It was a long time ago. As far as I can recall, the year was 1940. It was possibly the month of Jyaestha⁽¹⁾. I had gone to a village in Bankura District for a friend’s wedding, and was to take part in the groom’s procession. My friend’s home was also in Bankura District, and the wedding was taking place in a village eight to ten miles from his own.

On account of the train being excessively crowded, I could not find a proper place to sleep the night before. So the day of the wedding I took a long afternoon nap, and in the evening set out with the groom towards the bride’s house. The astrologically ordained time for solemnising the marriage was late into the night. All of us friends had decided together that no matter how late the wedding may be, we will all eat together afterwards.

The feasting began after sunset. In the midst of that crowd and commotion I was getting uneasy. As a result of sleeping in the afternoon I also was not really enjoying myself. I decided to walk a little by myself. Bankura district has open fields everywhere, so even if one goes out alone there is no problem.

“As planned, so done.” With a flashlight in hand I picked out a trail following the ruts of bullock cart wheels. After going about three miles I came to see a vast uneven open stretch of land. There were no signs of habitation anywhere, and scattered throughout the area were small thickets. A few jackals were roaming about here and there. Myrobalan, sheor’a and mahua trees were scattered about, along with a rare palásha tree here and there.⁽²⁾ I must have an addiction to walking, since otherwise people do not come to this sort of place of their own accord.

From beneath the cover of tree branches the call of owls would now and then come wafting by – the hoot of the bhutum owl. Unbroken darkness… mute darkness. The stars of the sky were unable to light the path… they only augmented the terror. The calls of jackals and owls punctuated the silence, yet only augmented its depth.

It was just this kind of situation that I had landed in. What is this place? Is it a cremation ground? It seems as though it might be… Why yes, it is – on the right there’s a cow’s skull, the flesh divvied up and eaten between the vultures and jackals. Really! Skulls were strewn about here and there in abundance. It was a cremation ground and a dumping ground for animal carcasses too. I thought, very good! Let me see how beautiful the terror is. In these circumstances I will find out just how much I am able to love fear.

It occurred to me once that if another person was with me, I could have captured the scene in language in front of him. Afterwards, with one mind the two of us could have sat together and enjoyed the horrific beauty. Shining the flashlight I located a clear, clean place. In these circumstances who would not become philosophical! I would have become so myself, but another person spoiled the opportunity. Precisely who he was he did not tell me.

I was sitting alone. From a distance I discerned a shadowy figure slowly coming my direction. I inquired, “Who’s there?” No answer. The figure stopped. After a moment he started forward again. Now he was no longer silent. He took up a song:

The play of life has ended,
brother,
the festival of the world
disbanded.
Return, O man of this world,
return.

His voice was quite melodious. I enjoyed listening. I said, “So who are you? Won’t you please come here?” He slowly came forward. When he came close I again asked, “Who are you? Where do you live?”

He said, “Babu, the road is my home:

Traveller I am
Dwelling on the path.
Going is as coming to me
Coming is as going.

“Well though Babu, I don’t want to put on airs, so when I have to introduce myself I tell people I’m from the area under the Candil police station.”

I asked, “What’s your name, friend?”

“Now you want to know my name, too?” he said. “People say my name is Kamalakanta Mahapatra.”

I said, “Please sit, Kamalakanta, sing me a song.” Then Kamalakanta sang five or six songs to me one after another. Beautiful songs. Kamalakanta had the power to draw the sweetness of heaven down into the darkness of the cremation ground – this I felt to the core of my heart. Suddenly Kamalakanta stopped. He asked me, “Babu, where are you coming from?”

I told him I had come from a certain village as part of a groom’s procession. He said, “That’s quite a distance – nearly six miles.”

“Yeah, and because of that my feet are dead tired,” I replied.

He said, “Then Babu, please lie down. I’ll massage your feet a little. After all you’ll have to walk more.”

I said, “No, let it be. You’ve come from even farther away, and surely are much more tired.”

He said, “No Babu, I don’t feel any discomfort. I told you the path is my home. Lie down, you’re just a young boy.”

“However tired I may be,” I said, “I don’t think it is appropriate for an older person to massage my feet.”

Then he said, “Then do something else instead. Put your head on my lap and lie down with your legs outstretched.”

I did just that. Then I do not know when I fell asleep… when my friend’s wedding was over… or whether people there were searching for me or not. Supremely serene, in the heart of the cremation ground with my head in a stranger’s lap, I slept. I woke up towards the end of the night. Feeling intense pain in my feet, I sat up to find that Kamalakanta was clutching my feet with both hands. My head was not in his lap, and he had placed three human skulls under my head.

“Kamalakanta!” I called. “Hey Kamalakanta! Are you listening? You’re sleeping, aren’t you? I told you, I don’t want an older person to serve me. Still you didn’t listen to me.”

Kamalakanta gave no reply. What is this! Why isn’t Kamalakanta speaking? Is he sleeping? Is it possible to sleep sitting up like that? Even if it were possible, then still, would it be possible to hold anyone’s feet so forcefully? Kamalakanta was clutching my feet so forcefully that I had woken up from the pain of having my circulation cut off.

Again I called out, “Hey Kamalakanta, are you listening?” No response. I shoved him. With just a little shove Kamalakanta’s body fell over. Then had he gone unconscious? Whatever little I could think of to test this I did. No… his body had no signs of life. He was ice-cold from head to foot. Kamalakanta was no longer in this world. The one whose home was on the path had gone elsewhere on the path that is this universe. He had gone, moved on. Perhaps the man of this world had left the path altogether, going towards some unknown, unrecognized home.

I got up quickly. I started back along the path. When I reached the place of the wedding it was just barely dawn. My friends were anxious and everyone was worried. They had been waiting for dawn to go out and search for me. I told the whole story and said, “Everyone come on, let’s come back after completing Kamalakanta’s last rites.”

All together we left and reached that place. Those few human skulls which had served as my pillows were fine, but Kamalakanta’s lifeless body was gone. But where had he gone? My friends asked, “Did you drink siddhi-bháuṋ⁽³⁾ last night?”

What could I possibly say to them!

Footnotes

(1) The lunar month extending from mid-April to mid-May. –Trans.

(2) Mahua: Bassia latifolia. Palásha: Butea frondosa. –Trans.

(3) An intoxicating drink prepared from the marijuana plant, often taken on festive occasions. –Trans.