I had never been to Chuchura before. I was on my way home from Kolkata during a holiday. I had brought along a medium-sized suitcase and a bedroll. When I reached Howrah station I decided for once to stop in Chuchura on the way home. My eldest sister had married someone from Chuchura, but they had been living in Howrah. I had received news that for family reasons they had decided to pack up their Howrah residence and shift permanently to their own house in Chuchura, and had already arrived there.

I had never been to Chuchura before this. The train I caught from Howrah to Chuchura was the last local one. By the time the train arrived it was quite late at night. When the time came to disembark I noticed that most of the passengers were doing so through the door on the opposite side, then skipping over the track and practically running towards the platform. I could not quite grasp the reason. Anyhow, when a little while later I reached the main platform, by then almost everyone had gone out the main gate. I went outside the station. Where was the town? The area was completely devoid of people. In those days none of the shops and stalls now visible were there. And of course it goes without saying that the [Bangladeshi] refugee settlement was not yet there.

I realized the town was quite some distance from the station. At that time there was not even a rickshaw at the station. As soon as the bus which goes to town was filled with passengers it had left immediately, and it was in order to catch this bus that people had skipped over the track and run toward the main platform. I was left to travel on foot. In one hand I had the suitcase, and in the other the bedroll. I set off along the half-lit, half-dark road to the town without a single fellow traveller. My body trembled with an unknown fear.

I was a college student. The suitcase was stuffed with textbooks, and their load was a heavy burden. Only a student knows just what a burden books are to carry and what a burden to read. It was late at night. My body grew weary, and my mind somewhat weary as well. The weight of the suitcase had become unbearable. But what could I do? Of whom could I enquire? Where and how far must I go? The road was completely devoid of people, and on both sides were trees, rice fields, and some jungle.

Suddenly I saw a dark-complexioned, lanky person come out of the bushes. I could never have imagined a living person having that kind of eyes and face. Both eyes were sunken deeply into their sockets, and two dark lights glowed forth from within them. First the person came towards me, then started walking right alongside me. By then I was drenched in sweat. I asked the person, “Sir, are you also going towards Chuchura?” With a gesture the person indicated that he was. My mind became more at ease. The man started to walk close beside me. Then he slowly extended his arm toward me. I realized that he had understood I was finding it difficult to carry the suitcase. Placing the suitcase in his hand, I heaved a sigh of relief. After walking a little while longer he again extended his hand. This time he wanted to take the burden of the bedroll as well. By then my body was exhausted, so I did not object.

We walked very far together. Afterwards, when we were just about inside the town, I told the man, “You’ve really taken a lot of trouble for me. It would be a big help now if you could please point out which direction my sister’s house is. I’ll take back my luggage.” The person indicated the road with a gesture. On this long journey he had not said a single word to me, and at the time of taking leave also he did not speak. Silently, he handed back my suitcase and the bedroll. My God, how terribly cold! In the process of taking back the suitcase I felt the person’s hand, which was colder than ice. The warmth of life had taken leave of him long ago. The person went away. I could not figure out where he had disappeared to behind the cover of the trees. Nor did I have the capacity to figure it out! As though mesmerized, I set off on the path pointed out by that person. After a wide road came a tiny lane, and I wandered through many intersections. I walked in a daze. Suddenly I wondered, how much farther should I go? I stopped in front of a house. I thought, let me ask the people living here… I absolutely don’t feel like walking any farther tonight. I knocked loudly and a woman came to the door. It was no longer necessary to ask her anything – she was none other than my sister’s mother-in-law.

[Author’s explanation:] Bhayasrśt́a cittáńavika shakti-sampáta [Literally, “External projection of ectoplasmic force triggered by fear” bhayasrśt́a = bhaya + srśt́a; shaktisampáta = shakti + sampáta]

Footnotes

(1) For tending the fire in the pipe. –Trans.

(2) A festival to Lord Shiva held on the fourteenth day of the dark fortnight of the lunar month of Mágha (mid-January to mid-February). The period from sunset to sunrise is called Shiva-Rátri (The Night of Shiva). –Trans.

(3) The lunar month extending from mid-March to mid-April. –Trans.

(4) Shrii Himangshu Sarkar, the younger brother whose house the author visits in this story, in his book Parama Shraddheya Agraja – Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar, clarifies that Abdul Rahman was his cook. Being Muslim, Rahman assumed that Shrii Sarkar and his mother, being from a Hindu family, would not eat food cooked by him, and therefore intended to send a Hindu neighbour for that purpose. In fact Shrii Sarkar was far from subscribing to such dogmas. See pp. 13 and 111 of the Bengali edition of Parama Shraddheya Agraja. –Trans.