An Old Women and the Peepal tree

I got no difficulty in finding my seat in the bus. Thankfully, bus was not a video coach. If it had been, it would have ripped through my mind and texture. I sat comfortably, looking outside the window. Just then, a fat, cumbersome man came and sat beside me. He was creating troubles for him self. He would put his legs in proper place then his belly would bulge out, he would settle upper part of his body then his legs would have scarcity of space. I was smiling under my lips. He looked at me. He smile too as he was saying it is all in the game. He was fat and heavily built but he had a face of baby. When he would laugh profusely, his eyes would sink deeply and eyebrows would hug each other. He asked me to start the play "where are you going? " I am going to Hajipur" . I told him without hesitation." Hajipur ? I too am going to Hajipur". In reply, I smiled only. He then asked me " where is your home ? "" Patna". Readymade answer was there in my bag. " Mine is Begusarai", the word Begusarai echoed in my mind. I tried to identify his tone of voice modulation. Really, he was a native of Begusarai. I could say that with confidence because I love that tone speaking colloquial Hindi stretching of the vowels for the convenience of listeners that the words have more weight than expected. Soon I came to know he was borne and brought up in Begusarai. He had a proud prudence of Mithila -- the ancient, cultural and geographical part of our country. "I too lived in Begusarai some 20 years ago." I revealed the secret upon him. To my astonishment, he tried to jump over his seat but failed miserably because of his physical structure."I was only 5 years old when our family left that town. Only incoherent memories are left there in my mind." I added further."Where did you live in Begusarai?”"We lived in Begusarai near Stadium. The name of the colony was Pokharia." I told. " Yes I know Pokharia…. where in Pokharia ?" He interrogated."It was rented house, I don't know whose house was that I only remember that these was a doctor in our neighbourhood - a child specialist one. Mr. Haq, we called him. We often a visited him. He was a close companion of my father. He was loving and caring. Sometime he would serve a full bowl of Kheer to me & my younger brother or half dozen of milk biscuits on any other occasion."“Yes, Yes! He is still there." He was delighted to know that I know somebody whom he knew very well. "Another gentleman whom we would visit was Mr. Abid Vakil. His son lived in Malaysia." "Aa ha!" He exclaimed. "His son is still in Malaysia. Now Vakil Sahab has built a beautiful palatial home." He added. Slowly & slowly I told him about many significant things of the locality where we lived 20 years ago. On every account, he gave his original comments and made me amazed.Then I remembered something. I put stress on my mind and recalled the face of a very old & very poor woman. I asked him, "Do you know that there lived an old lady under a big peepal tree. That peepal tree was beside the wall of official residence of a high ranked officer." In reply, he only nodded his head in affirmation. Perhaps he was recalling something; at least his mysterious smile suggested so."She had lost both her hands and legs", I continued, "For locomotion she used a wooden sledge having four ball bearings (virtually they were broken parts of any kind of vehicle). She had no teeth, she did not utter any word her eyes would say everything. She had remarkably appealing appearance. You could not forget such a beggar once you saw her."Yes it is." He added"When she died? I guess she must have died” "She died perhaps in 1997 or '98. She was 85 or 90 yrs old, perhaps more than that. And you will stand on your feet when you learn that the budhiya (old lady) had got Rs. 5 lakh in her possession at the time of her death." He said."Where did she live? Where were his children?" I asked like a child."Until she did not die we thought she had no offspring. However, the day she died some men came from outside the city and claimed that they were here children. All other days, a man called Iqbal cared for that lady. He was a driver of an officer. He lived just next to that people tree. He knew that old woman was a rich person. Every evening he would carry her to his home. We all knew that he was milking the cow. But nobody was interested in that lady. Nobody wanted to know how she eats, how she drinks, how she sleeps and how she does all her daily works because all of these works were just impossible for her perhaps Iqbal knew it." "Then?" I inquired "Then…then she died. The news spread like a wild fire in all the nearby localities. She was a permanent part of the vicinity. Even old people did not know when she sat first under that peepal tree……………" "It means everybody come to have a look." I interrupted 'Yes' he continued, "everybody who could visit the place easily came and saw the corpse. Iqbal and other people of locality wanted to give a graceful end to her last part of life. They bought a clean and sheer white piece of cloth to make coffin. Some incense sticks were put beside her. Even the round verandah under people tree was washed and cleaned." He stopped for a while. I was visibly in laughing mood. I had a comment. "Did budhiya become a revered lady or devi like thing?” He thought for few seconds and said. "It was going to happen. Some young men came and said that we would take out a full-fledged funeral procession of the lady. Some people opposed the motion. After great debates, it was decided that a procession would be carried by hundred odd young and old men and it would pass through each single street of the locality with lots of flowers. All the people agreed over it. The procession took off. It roamed here and there. Everybody would should in choir Ram Naam Satay hai."I was laughing profusely. He also joined me."Then…... I asked." Then … suddenly her children arrived from no man's land. It took almost six hours of fierce fighting, barking and growling among men & women to prove and to be convinced that those people were hier apparent. Until then budhiya's corpse was kept on ice. I don't remember who brought ice. Perhaps Iqbal did. After that, the so called relatives of budhiya took her body with themselves. They disappeared in the dark night. She was cremated in late night. It was the final end of that famous old lady. We wore a piece of silence on our faces for almost half a minute. Then I broke the silence “Who took the money, the sum of Rs. 5 lakh?“I don't know." He said, "perhaps Iqbal or perhaps her children, there is no proof. Even there was no proof that there was such a big amount of money."" Hummm…………." I hummed .The bus reached Hajipur. Both of us got down and went in different directions perhaps with an ember of hope to meet again. After all, a story is a story.