Baba’s Old Steel Box

It was a Monday evening. The deep dark sky was looming large and kissing the horizon with an engulfing tenacity. It might rain heavily tonight. While returning through the narrow path of the jetty ghat, Devika was often looking at the sky. After three days of continuous pouring, finally, today, she got a chance to go out of the house and attend classes. While the schools are closed and online classes are a far-fetched dream, Devika's last hope is village tuition teacher Atul, the only graduate of the village. All others have migrated to the big cities of light, life, and luxury. Atul sir has seen a bit of it and always installs the same dream: grow big, dream big. Devika also wants to build a small concrete house beside this jetty ghat road: one bedroom, one kitchen, one room for the Gods, and a small thatched cottage for Nandi, their much-loved family member. By the time Devika finishes her sketching of the dream house, she reaches home. Putting the nylon bag containing books, mat, and pen on the floor, she hugs her mother tight.

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‘Maa, today, sir taught us about light and dark. Darkness is absolute, and light is temporary. Maa, when will the light (electricity) come to our village?'

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'Are Devi, I don't know all these. Ask these questions to your uncle, he goes on campaign with the party, he knows these better. Go wash your legs and do the evening prayer at the Tulsi Tola.'

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'If Baba would have been here, he would have definitely answered it. But, you always keep me aside from all these curiosities,' Devika replied with anguish and disgust.

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A silence prevailed throughout the house. Devika went to the pond ghat to wash her legs. Lowering her head down, her mother continues cooking dinner. How often mothers hide their deepest sorrow behind the saree salvage in front of their children. Devika's mother also does so. It has been more than a year, his husband has not returned. Somewhere at the heart of the deep dark sea, he is having a life, possibly. We Indians believe in life after death: a life possibly in heaven; a life possibly at Deviks's mother still retaining hope; a life possibly in her coloured saree and still glittering sindoor on the forehead. How strange it is to be there between knowing and not knowing. These days are pretty like last year, days of dark sky and roaring sea. Despite the restrictions and cautions, Devika's father and his boatmates that day left their jetty from the Khari (canal). Putting vermilion on their fishing boat, Devika's mother sang the parting song of ritual. She never realized the grim reality waiting to strike them hard. Unfortunately, a massive cyclone hit the coast heavily that night. The storm passed with permanent scars and took all the boatmen into the sea. The villagers waited for days and were still waiting for a return of lives and fortune.

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Devika’s brother came from the playground running: ‘Maa, it will be raining heavily tonight. The Western sky is deep dark.’ He joins Devika at the pond to clean dusty legs and hands, and Devika's mother concentrates on cooking. The thunder has already started. Within an hour, it might start raining. The dark cloud was not only hovering on the sky but also on the villagers' fate. The seawater level went up considerably due to continuous rain for the past few days. The villagers are repairing the mud wall outside of the village, separating the sea from the locality. Every crack on the wall is a sign of terror. Cutting mud from the opposite side, putting them on top, bamboos, sand-sacks, ropes all are like the villagers' weapons to protect their lives. But, the sea is furious for the last few days.

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Devika's mother had not yet finished the cooking; her uncle came running with three others. 'Boudi, a part of the wall has already broken. Water is coming into the village heavily. We all have to leave, quickly.' He went to the other homes hurriedly to inform the same. Devika's mother does not know what to do now. A silence prevailed throughout, like the silence before the storm. Devika, standing in the distance, realized the severity. ‘Maa, we have to leave quickly. Get up.’

Three of them started packing necessary belongings. The utensils, a few clothes, a small iron chest of Devika's mother, the idols of God, a picture of Devika's father, and whatever else they can manage.

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Often Devika feels like a migratory bird, without a steady home, steady identity, steady life. Last year the same thing happened, and she lost her father. This time she cannot handle it anymore. They have to leave as early as possible. She experienced the devastation very closely last year. The moment she was packing all those belongings in a sack, she was constantly realizing her father's absence. Had her father been there, things would have been entirely different. The constant fear that prevails on these three people would not have been there at all. How silently her father took care of the family and managed everything. He also left them silently.

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The packing is almost done. Devika, with hope, pointed towards the small wooden shelf full of her books.

A passage of silence and void…..again.

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Without uttering a word, both of them looked at each other for a while. Devika knows what she wants to convey. The burden of necessary belongings is already so heavy for three of them. They cannot take the books at any cost. Looking downwards, Devika tried her best to hide the rolling tears, and her mother knew that. Taking a very old steel box from the rack, she gave it to Devika. This is the first gift that her husband bought on their first anniversary. She avoided every other way of opening and using it for the last one year. How tough it is to be there in the same place, same room, with the same belongings but without that person beside! Memory is the biggest enemy she fought with.

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Devika put all her books into the box and locked it tightly. They put it at the highest possible corner of the house. Her uncle has already given the second call that the villagers are leaving together. They should join them at the earliest possible. Taking Nandi from the cowshed, Devika's mother follows the villagers with her iron chest in a bag, Devika with the big sack full of utensils and clothes on her head, and her brother with other necessary belongings. The village moves slowly towards an unknown destiny through the narrow road of the jetty ghat, leaving behind a long surpassing silence. Only the cries of the birds, roars of the sea, and cracking of the mud can be heard. Hundreds of villagers on the road: men, women, children, aged, the domestic animals, all are leaving behind their home, gardens, belongings, and memories.

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The villagers took shelter in the nearby high school. Devika found many of her school and tuition mates there. All have come from nearby coastal villages. The school became a community: a community of sufferers, a community of shared sorrow, a community of being together in a crisis. The more Devika spends time in school, the more she misses her father, her home, and the steel box. If Baba had been there, he would have never let them keep the box in the house. Sitting at a corner of the schoolroom, she travels back to her early school days of a year before. Baba never let her come to the school on foot during exams. He used to stay here in the schoolyard throughout the exams and used to take her back home on his cycle. On their way back, they used to discuss the sea, fishing techniques, and Devika's dream house. Devika never realized how her father silently instilled a dream and inspiration within her when he was here. While thinking about the past days, she falls asleep on the school bench.

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The villagers are waiting: waiting for the inevitable. The storm starts late at night, and the sea wave lashes the village very hard. Wild waves and cyclonic storms swamped village after village. Flooded agri field, houses, roads: an extended sea overnight. Devika and all the villagers have not slept almost the whole night. Ladies are praying and chanting the names of Gods. In the early morning, a few villagers decided to enter the flooded village to see the damages. Devika, listening to this news, started urging her uncle to take her along. The salty water has risen up to chest height. Her uncle and her mother resisted her to join them, but Devika was determined. Holding the hand of her uncle, Devika and a few villagers heading towards the flooded paradise they lost overnight.

On both sides, salty water stretches to the horizons. The remaining thatch roofs of the mud houses floating; uprooted trees, dogs, fishes, utensils all are scattered everywhere. They are walking through a sea of leftovers of the storm. The water level rose to the chest height of Devika in places. Seeing the devastating sight, tears rolled down her cheeks. It is no more than a year since the villagers partly got out of the scars of the last flood, and here another came knocking down everything again. Throughout the way, Devika was constantly thinking about the box and their house. Looking at the smashed-down homes of other villagers, she was terrified.

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After a tedious effort of finding ways through the lost roads, Devika stopped at the sight of her house: a house trying its level best to peep out of the flooded area. Hardly the walls are visible. The naked thatched roof is left with a half-broken bamboo structure only. Devika started crying. They lost everything. Having a pinch of hope, she went close to the house to look for that box of books. Her uncle accompanied her. After searching for a while, they finally got it. Bearing the heavy storm and seawater it managed to retain itself at that highest corner of the house. Devika was equally curious and scared to open it.

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Devika has not uttered a word throughout the way back to school. Holding the box tight to her shoulder, she was walking silently. The salty tears are rolling down her cheeks and getting lost in the sea of tears down. Her father used to say, the sea is all to them; it sustains, and it destroys too. Fighting against all the odds, they sail the boat to the sea, and once they are deep into it, the sea is silent, standstill. A friendship with the sea can only be in the deep; one has to sail for that and keep on moving forward…..Today, Devika built a new friendship with the sea. Holding the box with half wet books, she realized her father's words. As she is making her way towards the land with the box, surpassing the salty water, she can feel her father along with her. As if holding her hand tight, her father is taking her away from this devastated village to a safe land. He left the box for the family and left a dream for Devika: each of them holding the other. The books are a new hope to her, a hope to start over, fall in love with the sea again, and start everything again. Standing in the middle of the salty seawater, she was still dreaming of her dream-house: one bedroom, one kitchen, one room for Gods, a small thatched home for Nandi, and one added room for books and reading. With the retreating seawater from the village, Devika knows the message will reach one day to her father in the deep sea: 'Baba, I will keep on moving forward….’