Free The Fifth Man by Bani Basu Page B

people from Nagpur kept the best for themselves and sent the poor quality oranges to other places. In West Bengal we do just the opposite. Prawns and honey from the Sunderbans, superior rice from Bardhaman, the best tea from Darjeeling are all exported for foreign exchange. We keep the worst, often inedible, things for ourselves. No one can match us in self-humiliation.
    No sooner had they crossed Warba than black, cultivated land became visible on both sides. A balm for the eyes. The Sahayadri had arranged large black rocks on dry riverbeds. Esha gazed in wonder at what looked exactly like a group of small and big elephants emerging from the water after their frolic. How whimsical nature was. It had presented a Jataka tale through wayside sculptures. In the Chaddanta Jataka, Bodhisattva had been born as an elephant with six tusks. There he was, the glorious king of the elephants. But Piku wasn’t here. Esha felt no pleasure unless she could share her joy and wonder. Still she kept looking at the scene through the window as long as she could. Subrata Agarwal had realized there was something special out there, but he was not sitting by the window. He had the furthest seat from the window on the bench opposite Esha, he couldn’t see anything despite craning his neck. The riverbed was quite low. Eventually he couldn’t contain himself any longer and said, ‘Something unusual, Jiji?’ Esha smiled. ‘Nothing unusual, just rocks.’
    ‘That’s all?’
    ‘That’s all.’ How was she to recount the story of the elephant in the Chaddanta Jataka, and its sculptural depiction through the boulders of the Sahayadri, to young Agarwal across the length of the compartment?
    The train was passing through one tunnel after another. Each time it entered the darkness, Esha welcomed it as she thought of the threatening moment when she would meet Ari. And when the train emerged into the light, the fear dissipated. She had been through a lot in life. Why should she be afraid? Someone seemed to be saying to the rhythm of the train,
abhi bhava, abhi bhava
. At once Esha became completely calm. Then she wondered why she had wired Aritra. She could have taken a bus from Jalgaon. Or she could have asked a travel agent to make arrangements. Their itineraries involved visiting a different place every day. This form of travel was never satisfying, which was why Esha avoided travel agents despite the assurance they offered. Why did she have to make Aritra her agent? In one letter after another Ari had written, ‘Friendship is very valuable, Esha. Friendship is the last word. Can’t we be friends? Just friends. Time is infinite, and the world is enormous, life is so short in comparison. The harshness of refusing friendship does not suit you.’
    The train was running late. What would she do if there was no one there when she arrived late at night? She could pay extra money to spend a day or two at the Bengal Lodge and sort things out after that. No, the train would reach Victoria Terminus even later at night. Never mind, we’ll see what happens. As the train swayed from side to side, Esha went to the toilet in preparation of getting off. Subrata Agarwal looked up at her and smiled. Mrs Jain shifted her huge body to make room. Manmad, Nashik Road, Igatpuri . . .
    The long-expected train was finally reaching Kalyan. The clanking of the wheels was slowing down, getting heavier. Esha’s feet stuck to the floor of the compartment. Like walking in a dream, she was moving forward but not advancing. Suddenly Subrata appeared from the back and took her light suitcase. Esha only had her bag on her shoulder. She stood still in the frame of the carriage door for some time. The platform was busy. The Geetanjali Express had arrived late, the entire platform was active, noisy, on the move. Where was Aritra? How would she recognize him if he had changed a lot? A gap of eighteen years. Life had changed, people’s appearances had changed, the environment had