𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗥 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦

𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑟𝑘𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤-𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑡 𝐹𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠. 𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑜𝑝, 𝐼 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟. 𝑅𝑒ℎ𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛.

‘April is the cruellest month,’ said T S Eliot. Smitten by the merciless April sun, we all agree. That reminds me of Utpal Mohapatro, my one-time boss.

This Regional Manager of a bank, he was headquartered in Calcutta (not yet christened Kolkata) but his territory lay far beyond the city limits. He had to undertake periodical visits to the branches to see that everything was fine in his ‘empire’.

One hot April morning, he set out for a branch visit. The chauffeur-driven car carrying him left his house around 7 am, crossed Vivekananda Bridge and hit National Highway No 2 in half an hour and passed hamlets, villages and small towns.

By the time they reached Palsit, the sun was high and heat oppressive. The driver removed his shirt, wiped the sweat and continued driving. The master took a cue and removed the upper half of his safari suit. That felt good!

In the relief brought by the divestment of the garment, Mohapatro soon dozed off. When he woke fifteen minutes later, the car was clipping fast along the highway, harvested paddy fields on either side of the road.

Mohapatro’s back was aching. Age was catching up, he rued. Adding to the misery was the sweltering heat. It would take another two hours, he estimated, before they reach the first port of call, Gorhar (then in West Bengal).

The doctor had told him his lumbago would ease if he lay on his back. While at it, he thought, he would remove his trousers and relax. And soon went into deep slumber. So deep that he did not know when the car stopped at a manned level crossing.

The driver had a look at the back seat: the boss was sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Noiselessly, he got out for a cup of tea.

A little later, the stillness woke up Mohapatro; he looked around: it was wilderness all round, the railway gate was closed and the driver was in the teashop. Mohapatro got out and went behind a bush nearby to take a leak.

After his cuppa, the chauffeur approached the railway gatekeeper. It was ‘Open Sesame’ when some currency changed hands. He trotted back to the car, switched on the engine, stepped on the gas and sped off.

When Mohapatro returned, the car was not in sight. His suitcase, wallet, spectacles and both parts of his safari suit were all in the car speeding at a great pace towards Gorhar.

Mohapatro tried to stop every vehicle passing by, requesting them for a lift, to no avail. He cried out, citing his designation, but it carried no conviction, as the claim came from a man curiously dressed in his vest, brief, socks and shoes. What hurt him most was that some sniggered ‘Kanke se bhaagaa hogaa,’ the allusion being to the recent reports on the escape of some inmates of the Kanke Mental Asylum in Ranchi!

History does not record what happened to the driver.