vii.              Karmatar to Deogarh

I visited my mother in 1976 in Karmatar and while there two of her friends offered to take me to the Hindu temple at Deogarh. It was a hot, uncomfortable journey, and it was a welcome distraction when two parawallahs (policemen) entered the carriage at one of the frequent stops with four prisoners, bound together like chickens in the market. The carriage was already full but one parawallah managed to squeeze in among the persons on the lower berth opposite the one where I was seated, the four prisoners sat in a huddle on the floor, and the second parawallah climbed on a top berth and went to sleep. Seniority counts.

After a while one of the prisoners pulled out a wooden flute and played. It seemed to be a long, impromptu piece. When he finished he turned to me - the one who stood out by dress and appearance as being different and possibly foreign - and said he had not eaten since the morning of the day before. I then asked the seated parawallah if I could give the man some money for his performance. He nodded assent and I gave him two rupees, at least enough for a meal. We all left the train at Deogarh, the escorted men for the kuchari (court) and I and my two travelling companions for the temple.

The temple was in the middle of streets with shops and was by size alone the focal point of the area. The shops were loaded with cheap goods: gaudy clothes, clay and wood toys and “holy” figures, lurid prints of gods and goddesses, and mounds of Indian sweets. There were crowds in the shops, whole families with excited children, all out for a good time. I was reminded of Chaucer’s Canterbury pilgrims, who had gone on their pilgrimage with just such a good time in mind, though also eager to worship. I had been given permission to enter the temple on the condition I did not take pictures – I was carrying a movie camera. My two companions had interceded for me to the Brahmin priests with heavily marked foreheads, signifying their caste, who were recording the contributions being made by the pilgrims. I contributed five rupees though my Hindu friends acting as hosts tried to dissuade me, but I did not get into the large ledger. In the temple were garlanded images and before these the pilgrims made their humble petitions and prayers, much as Chaucer’s pilgrims might have done to the “blissful martyr”, Thomas a Becket, and to the other statues in the cathedral. The worlds of East and West are not that different.

I made the return journey without my two friends of the day, who had some other place to go. It has often been remarked that a good way to become familiar with India is to travel by train, preferably third class, on a long journey - if you can take it - so I chose to travel third class, believing I would be rubbing shoulders with the "real India" by doing so. And so it proved. A wedding party got into the carriage and the bridegroom, a teenager, sat alongside me. In the party were a number of children. A young girl had a burn patch on her leg, the result, I was told, of an accident during the wedding festivities. An infant boy climbed and crawled on the dirty floor and on everyone, including me. He was a friendly, happy little chap and I did not mind the grime that he transferred from himself to me, knowing I could have a hot bath from a balti (bucket) when I got to Karmatar. My Hindi was tested in my talk with the bridegroom and his mates, who were interested in life in Canada. The groom said of my language "saf nahi hai", literally "not clean". I felt stupid and told him that my English, a language of which he could not speak a word, was somewhat better than my Hindi.

Anglo-Indians are not keen on travelling on crowded Indian trains any more, but during my time there they loved to travel as much as Indians did and still do. There are inconveniences sure, but the entertainment is worth it.