A Comic Interlude Amid Gathering Clouds
Amid the gathering clouds of simmering discontent, an interlude gave comic relief of pure joy and fun.
Mr Gibson’s love had no climate, no terrain, so besotted was he with Babu. When Raniya told him that it was time for Babu, already five years old to have his mundan, the first tonsuring, Mr Gibson said, ‘That’s okay. We’ll call the barber and get his hair cut. Done?’ Raniya was quite outraged. ‘That’s not how it’s done at all. You are all sahibs, you will not understand the importance of the ritual. Moreover, Parvati does not have any other son. She wants the occasion to be such that the whole of McCluskieganj will remember it.’ That was enough.
Mr Gibson, who was very soft on Parvati, agreed that it should be a memorable event. He would do anything for her joy. He went around getting things organized, the pandit, the barber, new clothes for Babu, the works! The whole of McCluskieganj was invited to the celebration. As usual tongues wagged and gossip reached a crescendo. It reached Mr Gibson as well. ‘It’s not Babu’s mundan, it is the old man’s; they have fleeced him good and proper! Wait till his old woman hears of it in Australia.’ And wasn’t Mr Gibson angry to hear it!
When Robin observed Mr Gibson’s generosity and love for Parvati’s son Babu, he expressed his appreciation to Mr Gibson. ‘It’s amazing, your ability to break all social norms and do what you are doing for a poor woman’s child.’ Mr Gibson replied very philosophically, ‘The mango grows on the tree and the fish swims in the water, but have you not observed how they get served on the same plate. What is it that unites hearts, God only knows.’ And so Babu’s mundan took place with much fanfare. Traditionally, the hair cut during the mundan ceremony is supposed to be left in the bamboo bushes. It marks the prosperity of the future generations and this ritual is done by a family member. Parvati’s mother Rania said, ‘Mr Gibson will put Babu’s hair in the bamboo bushes.’ Mr Gibson returned with tears in his eyes.
Soon, however, suddenly as if from nowhere, rumours started flying that the government had leased several villages around McCluskieganj to a private coal company. As a result, the residents of McCluskieganj were deeply distressed. It was said that McCluskieganj and the environs surrounding it were sitting on millions of tonnes of coal. This company was believed to have paid the chief minister crores of rupees for this lease. Mr Mendez told Mr Miller in a shaky voice, ‘There will be no trace of our village.’ To this Mr Miller replied, ‘We are fast disappearing anyway.’ Robin urged Neelmani to mop up resistance against this move. ‘More precious than the coal hidden in the bowels of the earth are the precious lives of those living above. No, we will not let this happen.’
Then for a couple of days, Robin lost sight of Neelmani. He went in search of her to the Chatti and approached her mother. As he went along, he saw the adjacent fields green with the soft paddy plants; he saw the little mud huts of the Adivasis, he could even inhale the smell of the earth and thought that this was the ultimate in man’s life, to be one with the earth, the soil with soul. That was the meaning of homeland.
Neelmani was not at home. Her mother said, ‘I don’t know what has come over her. I have been seeing that for the past few days, she leaves home before daybreak. She is busy rounding up the villagers for the cause her father had started, the fight against the perpetrators of force and exploitation. God knows what Duti Bhagat will do to her.’ ‘Don’t worry. She is doing the right thing,’ said Robin.
The next morning Robin was surprised to see Neelmani at Queen’s Cottage. ‘Where were you?’ Robin asked her. ‘Tomorrow morning, I have called for a meeting of the self-reliance groups near the Chatti river,’ she told him. ‘Okay. I will be there,’ said Robin. He was looking at her. Though she seemed soft, she was really stronger than the rocks of the Kanka hills.
Hundreds of Adivasis with their bows and arrows gathered the next day in a show of solidarity against the government. With new dedication, unrelenting like the lightning, they came together at the behest of Neelmani, who had now assumed the ferocity of a tigress. ‘In the name of Adivasi rights, the leaders of the Jharkhand Mukti Manch have betrayed the Adivasi cause to the powers that be from Delhi to Patna to Ranchi. They are not our leaders, they are the betrayers and brokers of our true cause. To earn and amass black money, these leaders are planning to lease our land for coal mining. We will not tolerate this coal mafia. Birsa Munda too had died for our cause. Bahadur Oraon is languishing in jail for our cause. We pledge today to continue our fight against the perpetrators of our suffering.’ Neelmani’s voice rang out and resounded from the Kanka hills. ‘Neelmani, Neelmani!’ the crowd shouted in appreciation of their new-found leader. But in Ranchi, the restlessness among the officials grew. How would they handle this fast kindling flame?
The news of Neelmani’s inspiring speech had already reached Queen’s Cottage. Mr Mendez asked Robin with an amused smile, ‘What is your tigress up to these days? Looks like the village will be saved after all, and the ringmaster of this tigress is Robin my boy!’