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In the historic temple of Lord Budha at Venu Van
A lot of thought that impinge on me after I visited Bihar—the much talked about politically, economically and culturally, I have heard since my childhood days. Throughout my stay and meeting people I had been frenziedly looking to discover my erstwhile mental image. But alas! Nowhere I could, except one or two instances to tally with. Instead, what I found are new experiences which are at times marvelous and sad on the other. Then, were all those only an infantile myth? I wish I could visit more places and see real Bihar!
I got enough love and overwhelming respect from my students I had hardly hoped for. Whether it is by dint of their compulsion towards me (because of the traditional Guru-Shish relationship, which I found people obeying there very much) or for something else, I know not. But there was enough genuineness I could feel. Every now and then they brought for me a number of different kinds of local dishes to eat, rich milk to drink, and enough hospitality when invited at home along with a dinner with a very rich fish curry (the great vanga dish) cooked in their own style, and so on. All these were sufficient to convince anyone. The same reception I got from almost every nook I went. I was always a little sorry for all those I got, as I had the feeling that I do not deserve so much.
However, certain things were quite depressing. The so called pukka village-roads, only two or three kilometers away from the city, are in dilapidated condition. The numerous potholes in it make the rickshaw or tonga--the most common means of travel--ride horrible. Above all, there is crisis of electricity; in a state which is on the bank of one of the major rivers of the Indian subcontinent: the Ganges; quite unbelievable! The vast expanses of the great Gangetic plains around Begusarai are either dry in winter or over flooded. I wonder, if Hwang Ho (ranked approx. 6th in the world in terms of length), once the “sorrow of China” can be tamed then why shall people still have to live on the mercy of the mighty Ganga (ranked approx. 39th in the world in terms of length) even after 62 years of our independence?
One evening something happened. I was returning attending an invitation. The village path (better called pagdandi, for I refrain calling them road) was rough and broken. Our rickshaw puller fought hard to take us safely to the hotel. There were potholes which could not be seen. We could only hear people chit chatting. Once or twice few tractors passed by whose headlight helped me to know that we were on the road. Thanks to the experience of the rickshaw puller that we rode ‘safely’ in that night (at 6.00 pm)!
When we were about a mile or so from the house, we saw from the distant a dim light approaching us. As we rode through, the light kept on coming near. Soon I found that it was a bicycle riding almost on the middle of the road. As the torch light came close to us, I was abruptly shocked to find that it was on the verge of hitting our back wheel, when it stopped thrashing. The man on it was furious and had almost hit at the head of our rickshaw puller with his torch. Somehow the situation came under control. Later I heard that the man in dhoti on the bicycle was some respected person of the village, and that our rickshaw puller did the mistake of not being able to judge the wideness of the road accurately and leave more than half of the way for the bicycle!
