IDHAR UDHAR KI BAAT 63- PANAGARH THROUGH MY EYES Brig PS Gothra(Retd)

 

"Yeh kadam ka ped agar maan hota yamuna teere……."
These lines by Subhadra Kumari Chauhan come to mind as I pass the kadam tree, sheltering the statue of Brahmastra from sun and rain. The tree's yellow pom-pom blossoms often go unnoticed by those who bow their heads to the towering tricolour nearby.

As I move on, the sight of the café and the cinema hall comes into view. The hall feels like sitting inside a tunnel; it’s also the place of my first public pretense as a child. I had come to watch an English movie with friends, but not knowing "chikni angreji," I simply laughed whenever they did.

Ahead, I spot the dilapidated building of my old school, peeking through tall elephant grass. I’m reminded of the countless punishments I faced for being a poor student, but the sight of a crab and a tortoise crushed under a truck’s wheels the night before reminds me that, at least, I survived. Just a few meters away, a newly built path has started caving in. I wonder who’s at fault—the MES, the contractors, or simply the soil conditions in Panagarh Military Satation.

The congress grass has started sprouting, and in two months, it will be everywhere. A station commander once introduced beetles to eat it, but perhaps too few were released to make a dent. So, our faujis will be flexing their muscles, swinging talwars to clear it. Their struggle with the grass feels like the parasitic peepal trees growing on khajjis nearby.

A pair of doves perch on an electric cable, each facing away from the other. Other days they sit closer facing in one direction. I can’t help but think, ‘sala, inme bhi biwi tantrums dikhati hai? (their wives also throw tantrums)’ As I cross a culvert, tadpoles and tiny fish swim in the water below. It makes me wonder why, during the rainy season, some fish choose to crawl onto the road when there are plenty of culverts for them to cross over (peculiar fish of Panagarh). Small buds have started appearing on the polash tree, and the berry plants are blooming. By Holi, the palash trees will be radiant with bright flowers, making Panagarh feel like an earthly paradise. Under the high mast light, the tree will be mesmerizing in full bloom at night.

A cluster of palm trees stands nearby, though one of these doesn’t bear any fruit. It dawns on me that, like us, trees have gender. Some male weaver birds are busy building their nests, their efforts ramp up in the evening when females come to inspect their work. Some pair up, while the unlucky ones keep on, hoping to improve their skills.

At the dosa point I move into the jungle trail. The canopy is growing thicker. A cuckoo bird enthrall me with its melody. A small monitor lizard cross my path. Its flicking tongue takes my mind to the snakes which are plenty in Panagarh. Lost in my thoughts I momentarily panic of losing the way. But the ghanta of Khetrapal Baba Mandir helps me orient myself. As I cross the pond near the mandir, I see some boars digging the roots of some bushes. I bow in front of the mandir to take the blessings. Trees have grown over the ruins of nearby buildings, reminding me of the tremendous effort it took to build this place. The massive banyan trees ahead stir a childish urge to climb, but I’m reminded I’ll retire next year. Still, I can’t resist throwing a stone to knock down a few tetul (tamarind) pods to stash in my pocket.

From the butchery, I continue along the kutcha road. The butchery is abandoned now, as the fauj has switched to dressed chicken and mutton procured from the vendors. My father once took me here to watch the slaughter process; at first, the sight was abominable, but eventually, I got used to the blood flowing down the drain. He believed it would toughen me up for life as a soldier, but I wonder now if it was wise to make a 12-year-old watch the slaughtering.

I catch a glimpse of jackals peeking out from the bushes as I wander toward the old paddy fields. Realizing I might be intruding on their hunting time, I turn back and head toward the nala, about a hundred meters from the butchery, and settle on its parapet. A stork is busy trying to catch fish nearby. Around me, a symphony of sounds unfolds—the rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker, frogs croaking, crickets chirping, and the gentle flow of water—all merging to create a trance-like atmosphere.

As I walk back to my accommodation, I can’t help but feel that Panagarh is not such a bad place as people paint it to be.

Love you Panagarh!