Haunting Remembrances - Chapter III
THE ROAD TO SHISHU MANDIR
Even as the sun was on its ascent behind the hill to cast its magical spell on the Laban landscape, and the dew was still fresh upon the silken petals of the blooming roses, I was engrossed in preparations for school. Almost at the same time, from somewhere in the cluster of quaint little hamlets on the slopes of the "Lloong" compound, two little boys with ruddy faces would have commenced their descent towards our home. Sharp at 20 minutes to eight, my mother would be applying the finishing brush to my hair in front of the mirror, even as I would espy the eager faces of my friends, Wanbok and Klen Sing through the little glass squares of our lattice window, calling out to me, "Debojit! Chalo school".
That was the signal to start out for school every morning. So, together, attired in spotless white shirts with the shining blue school badges neatly pinned to the pockets, gray shorts, red ties and glossy black shoes; with satchels full of books and exercise books slung loosely on our backs, we would set forth to school upon the narrow gravel road. It was always a reluctant departure from home, but the company of my cheerful friends and the brilliance of the Shillong morning livened my spirits up as the journey progressed. Oh! How clearly that little road appears before me even as I write about it, as it twisted and turned past manicured hedges and lawns; past the beautiful facades of the bright-colored houses, the neat lattice windows, sloping red roofs, and the grand skylights; under the overhanging branches of plum trees whose branches bowed under the weight of fat, ruddy plums; and finally emerging out of our colorful neighborhood and straightening along the bank of the lively brook which flowed incessantly and mellifluously across Laban.
We often stopped on the small wooden bridge upon the brook to look at the crystal clear water flowing smoothly over the mossy stones and rocks, and to throw stones at the stream. Just across the bridge was a small shop selling various knicks and knacks along with school stationery. Whenever we had the means (meagre as they were), we would stop to buy NP chewing gum from the shop. The sight of the shopkeeper putting his hand into the big glass jar and taking out a bunch of chewing gum was to me more delightful than the fun of eating the gum itself. And the delight on the bulging faces of my friends as they filled their mouths with gum was a sight still so vivid in my mind (Wanbok the more voracious of the two, while Klen lagged behind, being of a more placid and reticent bent of mind). The little shop had so many variegated delights in it, that it was to me like a wonderland at that time. When, from that very shop, my father bought me my first shining brown wooden scale; my first black wooden pencil with golden ribs on its edges and a red rubber sticking to its end, along with a pink-colored sharpener; my first compass box with the glittering a compass and divider inside; my delight and joy couldn't have been greater if God himself had appeared before me and taken me on a tour of heaven. I remember now that those little things were dearer to me than life itself, and how I would keep them close to my person as much as I could, worrying my head off through tiffin time thinking they might have been lost or stolen. But pardon me reader, for my brief digression from our walk to school, as I let memories of those dear little trinkets carry me away.
Upon ascending a gentle slope from the bank of the brook, we came upon the main road - a road which seemed to flow, rather than run, in a smooth, wavy descent, between the quiet and pine-shaded slopes of the Circuit House grounds (where we often wandered in our rambles to collect fresh straws or just to lounge upon the close-cropped, soft green grass) and the same gurgling brook which ran alongside and below the right of the road. The tranquility of that scene strikes me again, as I remember the clatter of our shoes on the tarred road ringing so clear in our ears. Vehicles were few and far in between. Only an occasional Ambassador would pass us by, or one of those groaning, lumbering Bedford city buses leaning sideways under its own weight. Except for these few intermittent intrusions, we had the street and that setting virtually to ourselves, and Mother Nature seemed so much at peace with herself.
Soaking in every pint of that balmy atmosphere, we would soon reach the fork at the end of the undulating street, where it branched off in two directions - one towards garrison ground and the other leading to the picturesque hills of Bisnupur. It was upon the latter that our journey would presently take us, and on which our childish instincts were to find more reasons for instigation and excitement.
After a short walk on a straight stretch of that road, we would make a turn to the right, where a new world, brimming with the overabundance of natural splendour, would was waiting to welcome us. The bluff face of a steeply rising hillside, with luxuriantly spreading pines covering its slopes, and wild flowering plants and shrubbery of all kinds scattered over the landscape spread out before our eyes. A neat little road, rising sharply up the hill, divided the slope into two halves, each dotted with a smattering of brightly coloured houses blending perfectly with their natural companions. Such was the heavenly scene which greeted us in all its glory in that golden morning sunlight.
All the desultory chatter that we might have been engaged in up till this point, would now evaporate into silent excitement, and eager intent. Now was the time to explore and hunt, and partake of Nature's exquisite cuisine. Each of us knew tacitly what the other's mind craved for, and each would go his respective way up the hill to our common destination. There were so many ways to ascend that hill, other than the main road - flights of steps starting up from different points and merging into one; and multiple unmarked pathways through the bushes and pine trees; all replete with the little delights to cater to our little curiosities and fancies.
There was no book, no cranny unexplored; no blackberry bush unpicked; no plum and orange tree unplucked from; no flower unadmired; no dreamy shade unreposed in; and no path untrodden in that wondrous hillside by the time we passed out of primary school. Out of all these joys that pampered out childish senses, the most memorable for me were my solitary jaunts in that little forest. The sylvan shade under the canopy created by the overspreading branches of the pines on the hillside was so inviting and enticing that the number of times I faced chastisement at school for being detained in that cozy enclave, I have lost count of. In those times of sparse population and vehicular traffic, when there was no external sound to disturb the sanctity of that floral paradise - just the sweet chirping of sparrows and magpies, the gentle rustle of the wind, I spent some of the best moments of my life in the company of sweet Solitude in the dreamy silver light under those leafy boughs, and in collecting shiny, fallen acorns.
By the bye, as each of our trio scale the hill by his different way and reach the open road at the top, not far from each other, we congregate again before proceeding. Across the road, two familiar words on a well-known archway announced to us the arrival of our destination - Shishu Mandir
Even as the sun was on its ascent behind the hill to cast its magical spell on the Laban landscape, and the dew was still fresh upon the silken petals of the blooming roses, I was engrossed in preparations for school. Almost at the same time, from somewhere in the cluster of quaint little hamlets on the slopes of the "Lloong" compound, two little boys with ruddy faces would have commenced their descent towards our home. Sharp at 20 minutes to eight, my mother would be applying the finishing brush to my hair in front of the mirror, even as I would espy the eager faces of my friends, Wanbok and Klen Sing through the little glass squares of our lattice window, calling out to me, "Debojit! Chalo school".
That was the signal to start out for school every morning. So, together, attired in spotless white shirts with the shining blue school badges neatly pinned to the pockets, gray shorts, red ties and glossy black shoes; with satchels full of books and exercise books slung loosely on our backs, we would set forth to school upon the narrow gravel road. It was always a reluctant departure from home, but the company of my cheerful friends and the brilliance of the Shillong morning livened my spirits up as the journey progressed. Oh! How clearly that little road appears before me even as I write about it, as it twisted and turned past manicured hedges and lawns; past the beautiful facades of the bright-colored houses, the neat lattice windows, sloping red roofs, and the grand skylights; under the overhanging branches of plum trees whose branches bowed under the weight of fat, ruddy plums; and finally emerging out of our colorful neighborhood and straightening along the bank of the lively brook which flowed incessantly and mellifluously across Laban.
We often stopped on the small wooden bridge upon the brook to look at the crystal clear water flowing smoothly over the mossy stones and rocks, and to throw stones at the stream. Just across the bridge was a small shop selling various knicks and knacks along with school stationery. Whenever we had the means (meagre as they were), we would stop to buy NP chewing gum from the shop. The sight of the shopkeeper putting his hand into the big glass jar and taking out a bunch of chewing gum was to me more delightful than the fun of eating the gum itself. And the delight on the bulging faces of my friends as they filled their mouths with gum was a sight still so vivid in my mind (Wanbok the more voracious of the two, while Klen lagged behind, being of a more placid and reticent bent of mind). The little shop had so many variegated delights in it, that it was to me like a wonderland at that time. When, from that very shop, my father bought me my first shining brown wooden scale; my first black wooden pencil with golden ribs on its edges and a red rubber sticking to its end, along with a pink-colored sharpener; my first compass box with the glittering a compass and divider inside; my delight and joy couldn't have been greater if God himself had appeared before me and taken me on a tour of heaven. I remember now that those little things were dearer to me than life itself, and how I would keep them close to my person as much as I could, worrying my head off through tiffin time thinking they might have been lost or stolen. But pardon me reader, for my brief digression from our walk to school, as I let memories of those dear little trinkets carry me away.
Upon ascending a gentle slope from the bank of the brook, we came upon the main road - a road which seemed to flow, rather than run, in a smooth, wavy descent, between the quiet and pine-shaded slopes of the Circuit House grounds (where we often wandered in our rambles to collect fresh straws or just to lounge upon the close-cropped, soft green grass) and the same gurgling brook which ran alongside and below the right of the road. The tranquility of that scene strikes me again, as I remember the clatter of our shoes on the tarred road ringing so clear in our ears. Vehicles were few and far in between. Only an occasional Ambassador would pass us by, or one of those groaning, lumbering Bedford city buses leaning sideways under its own weight. Except for these few intermittent intrusions, we had the street and that setting virtually to ourselves, and Mother Nature seemed so much at peace with herself.
Soaking in every pint of that balmy atmosphere, we would soon reach the fork at the end of the undulating street, where it branched off in two directions - one towards garrison ground and the other leading to the picturesque hills of Bisnupur. It was upon the latter that our journey would presently take us, and on which our childish instincts were to find more reasons for instigation and excitement.
After a short walk on a straight stretch of that road, we would make a turn to the right, where a new world, brimming with the overabundance of natural splendour, would was waiting to welcome us. The bluff face of a steeply rising hillside, with luxuriantly spreading pines covering its slopes, and wild flowering plants and shrubbery of all kinds scattered over the landscape spread out before our eyes. A neat little road, rising sharply up the hill, divided the slope into two halves, each dotted with a smattering of brightly coloured houses blending perfectly with their natural companions. Such was the heavenly scene which greeted us in all its glory in that golden morning sunlight.
All the desultory chatter that we might have been engaged in up till this point, would now evaporate into silent excitement, and eager intent. Now was the time to explore and hunt, and partake of Nature's exquisite cuisine. Each of us knew tacitly what the other's mind craved for, and each would go his respective way up the hill to our common destination. There were so many ways to ascend that hill, other than the main road - flights of steps starting up from different points and merging into one; and multiple unmarked pathways through the bushes and pine trees; all replete with the little delights to cater to our little curiosities and fancies.
There was no book, no cranny unexplored; no blackberry bush unpicked; no plum and orange tree unplucked from; no flower unadmired; no dreamy shade unreposed in; and no path untrodden in that wondrous hillside by the time we passed out of primary school. Out of all these joys that pampered out childish senses, the most memorable for me were my solitary jaunts in that little forest. The sylvan shade under the canopy created by the overspreading branches of the pines on the hillside was so inviting and enticing that the number of times I faced chastisement at school for being detained in that cozy enclave, I have lost count of. In those times of sparse population and vehicular traffic, when there was no external sound to disturb the sanctity of that floral paradise - just the sweet chirping of sparrows and magpies, the gentle rustle of the wind, I spent some of the best moments of my life in the company of sweet Solitude in the dreamy silver light under those leafy boughs, and in collecting shiny, fallen acorns.
By the bye, as each of our trio scale the hill by his different way and reach the open road at the top, not far from each other, we congregate again before proceeding. Across the road, two familiar words on a well-known archway announced to us the arrival of our destination - Shishu Mandir
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