rusted tin roof, the lady offered black tea and biscuits and the man started in Assamese with Bengali accent – “Sir, I am Budhan Dey. During partition my father, still a unmarried youth, left the ancestral village in East Bengal with his parents and few relatives-- leaving behind his murdered uncle and cousins—leaving behind to the marauders the joint family house and paddy land – all of thirty bigha -- . They moved around pennyless for two years on this side of the partitioned land—living sometimes on pecuniary doled out by the government and at other times by begging and finally reached the bank of Duramari with a group of uddhastu. With very few sparsely populated villages around there was enough land. Nobody objected as the homeless group of people settled in bamboo and thatched huts with renewed dream. My mother is also from a family of the same group of uddhastu. I had heard of the struggle and faced some bit of it since my childhood. Otherwise life had been a happy going on the banks of Duramari till the movement started. Now we are in constant fear; we have married off our daughter quite young to Mangaldai, my two sons were beginning to go to Basugaon college. But the time has turned very difficult for us. I won’t mind losing my life here but my boys must not fall to bullets; they have started only and they must live their life. So we have sent them off to Coochbehar. At the same troubled time the calm and quiet Duramari also moved sideways and had eaten up most of my paddy land. With hardly any income from whatever little land is left I could no longer support their education. My sonas dropped out of college, they are now daily wage earners there and sending us whatever little they are able to.”- His voice broke, drops of tear appeared at the corners of his eyes. The lady suppressed her cry on the other side of the mud wall.
-“We are certainly going to lose everything once again,”-Budhon’s lamenting mother sounded ominous of the return of those dark days of her youthful years once again.
Getting back his composure quickly Budhan Dey queried—“Sir are you planning to cut the pipelines? Probably you are planning to put new pipelines under the river bed at its present flow-way! But Sir the English Sahebs laid the pipelines under the river at the old flow-way definitely with some purpose.”
Apu did not feel it necessary to discuss his technical plan with the poor cultivator of mud hut existence.
Budhon pleaded patiently –“Sir cutting the pipelines may be like calling for a lot of trouble. Probably Sir, I mean – you are an engineer, a much learned person—who am I to suggest you. But then sir – I mean Sir-- I being on the bank of the river for more than fifty years probably have some – no no sir—I mean know little bit of how a river behaves.”
Apu pondered-“Probably, only probably a riverside cultivator may –only may- have some idea about how a rivers behaves. Ya—it may be ---.”-He guessed but his did not feel like speaking out his mind.
Budhon continued his plead –“If possibly the river can be moved back to its original course bit by bit – from three or four turns upstream of the pipeline crossing and so on to the downstream, -- probably that would be better than cutting the pipelines. My lost land would also be retrieved probably. Please don’t be offended Sir – me – only a suggestion—as a long time riverside man—it is experience only. Sir you are the engineer – who am I to suggest you after all.”
Apu pondered further, Budhon’s suggestion was beginning to make sense though his self-interest of retrieving his land also had a bit in it. Apu rose –“Let’s go and see actually what you are suggesting.”
--“Please Sir, not today – it is not the right time —I mean it is not safe for you. Probably a week later!”
On his way back the more Apu thought of Budhon’s plan for pushing the river bit by bit, the more it began to make sense. By the time he reached back his home a much clearer picture emerged and a broad smile spread across his lips surpassing the discomfort of a long travel amidst rattling noise of the old rickety jeep.
Apu explained to the seniors his plan of laying new submerged crossings across the present path of the river as well as the plan of pushing the river bit by bit to its original course leaving the pipelines untouched. At the end of the explanation he advocated more convincingly for the latter. As always consensus was difficult to arrive at and it was left to Apu’s judgement as the field engineer. And Apu was already overwhelmingly for Budhon’s bit-by-bit plan although there were sceptics.
Apu met Budhon after a week and he was more than eager to take Apu up and down the banks of Duramari to explain his plan. Apu was impressed and further convinced.
--“ By the way how could you think of such a plan?’
-- “Sir learnt a little by looking at the river for long years, learnt a little more working under contractors of Flood Control Department at river sites. They do things like this often.”
Apu felt the urge of discussing the plan with engineers of Flood Control Department.
--“But At such troubled time the office is almost shut Sir, --you find only the chowkidar and the peon there.”
Apu could feel how impossible it could be for the engineers of that department to withstand the menacing situation created by the movement.
After few months of arranging the resources and finding a contractor for supporting the work Apu returned – ready to push Duramari back to its vintage flow-way bit-by-bit.
Budhon the Commander-in-Chief with a troupe of local Bodo youths and few Bengali workers started to work with the plan. The Contractor smoothened the progress by pleasing this group and that group arriving frequently with requests and demands. Apu befriended wily local youth Bergo who maintained good contacts with influential people on all sides and so Apu could keep on making flying visits to supervise the work at appropriate and safe moments indicated by Bergo. The wily man’s advices to Apu and the contractor came at a cost of course.
Budhon’s idea worked – the river was diverted a little at the third curve upstream of the pipelines, further more at the next two curves and finally into the old flow-way which was already dug deep and wide. Downstream of the pipeline crossings the river was guided along the old course twisting the curves bit by bit and finally into its free course. The abandoned flow-way was filled up with soil dug out from the original course, compacted with criss-cross pilings of jati banh(bamboo) pegs and turfed. The banks of the flow-way were consolidated by firmly piling pegs of bhaluka banh(bamboo) in parallel rows and then packing the inter space with soil filled gunny bags. The banks were further sustained by planting bamboo. After nearly a year of tireless effort the proud moment arrived—Duramari was tamed and put back to where she should have been. Broad smiles spread across the faces of Budhon and few other farmers whose cultivable plots were retrieved from the belly of Duramari.
--“Happy now? You can till your land from tomorrow?”—asked Apu feeling relieved and happy as well at their smiles.
--“Thank you so much Sir, but cultivating the land is still much further away.”—replied Budhon.
--“Why so?”
--“Sir, only a farmer knows what it takes to make the soil grow. You are an urban man—but, but- a good man- mean- a good engineer—you listened to a villager of no value --” emotion almost took him over.
After few moments of silence an emotional Apu suddenly called out Budhon,” Hey--Engineer ---“ Budhons lips puckered in the effort to control a sigh—probably a cry, –“Sir, why joke upon me – a pennyless of no worth.”
--“This is no joke, never ever I joke a person and you are an elder. You are the Engineer—yes you are the Engineer; --the plan was yours, you knew how to do it and you did it – you are the engineer; I was the mere facilitator. I only wish I could explain what a great lesson you taught me.”
Apu flung his arms, Budhon hesitantly stepped forward —they embraced each other; Budhon’s sun tanned bare body smelt of sweat and dust, but Apu did not mind as he felt like being in the hug of a long separated brother.
Moments later while sipping a cup of black tea Budhon spoke out, --“Sir, like the river life has many turns and curves, life may go off-course at times but we can bring it back to its way by reworking the curves. Only we have to look back and look forward like we did with the river.-- I shall set my life right again. Oh here again I am lecturing --I only a poor village guy and you the much learned – pardon me Sir.”
Job over -- the seniors made an aerial inspection and patted Apu on the back. At that moment of pride Apu wished he could introduce the Engineer to his seniors; but there was no scope. The helicopter circled over the pipeline crossing with Duramari and the mud hut with rusty tin roof and returned to the headquarters at Guwahati.
Twelve years rolled by. Apu’s sparkling black hair sported a few streaks of grey of experience – of life and work. The movement had subsided with a ‘go between’ agreement with the government. It became relatively safer to travel around in the area. After his stints elsewhere Apu was back to his old job of looking after the pipelines as a senior. During an inspection tour he made time for a nostalgic trip to Duramari. The river remained perfectly tamed between the cultivated banks. Looking around he saw Budhan’s house -- much improved from its dilapidation with a shiny CI sheet roof. There was Budhon sitting on the front yard—his wife standing beside. Recognising Apu from the distance he smiled and slowly stood up. Apu observed his stoop.
--“Sixty and few years – not the age to bend down yet—probably retrieving back his life from the clutches of despair proved to be too heavy.”—felt Apu.
Budhon waived and the young man standing near him – probably one of his sona boys—moved towards Apu with two little ones following him. Apu with an urge to meet Budhon- the Engineer- paced up.