Dry Riverbed

“Bling!”

Another uninvited message from my girlfriend got ignored as I waited for the perfect shot. “Splash”, and it was gone. The moment, for which I had been kneeling down on the ground, flew past my shutter. 15 minutes gone in vain. Paltoo, my local acquaintance might have noticed my frustration as he offered another cup of tea. I realised that not answering unnecessary texts had become a challenging task so I switched it off. 

“Paltoo, let’s head for Khoyai (dry riverbed). Enough with the riverside.”

Paltoo nodded and pushed the worn-off paddles of his rickshaw with his firm calves. It was excruciatingly hot. Palm trees, little huts, vast fields- the abundance of nature seemed to suffer from blisters just like me. The scorching heat of May was glittering on Paltoo’s sweaty shoulders. Surprisingly, the 20-odd guy showed no sign of exhaustion.

“Bhai (brother), don’t you get tired of pulling this? Why don’t you work at some factory or shop? It would be better for you.”

Paltoo wiped his forehead with a Gamucha hanging from his left shoulder and replied: “Food dada (big brother), my maalik (owner of the rickshaw) gives me two meals a day and 1200 rupees a month. In the shops, who will give me food?”

“You can always buy food. You will get paid at the shop.”

“I am not allowed to enter the bazaar, dada.”

“What? Why not?”

“I am a Baishnav dada. It’s a Hindu market. Baishnavs are not allowed to go there. I was a Baul myself, dada. I had to do this for my stomach.”

“Don’t you have a family?”

“They abandoned me. I had leprosy two years back.”

It took 30 minutes for us to reach Khoyai through Santalgaon and it was sunset. A group of Baul singers were chanting some romantic lines. The sun decided to call it a day and have mercy on us. I took out my camera and clicked a random portrait of Paltoo.

“You are wasting it over this black-faced slave, dada,” he said with a grin.

“Here, have one.” I pulled out my cigarette pack, handed one over to him and lit one for myself.

An eagle flew over a palm tree, crossing the sun, and headed towards the woods.

I took out my phone and texted my parents and my girlfriend: “Am alright. In Shantiniketan. Will call you later.”

The red dry riverbed bore long palm tree shadows as I shared a puff with Paltoo, my bhai.