Shanti Town V

Post lunch we move towards the Khowai...A part of the land naturally eroded for ages, rendering it the name, erosion in Bengali being known as 'Khoy'. The red soiled road lined on either side with tall trees takes us to the dam gate which is perhaps the most precarious and yet the most wildly appealing part of the town. The brown earth eroded over the years creates considerably deep gorges with tall grass growing all around as the dam gates slide down on one side now leaving just a thin stream of water. As we walk deep into the forest like hind part of the area, all we can see are the same eucalyptus like trees that are a regular feature of this area emanating its strange smell. The crickets go on buzzing even during this time of the day creating a strange music...no wonder the poet found refuge and inspiration from this abode of peace...we accompanied them with a chorus rendition of 'Ha re re re re re amay chere de re de re...jemon chara boner pakhi moner anonde re....' True to the words we felt free beyond all ties.

Leaving Khowai behind, we then moved towards Kopai...we could have taken the road along the Khowai but the approaching evening and the precariousness of the road made us think sense as we drove back to the Sonajhuri more and from there took the road leading to Goalpara and beyond. It took about 15 odd minutes to reach the bridge over Kopai. The thin brown stream below the bridge flows as a mocking tribute to the Kopai that swells ferociously during monsoons. We park the car by the side of the bridge and climb down the steep side by the bridge to reach the river, the moist red earth creating footprints as we move further down. As we sit by the River on the red soil on a few luckily found boulders, the river gurgles faintly close by on its endless journey witnessing years and years of life around. Adventurous by birth, I walk towards the water with my jeans folded to the knees...as my feet gradually get used to the chill in the water. On the other bank, a few local women casually bathe and wash their clothes looking at us amused at our antics and over excited behaviour. I take a few more steps into the water and feel the need to fold the jeans further up. Looking back I realize that I am almost halfway through the river and I stand with the water level only upto my thighs....I wade further upstream and get a large boulder right in the middle of the river and sit on it with my feet still in the waters. The evening gradually turns redder as the sun now on the western horizon slowly dips further and further down intermittently hiding behind palm trees. The nip in the air can be felt faintly as I head back for the banks almost unwillingly.

As I step foot on the ground, on the other side a herd of cows come slowly down the slope and enter the water accompanied by a boy of about 12 or 13 who also steps in...one by one he leads them into the water and then swims accross, his height being short enough for him having to swim through...they all reach this side and in the same mechanical way walk down the banks towards home...I wonder how life goes on in the same way fro them everyday. they cross this river twice everyday from this side to that and yet the monotony and drdgery of their lives do not drive them crazy to the hilt...they seem content with what they have. Why then do we, more educated, more civilized lot have this source of constant deprivation in life? However much we get we still want more...maybe it is the distance from the roots or maybe because of our lack of association with nature...I wonder! As we walk back to the car darkness and silence engulfs us on our journey back home. The multitutde of glow worms and stars in an ethereal unison cast a magical spell all around with the crickets accompanying them with their incessant sound. The moon shines yet again and lights us the world around and yet again we retire to the comforts of our home, make a quick dinner and finish it off discussing the wanderings of the day. The terrace calls yet again as we go up and sit in the shimmering moonlit terrace remembering the poet and singing songs endlessly. It dawns on us how and why he had written 'Chader hashir badh bhengeche uchle pore alo...o rojoni gondha tomar gondho sudha dhalo'...

Shanti Town IV

The road takes us through a level crossing at the Prantik Station and through the Canal Side Road to the Sonajhuri More. A left turn accross a bridge over the canal takes us closer towards the peaceful town now abuzz with activities of the day. Saturday and Sundays do not mean the weekend fro the people here....a rebelious against Rules, Rabindranath Tagore wanted an unconventional day to be the end of the week...and so on Wednesdays this town, just a little over 225 kilometres away from the Kolkata Metropolis enjoys a Sunday! Good for us travellers though who have only the conventional weekends to get away from the grind to the shelter of the Shanti Town.

The car passes through Shyambati with trees lining both sides of the road interspersed with picturesqe houses with fascinatingly appealing names. As we slowly leave Shyambati behind we enter the University Area with the first glimpse of the hind part of the Uttarayan Complex - the poets home. On the other side of the road within the boundaries of the Univer sity stands the Upashona Griho, believed to be the prayer hall where Maharshi Debendra Nath Tagore held prayer meets of the then much coveted Brahmo Samaj. The stained glass walls of the Upashana Griho creates a thousand hues as sunlight streaks through. I could almost hear the chorus of voices offering an ode to the formless God...I could hear 'Noyono tomare payna dekhite royecho noyone noyone...hridoy tomare pay na janite hridoye royecho gopone'...Close by stands the much revered Chhatimtola. The Uttaryan Complex, once home to the poet stretches accross a wide area close to the University More. A part of it now transformed into a museum, is open to tourists to view remnants and aspects of the poet's life. It was from here that the coveted Noble Prize was stolen! The complex has a museum known as Bichitra where there has been an attempt to capture glimpses from Rabindra Nath Tagore's life. Nandan, the art gallery is also a must watch. As we stroll accross the first building, an extension of the Museum and the Art Gallery is Udayan - One of the five abodes of the poet within the areas of the complex. Standing neatly one after another at considerable distances are Konarka, Shyamoli, Udichi and Punoscho.The poet is said to have spent time in each of these buildings as he went on weaving one master creation after another.

Leaving the gates of the complex, we stepped into the University Campus. The stretch and vastness complemented beautifully by a strange feeling or freedom and being back to the roots gripped me as always. Never an ardent believer in rules, Gurudev had initiated this Institution in 1901 where education till date is carried on in the same way - in harmony with Nature. Unlike any school or university in the world, classes are still held in this centre for learning and culture, in the open under huge trees in the very lap of nature. The dream of the Poet materialized to its utmost when Vishwabharati was declared a Central University in 1951.Walking through the peaceful campus one by one we passed Gour Prangon, The University Grounds, Vidya Bhavan, Patha Bhavan, Siksha Bhavan, Vinay Bhavan, China Bhavan, Hindi Bhavan. Sangeet Bhavan and Kala Bhavan fall on the other side of the campus close to the much known Kalo Bari. The campus, the comfortable warm breeze and the peaceful ambience at once transferred me to a a state we friends refer to as 'Haloo' - a short form of halucination. Not an exact meaning though, the mind at this state travels through time, space and reality to a state of absolute trans where reality seems to get further and further away from you. The huge trees with Krishnochura, Radhachura and Polash crowning their green heads offers solace and refuge to us weirdly urbane creatures, who behind the facade of modernity and urbanity, long to return to their roots at the slightest pretext.

Shanti Town III

As the car sped through the road giving way to the stray bullock carts or tractor led containers my mind rushed back to the memories of Basantotsav attended last year...The festival, initiated by The Nobel Laureate during his time, has been continued with fervour and is one of the biggest Festivals for Bengalis not just in Shantiniketan but accross the state. Generally celebrated in late February or early March depends on when Holi is scheduled, this festival of colours it at its envious best here at Shantiniketan.
The event starts in the early hours of the morning as each student of the Vishwabharati University from nursery to the highest levels dress the same way - women in red bordered yellow saree and men in yellow kurtas and white churidars. A batik uttariya and a sash around the waist with garlands of Palash around their necks is commom for all with women tucking the garlands in their hair as well. two streaks of red and green Aabir adorn their forehead as in rows they enter the campus area dancing to an evergreen composition by the poet " Aji Dokhin duar khola" sung continually as long as all the students don't come and settle down in front of the open air stage at Gaur Prangan at the very heart of the Univeristy campus. The actual programme then commences on the stage with students from Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan putting up performances to the typical array of Spring songs by the poet. This function is a result of vigiour practice for months at the end of which the Vice Chancellor inaugurates the festivities. (Photo courtesy Sanjib Ganguli)
The norm is that he would have to throw a handlful of Aabir into the air, only after which, can anybody put colour on anybody else. Though shattered by the uncouth number of outsiders with every passing year, the students still follow the norm. It is after the function that the best part of the festivities begin. Students sit around the campus ground in clusters singing and dancing impromptu to the well known songs. The biggest of these sessions are held in front of the much known Kalo Bari beside the Sangeet Bhavan where the students of the Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan start their own show. With a chorus of melodious voices echoing in perfect unison and the Khol and Pakhawaj keeping the beats, the dance seems like a celebration of life as young and old students join the show. A little distance away a group of Baul Singers create a rustic ambience with the haunting strains of the traditional sings and the complimenting twines of the Ektara or Khomok as they call it. Till the late hours of the day the air around is left colored in various shades thanks to all the Aabir which is thrown into the air. The smell of spring mixed with the fragrance of the various colored abirs can surely render you tipsy, intoxicated with life.

The evenings are generally scheduled for one of the dance dramas rehearsed intently and performed by students of Kala Bhavan and Sangeet Bhavan again on the Gour Prangan Stage. This can either be viewed from sitting in front of the stage or from the ground though a screen. The strange concoction of the liting strains of the memorable songs by the great poet, the spring air with a slight chill still lingering, the smell of the many unnamed and unknown shrubs enmeshed with the string smell of Polash and Krishnochura and the full round moon illuminating the world around - if there is heaven on earth it must be here! A quiet dinner at Bhalo Mondo with the ever smiling Sardarji at the helm smiling and speaking in immaculate Bangla is all you would need to make it memorable for the rest of your life.

Shanti Town II

If you suddenly open your eyes to the sound of a rooster's call...how different would it feel from the usual sound of buses or rickshaws honking that greets you every morning? Well...different is an understatement...the feeling takes me back to my roots...where I actually belong...something tells me I have a connection to this place...and I guess I do...everything seems so familiar, everything beckons me with a strange knowingness that I hardly get in any city!I love to believe that I must have been a village girl here some time...in another life...The day dawned on us pretty early as a glowing sun lit up the darkness, that had been all we could see of the place last night. I called the number I had brought from Kolkata and booked a car that was to come in about an hours time to take us to Kankalitala...one of the 51 Peeths of the Hindu Puranas. The way through the village roads is a treat by itself as it unravells the true village of Bengal to us urbane souls...and though I had been through these roads innumerable times now...they appear new and fresh everytime...

The car, a Grey Indica, comes and honks in about an hours time as we get ready for the trip tucking in last minute essentials into the bag, not to forget the camera. It's funny...everytime I come here...I take snaps and everytime they appeal to me with the same intensity! The vast green fields, the blue sky interspersed with white fluffy clouds, the distant date trees lining the horizon with a few village huts like one of those line drawings we have grown up seeing in the Sohoj Path...the line of Santhal men or women going for work in their traditional dresses - men in short dhotis and a gamcha on their shoulders and women with cotten sarees worn traditionally to a height a few inches above the ankle, their dark complexions and chiselled physiques glowing as if chiselled by some master craftsman.

We started off with the spring sun shining brightly on the landscape. There was a slight chill in the air as the last strains of winter insists on clinging back to this beautiful place for as long as it can. Spring is the time to come to Shantiniketan with the much talked about Basantotsav round the corner. But the choice to come a week before was just to avoid the crowd and get the real feel of the place, though missing the festivities is sure to be a reason for grief!

About 8 kilometres from home, the temple of Ma Kankali stands quietly by the Kopai River. The myth goes that when an enraged Shiva was started his Tandav to destroy the world, with the corpse of Sati on his shoulders, Vishnu had cast his Sudarshan Chakra to stop him. In the effort the body of Sati had been sliced into 51 pieces and scattered around the place. Her various remains fell in various locations, each one later recognized as a peethasthan.Kankalitala, which has a Kunda (pond) where one of the pelvic bones of Sati (Kankal) lay immersed is one such peetha where a temple has been constructed by the Kunda. The quiet of the place is only complimented by the rows of baul singers singing songs. After offering puja at the temple we wandered towards the back of the temple through where Kopai river silently flows through...a few quiet moments by the river left us at peace with ourselves looking at the local people engaged in working at a brick kiln on the other side of the river. We left after a while to start our trip visiting the many enchanting locations of the city...remains of an era that had seen the best of the great poet at his best.

Shanti Town I

As the rickshaw leaves the station and the dying lights of the last few open shops are left behind, a strange smell hits the nose. The source - wild shrubs,some eucalyptus like tall trees, a mist slowly setting on the sleepy little town...Shanti Town we call it...Shantiniketan the normal ones do!The Prantik Station - hardly 10 minutes from where we generally put up, is convenient as well as practical. Sonar Tari Housing Complex - an incongruous modern architectural housing complex with rows of milk white duplexes and flats might have spoilt the beauty of the otherwise rustic locale, but for us, being proud owners of a place to put up, is a boon. Idealogically I oppose the incongruity of the entire idea but deep within I cannot deny how this place offers me shelter when I need it madly! As I look up, the dark sky with a million glittering glow worms and the strange silence greets me yet again with a new warmth as every time I step foot on this soil...

To take this train is the best idea if the intention is to enjoy an additional night at the Shanti town...The Vishwabharati Fast Passenger train, leaving Howrah at 4:40 p.m. takes about 4 hours to reach Prantik. The station of course has its own grace and mystique appearance. The otherwise dark stretch of platform, illumined only by the lights of the posts located at regular distances leaves a haunting feel. As a speeding wagon train passes by in full speed, the sound rips accross the silence of the semi darkness. The lone station room with a low powered bulb casts an eerie glow around the place as we climb down the stairs to move forward towards Home...

"Je muhurte tui ekhane land korish, sei muhurte oi dari buro bhodrolok toke puro grash kore ney!" is the one comment I here everytime I come here...Perhaps it just shows in my face everytime I set foot on this stretch of land. As the rickshaw moves closer to home the winds wheezes into the ears cutting through the silence of the night, as a sole, perfectly round moon smiles a welcome...with a thousand glow worms studding the sky like a bag full of diamonds strewn accross carelessly.

As we unlock the otherwise deserted building and open the door to my home, a sense of calm and peace wafts through the room and hits the nose. Too late for dinner and too full with the tit bits devoured en route, we silently put down our luggage, change and come up to the terrace. A dark silence wraps the whole area with stray street lamps lighting up only parts of the dark road that walks parallely to the canal up to Sonajhuri More from the Prantik Station and beyond. The crickets break the silence of the night with their continious and chorus crescendo as the round moon gets covered by a huge black cloud. The distant Villages, ready to retire for the day are small dots of light as the last of the kerosene lamp burns to be put out. The heart sings out..."Aj jyotsna raate sobai geche bone... Bosonter ei matal somirone aj..." as the moon leaps out from the cover of the passing clouds and illumines the world yet again...Tomorrow stretches infront of our eyes as the fatigue of the day catches us unaware...slowly we climb down the steps and hit the bed...

All for you...

Tomar jonyo royeche rakha hajar alo bochor makha pakhir pakha…
Tomar jonyo adim guhay prothom tulir taner chobi royeche anka…
Tomar jonyo guti guti pathor juger projapoti mello dana…
Tomar jonyo borof gole akash nile choriye dilo brishti dana…
Tai tomar jonyo rekhe gelam prithibir chabi
Haate rekho etai amar dabi....

Jani ekhon tomar ghore ekla jibon gumre more biponnotay…
Jani tomar mukh dheke jay bigyaponer drishyomukhor osthitorotay…
Tobu jodi ektibaro duchokh mele dekhte paro
Pakhir danay akash joler chobi…
Tokhon bujhbe tomar haatei ache ei prithibir chaabi
Haate rekho etai amar daabi...

Jokhon tumi e gan shune nebe tomar pajor bhore domka batash…
Tokhon tomar uthon jure khelbe nodi, dulbe haway roktopolash…
Khuje pabe tomar bhasha chhobe tomay bhalobasha…
Buker pathor bhangbe dekho shob i…
Tokhon tomar haatei pabe ei prithibir chaabi
Haatei rekho etai amar daabi....

Sung by Srikanto Acharjo in his album 'Ghuri', this song appeals to me like an unending saga of love. It flashes a series of pictures in my mind of a young girl passing through all the locales and places shown in the collage above. As if his voice travels accross the seven seas to gift his beloved the eternal gifts, that he had always thought belonged to her and only her. She, the epitome of life and love picks up these gifts from where she belongs - Nature! And each of them spring to life at her touch, as if that was what they had waited for all along....the outstretched wings of the white dove with a million light years etched on them...The cave paintings of years gone by waiting to be unravelled in front of her eyes...The first wings of the butterfly that crawled out of the first cocoon...The first droplets of rain formed from the snow thet melts with the first touch of the sunrays....The pains of her gasping existence ebbing from her condemned and solitary self...The laments of her soul as the silent screams of the advertisement hoardings muffle her cries...If only she could open her eyes and see the beautiful silvery drawings curved on the blue of the sky...As she fills her lungs with the freshness of the verses...all of a sudden a thousand flowers bloom covering her courtyard in the yellow, orange and red of their hue...All of a sudden she gets back life, gets back her voice, gets back the love that lies at the very base of her existence...And then as she opens her grip...there lies the key to the world that belonged only and only to her...that she thought she had lost!