The search for variety is in reality a search for our own mind. In the guise of seeking a man, we seek a compatible mind. So, when a friend asked with a touch of sarcasm, ‘Why are you going to the Kumbh-mela? For religious purpose?’ I replied, ‘Just to see.’

I am not a religious person in the common sense of the term. But I am not anti-religion either. I am like that hero of Manikbabu’s story, ‘Level Crossing’.

The friend persisted, ‘To see what? Lakhs of people blinded by faith?’

Blinded by faith! If lakhs of people are blinded by faith, then why not search for the reason? What is that celestial blinker which can blind lakhs of eyes? I remember an aging Bengali widow. She was sitting on the bridge over the Ganga in Kumbh-mela after finishing her evening ablutions and rituals. Dusk was setting down. I was also going towards the river. Inadvertently, my feet touched her body. I begged her forgiveness and extended my hand towards her. She took my hand, touched my cheek and kissed her fingers as a gesture of affection. Naturally, we talked. I would narrate here one part of that conversation.

She remained silent for a moment and kept gazing at the fair crowd with deep fascination. Then she said, ‘Look, the fair is of the people. When I think that I am also one of the lakhs of people here, I feel so ecstatic that tears of happiness roll down my eyes.’

I remember these words now. For, I had also told my friend, ‘I don’t know if they are blinded by faith, but I am going to see the gathering of people. Our desire for other things may be satiated, but the desire to see and taste humankind is insatiable. What is more strange than humankind in this world?’

No, no further delay. My mind is already on the move, now let me move my feet too. Let me dive in the Kumbh—ocean of a lakh of hearts.

I had a jhola, a large cloth-bag, on my shoulder and a regular bag on my back. But the sea of multitude at the Howrah station was overwhelming. Still, I managed to get in. The train also started at a point of time.

I turned my face from the window towards the compartment. Everyone was asleep. I was as if the sentry of the night.

Suddenly, I noticed that two skeleton-like hands were trying to peel off an orange with some difficulty. What I had so far thought to be a bundle of blanket at our feet was actually a man inside a blanket. Thin, emaciated body with a lean, bearded face. His deep-set eyes were unnaturally bright. A bunch of amulets were hanging around his collar bone.

As I caught his eyes, he smiled silently. His eyes were also smiling like a mischievous boy’s. Inclining his head, he said in Hindi, ‘I’ll also go, for sure.’

It was addressed to me. My surprised counter-question was automatic, ‘Where?’

‘At the Kumbh-mela. Why, can’t I go?

I was more surprised at the earnestness of his voice. Why could he not go? I became a little suspicious and asked, ‘Are you unwell?’

He did not reply immediately, but went on chewing the orange for some time. Then he started talking without my prompting. His monotone became at one with the drone of the moving train. His ancestral house was in the District of Balia in Bihar. He used to work in a factory at a Calcutta suburb. There, he had his wife and children. His wife also worked. No, I should not miscalculate his age by looking at his present appearance. He was just twenty-eight. His wife was a healthy young woman of twenty-two. She was a kind person and was looking after his need with care and concern. But—

An unbearable pain clouded his sick eyes. He said, ‘I cannot bear the agony of this disease any more. Hence, I am going to Kumbh-mela.’

‘But why?’

Now it was his turn to be surprised. Looking at me with those sunken eyes with disbelief, he said, ‘Don’t you know why? Why are you going then? Haven’t you heard that the gods hid the bowl of nectar at the Prayag-Sangam3, to deceive the demons?’

‘Yes, I’ve heard about it.’

He smiled sweetly and asked, ‘Why do people from the whole world go there? Why do saints and monks come there to take a dip? Haven’t you seen how bright they look? How well-built their physique? People are cured of their diseases and receive a hundred years of lifespan if they bathe in the Sangam at the auspicious Kumbh moment. This is why I am also going.’

While saying so, his skeletal face lit up. Perhaps the excitement of speaking so many words at a time made him breathless. He quickly covered himself with the blanket and lay down. From inside, I heard a rattling sound from his chest along with the rhythmic uttering of God’s name.

The compartment was asleep. It was dark outside. The stars in the sky were hazy. The train suddenly changed track with a jerky movement.

Even before I could begin to wonder about the man inside the blanket, he started coughing phlegmatically uttering in between in a choked voice,

‘Oh, unbearable pain! Oh God, not now, not yet. It is still far, very far.’

What is very far? I watched him writhing in pain with fear, and asked, ‘What are you saying?’

He said, ‘Open the door, please open the shackles. Oh God, I am dying. Still very far.’

How could I open the door? There was cold wind outside like whiplashes.

He kept coughing and shouting frantically, ‘Open it, Babu. Please open.’

Suddenly, a red stain shone on his blanket. Blood. There was blood on the sides of his lips also. So, it is tuberculosis.

And this man was a passenger in search of the bowl of nectar! He was a seeker of hundred years of lifespan! Oh God, had this train lost its way?

And what about me? I had been musing so many things about the Kumbh, was dreaming so many dreams. But now, the first thought that came to my mind was to run. Thousands of killer germs were swarming in front of my eyes. Run, run. O, the seeker of strangeness, the seeker of nectar, you have stepped on the threshold of Lord Yama by mistake.

[Niyogi Books has given Fair Observer permission to publish this excerpt from In Search of the Pitcher of Nectar, Samaresh Bose, translated by Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee, Niyogi Books, 2022.]