Bhramar
Chapter 7 — Maya at the Banaras Ghat
Banaras Ghat is crowded. It is the night of the lunar eclipse and a multitude of Hindu men and women have assembled there to bathe in the Ganga. Mohan Bikram is sitting at the Ghat with countless other people.
Immaculate moonlight. The star-studded sky reflected in the waters of the Ganga presents a pleasing sight to the eyes.
The crowd began to swell. Men, women, children came from all over to assemble at the Ghat. Mohan and his college mates from BHU are helping out as volunteers to manage the crowd.
The eclipse commences. Conch sounds fill the air. The people bathe and then, having finished their ablutions, leave for their homes. In the melee many lose their children, some part with their partners and quite a few of the elderly are stranded. The new and the unfamiliar are out of their wits.
The volunteers are busy helping such people. They are providing assistance to the aged ones who have lost their way. They are escorting the children. Mohan Bikram is their leader. He is all over the place issuing instructions, managing the crowd and moving from one end of the Ghat to the other. He is going about his work with selfless vigor.
An old man bearing a walking stick in his hand is running here and there in great agitation. He is extremely tense and overwrought. Mohan recognizes his situation and asks in Hindi, “You seem to be new here?”
The old man answered, “I am a Nepali from Darjeeling. My daughter has come here with me. I don’t know where she is lost in this big crowd. I am in great trouble.”
Mohan greeted the man with a namaste and said, “I am a Nepali too. Come, I will help you look for your daughter.”
The old man was overjoyed to find one of his own in that unfamiliar place, in such dire circumstances. In that sea of humanity he followed Mohan as they searched. They looked diligently from one ghat to another, from one lane to the next. They stopped at the camps the volunteers had set up to collect the lost ones. The girl wasn’t among them. As time passed the old man’s agitation increased.
Finally they came to the centre square. The crowd had thinned by now. Suddenly the old man shouted in joy. A young woman in a red saree, her wet hair falling across her shoulders, came running towards him, caught his hands and began to laugh merrily. The old man stroked her head adoringly and said, “Fool, I was at the end of my tethers and here you are laughing. Why did you go all over the place in this crowded city?”
Mohan was watching this reunion with great interest. The woman, realizing the presence of the smiling stranger, became surprised and self-conscious. Mohan hurriedly wished the old man Namaste and said, “This is your lost daughter? I am happy that she has been found. Let me take my leave now.”
The old man, recalling Mohan’s efforts, became embarrassed. He caught hold of Mohan’s hands and said, “Look Mister, please don’t blame this old man. Memory is the first casualty of old age. In my elation, I forgot to thank you. This is my madcap Maya, the sole support of my old age.”
Once again Maya let out a peal of laughter.
The old man insisted Mohan visit them the next day. The next day Mohan went to their lodgings: a centuries-old riverside mansion, once a pleasure palace of a medieval king, now rented out. Its marble walls and red floors still whispered of past grandeur.
Parshuram Basnet, the old man, welcomed him warmly. Maya, spirited and vivacious, soon entered. They talked about life in Darjeeling, about Nepalis scattered across India, about struggles and aspirations. The old man’s practical wisdom, born of hard toil in Assam and beyond, impressed Mohan deeply. Maya’s fearless candor and enthusiasm captivated him.
Bina and Maya—two branches of the same bough. Educated, beautiful, generous. Yet where Bina was serene, contemplative, modest, Maya was fiery, outspoken, fearless. Shekhar had once devastated Maya’s youthful heart, but her zest for life remained undimmed.
Abroad in faraway Kashi, in the pleasant quarters of an otherwise dilapidated mansion, the three—Maya, her father, and Mohan—were talking their hearts out like old acquaintances. There was no pretence, no inhibition. It was as if they belonged to one family.