Month: February 2023

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A Feast – The Greatest Of All Time

News of the impending visit of a VVIP to Manipur caused a flurry of activity in Imphal in early 1979. A communication from Delhi specified that the VVIP, known for his idiosyncrasies, needed to have fresh milk of a black goat every morning. This caused great consternation among government officials because in those days there were no goats in Manipur — black, white or of any other colour. So, a week before the visit, a police officer was despatched to Guwahati with a 5-tonne truck to buy a goat. Within three days, he returned with a fine milch goat of the specified colour. The animal was handed over to Raj Bhavan staff to feed and to milk.

As scheduled, the VVIP arrived in Manipur and stayed at Raj Bhavan for a couple of days, and presumably enjoyed the goat’s milk for breakfast. The state government spared no effort to make the visit a memorable one; and it passed off uneventfully to the collective sigh of relief of all officers responsible for the arrangements. After the VVIP left, the officers who had toiled decided to celebrate with a grand dinner. Many who were present remembered that banquet for months afterwards, especially the delicious mutton curry. Some even called the feast the ‘greatest of all time’.

The VVIP visit saga would have ended with that dinner, but that was not to be. The police officer who had bought the goat claimed reimbursement of the amount that he had spent. This led to a veritable war among different government departments. The District Magistrate’s office said it had no budgetary allocation for the purchase of a goat. The Animal Husbandry Department declared that it could do the needful, provided the purchase was shown to be that of a pig or a cow. The Protocol Department refused to approve the purchase in the absence of three quotations. The Governor’s Secretariat distanced itself from the matter, observing that it had never placed an order for a goat. The Finance Department said since prior approval had not been sought, reimbursement of expenditure was not admissible.

Ultimately, it was decided that the officer should take the goat back to Guwahati, 500 km away. So, the police officer went to Raj Bhavan to fetch the animal. But the goat was missing! Someone recalled that it was last seen on the day that the officers had the celebratory party. But it had not been seen after that day. In fact, no one ever saw it again.

Published in The Tribune – February 23, 2023

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The Bhadralok and the Boor

This small town that I was posted to as the Assistant Superintendent of Police (ASP) was not even a one-horse town. It was but a huddle of huts and farms, bestowed with the status of a sub-divisional headquarters for no good reason. It was a village really, which had never seen the finer things in life. No stage plays, no musical soirees, and not even a satisfactory cinema hall. Unfortunately, I fancied myself to be a cosmopolite, a connoisseur of the arts and music, and an epicure to boot!

My life soon fell into a rut. My duties left me with little spare time, but to spend even this became tedious. My cook could prepare only tasteless dishes, which hardly evoked a desire to live. I had nothing to read, except old newspapers, and I missed books, music and intellectual company that one could enjoy only in a city.

Then one day, I met this amazingly soft-spoken person, who I shall call Mr Bhaduri. He practised criminal law in the local court and was the epitome of the Bengali bhadralok. He was an anachronism living in this small town, possibly because his ancestor zamindars never thought of moving to Patna or Kolkata.

The Bhaduri home was full of books, stacked in innumerable wooden almirahs, all carefully dusted. There was also an ancient gramophone in working condition, with a huge stack of records, ranging from Chopin and Rabindra Sangeet to Kundan Lal Saigal. And the pride of place in the very Bengali drawing room was occupied by a veena — one that Mr Bhaduri could actually play!

I was mesmerised by this oasis of culture and learning in the otherwise drab town, and over the next few months, whenever I felt like it, I invited myself to his house. Here, I enjoyed a bit of music, a stimulating discussion on current events or some philosophical concept, culminating in a dinner to tempt the gods.

But it was too good to last! One day, quite sheepishly, Mr Bhaduri requested me to stop visiting his house. Seeing my confusion, he explained that it was a small town that we lived in, and people knew that I, the ASP, was a frequent visitor to his house. He said for this reason, he had started getting such criminals as clients who he did not want to defend. Quite disappointed, I acceded to his wish and stopped visiting him. For the rest of my posting in that god-forsaken town, I missed the refined company, the books, the music and the food of the Bhaduri home.

It is now almost 50 years since I last visited Mr Bhaduri. In these many years, I have wondered more than once whether he really started getting undesirable clients or did he find me too much of a boor — and in his bhadralok fashion, he had got rid of me!

(Carried as a middle in The Tribune – under an incorrect heading – Banished from Bhadralok)

 

 

 

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The Oil Well That Wasn’t

The mid-1970s were a testing time for the police in Bihar. Besides controlling crime and managing difficult law and order situations, considerable effort was required for bandobast for examinations, conducting raids to unearth hoarded essential commodities and enforcing collection of levy foodgrains. I was posted as Assistant Superintendent of Police at Madhepura, a backward area with erratic electric supply and poor roads. Even the water, drawn by a hand pump, was not potable. It had a distinct metallic taste and accumulated a thin film of oil if kept overnight. People ascribed this to the presence of iron and oil in the ground.

In the summer of 1974, a murder was committed in Rampur village, about twenty kilometres from Madhepura. I visited the village twice; Inspector Jha and other police officers visited the village more frequently for a fortnight. After one such visit, a very excited Inspector Jha came to my office and declared that oil had been discovered in Gangapur, a village near Rampur. He said that villagers had found natural oil seeping into a well and he had himself seen hurricane lanterns being lit with water from that well.

I was dumbfounded. I thought of sending messages about this oil strike to Patna, to bring it to the attention of the government. But I wanted to see this miracle myself first, before informing the world. So Inspector Jha and I proceeded to Gangapur. On the way, we happily discussed the impact that the discovery of oil would have on this backward area of Bihar.

It was quite a scene that met my eyes in Gangapur. The villagers were milling around a well, while some police constables tried to keep them away. The whole area smelt strongly of oil. I had a bucketful of ‘water’ drawn from the well. The liquid smelt of kerosene and burnt readily. The only suspicious aspect was that the liquid was too clear. Even with my rudimentary knowledge of petroleum, I expected the oil to be cruder, to coin a term.

I decided to investigate further and directed that more ‘water’ be taken out of the well. The villagers gleefully started taking out bucketfuls. By evening, the smell was not as strong as earlier, and the water stopped burning when lit. It became clear that there was no seepage of natural oil, but it was kerosene that was being taken out of the well.

The truth emerged after some enquiry. The fair price shop licensee of Gangapur, one Sahu, had hoarded kerosene for black marketing, instead of selling it to ration card holders. Spooked by the frequent visits of the police to neighbouring Rampur and fearing a raid, he and his henchmen had dumped about one thousand litres of kerosene into the well the previous night. With the mystery solved, Inspector Jha asked whether a case should be registered against Sahu under the Essential Commodities Act. I advised him to let Sahu go because the case would be difficult to prove. Moreover, Sahu had already suffered substantial loss!

We returned crestfallen to Madhepura, deeply disappointed that the first oil well of Bihar had turned out to be a dud!

 

(Published with minor editions in The Tribune on 1/2/23)