A creature called Man

I was on my way from Pengaree to Digboi. In a crowded sumo. Hemmed on one side by a fat, smelly bloke and the protection of the flimsy door on the other, I hung on bravely. Thirty minutes, and all will be over, I told myself missing my trusty scooter which was languishing in a garage in Digboi scheduled for some much needed repair.

Some flashy new hindi song was running on the stereo and the driver was probably driving in sync with the music, deliberately (it looked thus to me) picking up potholes and making us bounce around. It was like a mad dance inside a confined space to the tune of a fast number.

All of a sudden the vehicle stopped. "Who in hell wants to take a leak now?" I thought mentally adding up the agony of opening the door, getting out and getting jammed inside again just like cattle been herded unceremoniously inside a pen. Add to that the loss of buttock space that the body had made for itself bringing it to a certain comfort level and the renewed efforts necessary to search for that same level again. But wait! No one has made a move. What happened? I look ahead and see a big, dark form on the road ahead, completely blocking the path. The elephant was playing around with a gunny bag with some rice in it, probably part of its loot from a raid on some neighbouring house in the village. It doesn't pay any attention to us, immersed in its game of 'twirling the gunny bag with the trunk and bringing it down to the ground'. (I hope the longish name befits the stature of an elephant and provides it legitimacy). The passengers were shocked. Many started praying. The person next to me was muttering the 'Hanuman Chalisa'. The other passengers asked for the elephant God's benediction. The driver lit up some incence sticks. The whole vehicle was enveloped in something indescribable- a mixture of religious fervour and of overwhelming fear. I was afraid too, specially considering my window-seat status. I too joined in.

After what seemed an eternity but which was actually a period of time approximately fifteen minutes long, the great beast moved on and disappeared into the bushes. No one knows whether that was the result of our 'religious appeal' or simply his getting bored with 'that silly game with the long name', but our road was clear. The passengers rediscovered their voices, the driver his song and me the bumps of the road.

Hardly two hundred metres down the road, the vehicle screeched to a stop. Caught in the glare of the headlights in the darkening gloom was a deer. It seemed startled and was frozen like that for a few seconds. 'Catch it!' someone shouted. 'Deer meat is really tasty' shouted another. 'I wish we could somehow capture or kill it', yet another voice shouted. Obviously you can't catch a deer sitting inside a Sumo wedged tightly one top of another, nor can you outrun it and neither can you kill it without any means at your disposal. The deer disappeared in the dense vegetation as soon as it had appeared.

Those two small incidents, spread over a distance of two hundred metres and a time of twenty minutes, gave me a remarkable insight into the human psyche. Looking at my co-passenger whose bottom overflowed over more than half of the four seats with the others (including me) wedged into the available space, I could just think about the oft repeated phrase-"Size does matter".


(Based on a true story told by Sharma Uncle)