River Escapade

Sarita Dasgupta

It was 16 August 1996, if memory serves, and we hadn’t been to the club for the past couple of weeks because the three rivers that flowed between Attareekhat T.E. and Paneery T.E. (where Mangaldai Club is situated) had been in spate and uncrossable on all three previous club days. As the law and order situation was pretty bad at that time, we had been rotating club days, holding them on different days of the week instead of the usual Wednesday, for security reasons.

That day, my husband, Ramanuj, went to check whether we would be able to cross the rivers or not. The Company’s JCB was doing some work close to the Nonoi and Kala rivers, so the driver assured him that we would be able to follow the path (called a ‘leak’). Accordingly, dressed in golfing gear or tennis kits, and armed with golf sets, tennis racquets, library books and a change of clothes, Ramanuj and I, along with his Senior Assistant, Anand Wats, his wife, Rangoli, and our driver, Binod, drove out of Attareekhat with Ramanuj at the wheel of the Gypsy and me sitting next to him. We crossed the first river – the Suklai – without incident and drove past Borengali and Dimakusi estates.

Crossing the Kala River, the current took us past the ‘leak’ and turned the vehicle around 360º. Then it started falling on its left side and sinking into the sand of the river bed. Ramanuj had the presence of mind to quickly turn the ignition off so that sand and water didn’t get into the engine, and instead of panicking, all of us placed our weight on the right of the Gypsy so that it wouldn’t turn turtle. Binod had got out of the open back and started pushing from the left. Once the Gypsy had settled and the water inside the vehicle had risen to dangerous levels, we clambered out. (I was rather sylph-like in those days and actually slid out of the window!!)

We all clung to the sides of the sinking vehicle and tried to stand on the sand, only to have our legs lifted by the current. God only knows what would’ve happened if a group of local boys on bicycles hadn’t seen our predicament and rushed to our help. They lifted us and placed us firmly on sandbanks. Then they rescued our sports equipment and bags which had been floating away. The Gypsy had completely disappeared into the river when the Manager of Dimakusi T.E. and his wife reached the river bank. Ramanuj used his handset (we used ‘walkie talkies’ in those pre-mobile days) to tell them not to try and cross the river. He also asked for a tractor and chain to yank the Gypsy out of the river.

The tractor arrived in due course and the chain was somehow attached to the bumper of the Gypsy. The vehicle emerged like some strange aquatic creature, drenched and filled with sand. Wet from the waist downwards and tennis whites now a pale shade of grey from the fine coal dust floating in the river water (they never turned white again, even after repeated bleaching!) we sat in the Gypsy and were towed to the Burra Bungalow at Dimakusi T.E. where we sat on the front steps (so as not to ruin the verandah cushions!) and sipped on cups of hot tea. Then the tractor towed us all the way back home to Attareekhat.

Dropping Rangoli and me off at our respective bungalows, the men took the Gypsy to the factory, clucking over it like anxious parents, rather to our chagrin. (Not much clucking had been done over us!!) Much to their relief, there was very little damage, and after drying off, the vehicle was as good as it had been before the dunking, except that for the next few months, sand would trickle out of the doors every time they were banged shut.

Most planters posted on the Mangaldai estates have had at least one hair raising ‘river’ experience which, though frightening at the time, becomes an anecdote to be recounted over the years….

Incidentally, Rangoli had a set of Anand’s passport-sized photographs in her handbag which was sopping wet, so she took the envelope out and asked me to keep it in my bag which was not as wet as hers. (Binod had slung it around his neck to keep it safe and dry.) When I emptied my handbag that night, I found that the photographs were damp and sticking together, so I laid them out on my bedside table with the lamp focused on them, so that they would dry up in the heat. The next day, when I returned the photographs, we all had a good laugh imagining the expression on the face of anyone who happened to see eight of Anand’s photographs spread out on my bedside table… never mind that passport photos are perhaps the most unflattering photos ever!!

Meet the writer: Sarita Dasgupta

"As a ‘chai ka baby’ (and grandbaby!) and then a ‘chai ka memsahab’, I sometimes wonder if I have tea running through my veins! 

I have been writing for as long as can remember – not only my reminiscences about life in ‘tea’ but also skits, plays, and short stories. My plays and musicals have been performed by school children in Guwahati, Kolkata and Pune, and my first collection of short stories for children, called Feathered Friends, was published by Amazing Reads (India Book Distributors) in 2016. My Rainbow Reader series of English text books and work books have been selected as the prescribed text for Classes I to IV by the Meghalaya Board of School Education for the 2018-2019 academic session, and I have now started writing another series for the same publisher.

 

More stories by Sarita here : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Sarita%20Dasgupta

 

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