Crematory where

I slept two nights.

It was 11th September, 1962, my first day in Bajali College, Pathsala.

Sorry, it would be wrong, if I say it my first day. The appropriately would be, my first
night. Because, when I arrived at the college, the day almost ended; before twilight.
And the area was almost deserted.

The college, at that time, was situated at outskirt of the township. I went to the
boys’ hostel. It was behind the college. Nobody knew me. On inquiry I came to know
that the head-clerk of the college was still in the office. Immediately I went there
and saluted him.

"Sir, Namaskar, I was late, Sir. Due to the bus..” "Before I could explain more, he
interrupted.

“Your name? Are you a hosteller? ”

“No Sir. Me, Ramcharan; Ramcharan Pathak, I joined this year, first year, Arts, ”

“Oh, Ramcharan, OK, wait’’-he opened his drawer, looking inside, told-

“Principal told me about you. Have you taken your luggage?”.

I felt little uncomfortable. Because, except a huge round bundle of cloths, a new
hurricane kerosene lamp carefully enwrapped with brown paper and a big cloth bag
full of books and stationeries, I did not own anything. However, before I could show
him my belongings, probably he already had an airy survey on my world of goods.

“Go and meet the cook of the hostel…” gracefully he directed me and with a warm
greeting to him I left for the hostel with my belongings. At hostel, the cook told that
since there was no seat for me in the hostel, a special arrangement been made for
me.

Accordingly, he took me to a small solitary house about 300 meters away from the
hostel. As we went through a clusters of houses,

“These are lecturers’ hostels.”.. The cook pointed to those houses.

“And you had to go through this way only” ..he instructed.

Meanwhile we arrived the special house (?)

“This is the house. Can you stay here?”.. The cook asked. I looked at the house and
found it was a full round in shape.
“Why not? I can.” I asserted. The cook left, saying that I could take my food at the
hostel. Meal time was 9 pm.

I entered in to the house and found from inside, it was not a house; a room in stead.
A round walled room.The area would be 100 to 120 square feet. There wall was of
panel glasses which enwrapped the whole room. From above the floor, up to around
3 feet bricks wall, neatly cement plastered. Above that wall, transparent thick panel
glasses were fitted up to lintel level. Above lintel, again bricks wall. Roof, with
corrugated iron sheets was like a masquerade of a temple projecting upward like a
crest. Inside, there was no ceiling. The height of the room would be about ten or
eleven feet.

It was built just on the bank of Bichhenalla, a local named tiny streamlet, gracefully
flowing along the Eastern side of the township. Very close to it, were two huge
Peepal trees covering a huge area.

Time was fairly after dusk. The ambient was serene. I wicked on the hurricane lamp
and started arranging my possessions. Except a small wooden cot there was no
furniture at all. I opened bundles and I was so occupied in my job that when I got a
knock on the door, I shocked.

“Hey, are you not taking food? It is half past nine. Come on” the cook probably;
came and left.

**** ********* ****

After taking my food I sat with my books. I forgot the time, may be midnight and got
dozy. I went to bolt up the door before sleep. But to my surprise there was no tower
bolt, no hinge, at least a trapdoor to lock the door from inside. It gave me a jolt.
After a pause I went to the cot and just took a lay. Hurricane was on. However, my
doziness disappeared. However one weird thoughts haunted me; why there should
not be the provision to lock the door from inside?………. I kept lying.

The Peepal trees, outside, were making slow sporadic breezy noise. Leaves from the
trees fell intermittently on the roof. As the night went deep to deeper, I started
hearing the flowing sound of the streamlet.

I did not know what that time was. Suddenly a knock on the door cautioned me. I
looked at the glass door ajar. I saw a man standing outside. He again knocked.

“Who is there?” I asked with a tottering throat.

“It’s me.”.. the unknown repeated “Open the door”.

“Who’s me? Door is opened. ” Meanwhile I sat on my cot.

“Can I come inside?”. .the unknown inquired further.

I reluctantly asked him to come in. When inside, I saw in him a bare bodied old man
with a cotton Gamocha Pugree on head, a lighted hurricane lamp in his left hand and
a carving knife in his right hand.
From the door the stranger slowly advanced towards me. Meanwhile, I felt mild
sweating but stood up. The man took a strange fleeting look at me from my top to
toe.

“Who are you? Why have you come here? What you want?”-incessantly I asked him.
The man in stead of any reply sat on the floor keeping his Pugree, carving knife and
the hurricane. He was still looking at me as if an animal in the circus.

“What you want?”—I repeated. In fact, his silence made me more inquisitive and
nervous.

“No, I do not want anything”…. He broke the ice.

“Then, why you have you here?”— In stead of a reply to me, he asked.

How you are here, Bapu (Bapu is a warm word to address young boy by elders)?”—

“I am a student of this college. There was no seat in the hostel. So, I am staying
here up to Durga Puja vacation. Thereafter, I would get a seat in the hostel, I was
told”. Without a pause I told.

But why here. Who asked you to stay here? Principal Sir or who?”—

“I do not know. The hostel cook brought me here. But why you are asking all
these?”—

“Nothing.. Ok. I am here. Look, I am the night watchman of this college. That one is
my village, Haripur.”—He pointed in the dark towards afar. I could not see anything,
but nodded.

“You need not scare. I will be here the whole night.”- He told me.

Gradually, I regained little bit confidence on him. The whole night he was in my room
except twice or thrice, when he went out for a while to have a round at the college. I
spent the night without sleep.

The day gradually started dawning. Meanwhile the old man left. That day was a
hectic and very excited day for me. That was my first day in the college. Right from
morning I got busy. College time was 9.30 am.

**** ****

Amidst frenzied and hectic activities the day passed off. Only in the evening, when I
came back to room, I felt bad that I forgot to tell anybody about the condition of the
room.

**** ****

After taking food at hostel, I came to my room and was on the cot with books.
I did not know when the old man entered into my room without asking me that day.

“what are you doing Bapu?”—I got a shock.

“Oh..Kaka, come in.”- He sat on the floor.

“Did you tell anybody, today in the college office?”-

“About what?”-

“About your room. Bapu, you should have told to Principal.”-

“Today ours was the first day. We were all busy that way. And why at all should I tell
to Principal? I shall tell to the head clerk tomorrow.”-

“No, No, he cannot do. You tell to Principal. And he should do.” I saw impatience in
his eyes.

“What Kaka? What happened? Why suddenly you are so serious?”

“No, nothing. No problem, I am here. You do not fear.”

“What? What nothing? No problem, you would be here. What are all these about
Kaka? Tell me frankly” I insisted him.

“No Bapu, now a day nobody believes all these. And moreover it is more than five,
six years. There is nothing here now.” He started telling something
incomprehensible.

“Kaka, you tell me frankly. Is there anything going wrong? You should tell me.”—I
was adamant.

Gradually,finding no alternative, he looked around the room once more as he was

tracking for a ghost and kept his eyes glued at a particular space on the floor. My
eyes were following him. He fixed his eyes below my cot. My eyes also rested on
that spot.

‘What are you looking at Kaka?”

“Humm… have you seen that?”

“what?”

“That space?” In fact, I failed to understand which space he indicated. I felt

discomfited.

“Kaka you tell frankly. I feel bad”.

With a free sigh he started

“Look at the floor below your cot. That space is newly plastered. Have you not seen?”

“Which, you mean? I have not seen anything, Kaka.”

Then he took his lamp close to the floor below my cot and increased its wick. The
lamp lighted the entire area profusely. In a convincing tone he continued.

“Bapu, see, people of this area now call this house, a glass-house. Six seven years
back, it was not a glass house. It was an open house, no wall except the roof and the
floor. This house was built by the local town committee.” Then he took a breath and
sat closer to the cot.

“Carry on Kaka. What happened to the Town Committee, then?”—more excitedly I

asked. He went on

“No, no. Town Committee was alight. Bapu, come closer. Look here” he wiped the
floor with his hands and pointed to it.

“Have you seen? In this area there are two parts. One part is newly plastered?”

I went more close to him and found the floor with two kinds of plasters; one side
new and another old.

“Let me tell. Bapu this house a crematory of the Town Committee”

“What ? A crematory? This house? Kaka..?” Suddenly I got fret and went more closed
to him.

“Wait, Let me finish. Originally, there was a trench on this floor about 4 feet by 8 feet
(4×8) in size. When somebody died in our locality, people would bring the dead
body here. They bring fire wood and keeping just above the trench, they inferno the
dead body here. Once the dead body is over and done with, they throw the ashes
along with the charcoals to that Bichhenallh. They clean and wash the trench for the
next who comes.”

I felt frightened, stimulated and looked at him.

“When the College came up here, five six years back, the practice was stopped
forthwith and the trench refilled, plastered that portion.”

I kept my eyes pasted on the floor. I found two legs of my cot were just on the new
plaster that means on the furnace of the crematory.

Tears started oozing from my eyes. Suddenly I felt lonely, sad and very frightened.
That Kaka might sense my psychological condition.

“Don’t worry. I shall be here the whole night in your room. Tomorrow I shall tell
Principal to make an alternative arrangement for you. It is bad. They should not have
given you this house. It is bad. It is indeed bad, Bapu. It is bad….” I saw his eyes
moistened and his voice slowly shattered.
I, a panicky boy of 15, embraced him with both my arms very closely. And a creepy
voice came out of my mouth “Kaka”.

************
Ramcharan Pathak, Jonakpur, Birubari, Guwahati, Assam, India.
28.07.08.