Robin met them all—Mr Miller, Mr Mendez, Mr Gibson, Mrs Thripthorpe, Mrs Tomalin, Miss Bonner, and read them the story of Elveden turn by turn. How the Anglo-Sikhs were planning to celebrate the centenary of their last great Sikh, Maharaja Duleep Singh, despite opposition from the local gentry. Miss Bonner remarked, ‘Like Elveden, our little village too was one of trees and flowers, but they are all gone and the few that remain are in their last days.’ ‘No! Certainly not!’ Robin answered with some vehemence. ‘That is the beauty of life—flowers dry up, but from their seeds, new ones bloom. Continuity is the most admirable feature of life. The bird dies, but the song … The song goes on forever. I was thinking why not celebrate 3 November, the Founder’s day of McCluskieganj, with pomp and splendour as well. Let it be the beginning of a new phase for McCluskieganj and its people.’ All the old members of the village were pleased with the idea.
Robin asked Mr Gibson and Mr D’Costa to prepare a list of all the Anglo-Indians who had gone abroad, so that they too could participate in the celebrations and contribute towards McCluskieganj. He asked the elders to prepare a blueprint of the plans and, once ready, he would request all the residents of McCluskieganj to give their opinion on it, so that nothing
was missed.
Miss Bonner asked if he would entrust her with some responsibility as well. Robin said, ‘Yes, you will edit the commemorative souvenir. In this work, you will be assisted by Ilona Ghosh, who as you know worked in publishing while she was still in Germany.’
It was the end of June and the rainy season had come full force. One evening soon after, Robin went with Neelmani to inspect
Mr McCluskie’s dilapidated cottage. ‘This is like a haunted house,’ remarked Neelmani. ‘Don’t worry, we will have all this repaired and renovated before foundation day along with
Mr McCluskie’s fountain.’ Then continuing in the same vein, he said, ‘You have to be very actively involved in the celebrations, Neelmani. In fact, the cultural programme will include some Adivasi dance and song items. After all, McCluskieganj is steeped in Adivasi culture. Yes, another thing, when will you be going to Ranchi? We have to meet Saamu Chacha and tell him of our plans. Also we must ask him to try and obtain Bahadur Uncle’s release.’
The very next day, the two went off to Ranchi to see Saamu Munda. In a broken shack, a bag of bones himself, Saamu Munda, an octogenarian now, sat surrounded by books and magazines. These, Neelmani said, were purchased with his freedom fighter’s pension. Neelmani warned Robin that Saamu Chacha tended to be somewhat moody, so he should judge his mood before embarking on any discussion.
Introductions completed, Neelmani said that Robin was there to write a book on the Adivasi and Anglo-Indian settlers in
McCluskieganj. Who could discourse better on such issues than Saamu Chacha, Neelmani said. ‘Yes! Saamu Chacha, I need your help in understanding the psyche of the people in order to get to the very core of their lives.’
Taking a deep breath, Saamu Munda said with some sadness, ‘What is there to say, Robin Sahib. It is the story of a luckless people who have fought and lost, yet continue to fight. Ours is an endless battle for survival. We have always been a tribe of have-nots, always been the serfs on the master’s land. But there lies the twist. Now take the old story that is almost a legend around this area, Ratu Road. The story of Buddhadev Oraon. He was a labourer in the estate of the Ratu Raja. He was paid meagrely, so much so that the people teased him, “Your name should be Buddhu Oraon, Buddhu meaning foolish. Why do you work for such little money?” But poor as he was, he was happy with the little that he had. Then one day his mother died. Poor man, dismayed as he was emotionally, he did not know how to meet the cremation cost. So he decided to go to his master, the Raja of Ratu. People laughed at his foolishness and told him that he who paid him so little for his work would most certainly refuse to help him meet his mother’s funeral expenses. Nevertheless, Buddhadev went howling into the palace and found the raja in his private chamber. Taken aback by the sudden commotion, the raja said with some consternation, “What has happened?” And Buddhadev answered, “My Lord, my mother has died and she needs to be cremated. But I have no money to buy wood for the fire.” “Go meet the manager and tell him that I have ordered that you may take as much wood as needed,” said the raja. Buddhadev’s faith in his king was restored. From then on, he paid little heed to what people had to say about his master.
‘The purpose of telling you this story, Robin Sahib, is that in the old feudal system, the king, though he did not have direct contact with his subjects, still had their welfare at heart. If the situation demanded, he would show uncommon concern for his subjects. However, with the passage of time, things changed. Earlier the Adivasi kings were all Mundas. Our religion being the same, even though our social conditions were different, our rajas were concerned for us. We could expect generosity from them. But some two hundred years ago, to raise their social status, our rajas embraced Hinduism. That’s when the problem started. A sense of superiority came to prevail. The oneness of our earlier ethnicity got compromised. That was when the seeds of division were sowed. The richer Adivasis exploited the poorer brethren, pushing them through exploitation to extreme poverty. To find a better life than that available in Chhota Nagpur, many Adivasis left with their wives and children to work for the tea gardens in Bengal and Assam. Yet, there too their fate seemed sealed.’ Saamu Chacha paused and then Robin thought he heard him humming. What was Saamu Chacha humming with his eyes closed? Robin wondered. There was a certain stillness in the air as Saamu Chacha went on humming. Then opening his eyes, he said, ‘Robin Sahib, this song is about a sad Adivasi mother who tells her daughter that there is too much suffering in their part of the country, so why not go to the tea gardens of Assam. There they would find work and greenery as well. But in the last stanza, there is only bitterness and pain as the song reveals that though the Adivasis went with hope, once there, their fates continued to be blighted. The overseers continuous refrain was, “Work more, work more;” the manager would say, “See that these labourers don’t run away;” and the white owner of the tea garden would say, “Rip the skin off their backs.” This is our story in a nutshell. Everywhere people want power, and with it comes corruption,’ said Saamu Munda, his face twisted with pain and despair.
Robin realized that he had reached a dead end, but was not willing to accept it. He was sure he could bring about a turnaround.
It was getting late. Robin thought about consulting Saamu Chacha on the issue of securing Bahadur Oraon’s release. But Saamu Chacha said that he had tried every avenue. Duti Bhagat had greased the palms of all the powers that be so well that he just couldn’t edge in with his reasoning. And so the two, Robin and Neelmani, rose and took their leave.
On their way back, both Robin and Neelmani were quiet. Each was lost in thought. When they got off the bus at McCluskieganj, Robin told Neelmani with a fresh lease of confidence in the plan that he had hit upon. ‘There’s no backing out, never say die. You will have to revive Bahadur Chacha’s self-reliance groups. They will have to be revived in every village. We will start a movement, away from dirty politics, for the Adivasis, giving a new lease of hope.’
In the fading light of the evening, McCluskieganj appeared like a flower pressed between the pages of some old book, once vibrant, but now sad and lacklustre.