Rodents Rustling!

by Alan Lane

On my visit to NW Cachar at Christmas time in 1965, I was staying with my father to cover the overhauls of the Crossley engines at Kalline (Macneill & Barry), Craigpark (Kanoi), Kallinecherra (Octavius Steel) and Jellalpore (Macneill & Barry).

During my stay, Dick Turpin, M&B Visiting Agent, and his wife Phoebe, wanted to make a visit to Kalline and Jellalpore estates to carry out an inspection.

Due to my father not wanting me at the bungalow during Dick’s visit (they had confidential things to discuss after burra khanna) I was de-camped to Jellalpore, to stay for a couple of nights with Cliff Hart - the manager.

I didn’t mind as I had to overhaul the two Crossley engines there, plus one at Kallinecherra as well. It was easier to visit Kallinecherra from Jellalpore than from Kalline.

Anyway, I stayed with Cliff and his pet dog Nobby (details of that little bundle of fun is contained in another story- please click here to read it - ), and enjoyed Nobby’s escapades with the goats in the burra-bungalow compound.

Now, after a good period of relaxation with a few pegs of Indian Army rum (more of that later)  and enjoying a cold weather evening on top of the teela where the bungalow is situated, we eventually wound our ways to our bedrooms. 

As I was very interested in ornithology I had the standard Book of Indian Birds, by Salim Ali, to skip through before putting out the bedside lamp. I did not quite drop off to nini-bye straight away, but lay there with my head on the pillow thinking about what the programme of work would be the next day.

Next thing I heard was a scratching going on in the pillow. Now as our readers will know, any scratching noise on a pillow gets magnified to a rather deafening level. I switched on the light, and looked all about me, but the noise had stopped and I could not find anything on the pillow, or beneath it.

OK, it must have moved off, whatever it was.

Turned off the light again, and put my head on the pillow – sure enough it started again! Once more, on with the light, lift up the pillow, moved all the bedding back, had a real good dekko all around, including under the bed, but once more there was nothing there.

This was making me a bit annoyed, but I decided to give it one more go. Yes, dear readers, it started again, but this time I did not turn on the light. I waited and waited, and let the noise continue, slowly sliding my hands to the lamp switch.

Turned on the light, and lo and behold there were two mice on my pillow right next to my head!

I jumped out of bed, followed by a couple of mice, and decided that that was enough, and I would transfer to the second bed in the room. Luckily, that bed did not have any ‘residents’ in it and I had a nice sleep.

The next morning, I told Cliff Hart what had happened and he laughed. He called the bearer and he and the pani-wallah took all the bedding out the back.

They placed the mattress and pillows on the ground, and used the carpet beater to give the bedding a good thrashing. I have never seen so many mice flying around the compound as those that had come out of the bedding.That night there were no more problems and I slept soundly. The next day I moved back to my father’s bungalow at Kalline and no more mice in the bedding.

One thing I would like to add here is that my father had a ‘pet mouse’ – yes you read this correct. You see, he had a mouse that was often seen running about the lounge on some evenings. Naturally its name was Mickey, but what happened one evening was something that I found unbelievable.

Dad said to me, “Watch this”, and he opened a bottle of Kingfisher lager. On opening the lager, the bottle made a fizz noise, and unbelievably, Mickey made an appearance close by.

Dad put a few drops of beer on a saucer, and Mickey came along and had a drink – I kid you not. Dad topped the minute quantity of beer up again and Mickey had another dive in. After this second measure of Kingfisher’s lager, Mickey decided he had enough and tried to walk back to his ‘residence’ – yes readers, there was a drunken mouse trying to keep a straight line across the room.

Poor little thing kept falling over – and yet his feet still kept walking although he was on his side!  I was in fits of laughter.

Jellalpore TE: photograph by the author

I mentioned India Army Rum earlier in this story. Well at Jellapore, there is a maidan next to the Goomra River that wends its way from the Mikir Hills to join the Surma River lower down. On this maidan was a camp of the Uttar Pradesh Armed Police, that used to patrol the border with, at that time, East Pakistan. One night Cliff and I were invited to attend a bura khana at the ‘officers mess’ at the encampment.

Cliff and both went along and although I like a drop of rum I don’t drink to excess. Cliff on the other hand liked the measures being offered – not burra pegs, but patiala pegs!- and he imbibed too much.

Eventually, we had to take our leave, and that meant climbing up the slight bank from the maidan on to the rusta. This road went past the factory fence to join the road that goes up to the burra bungalow on the teela.

The Land Rover that Cliff had was lacking in braking power, and there was a slight take up on the steering, which meant that there was a bit of play in the joints. Cliff was not very good, at the best of times, in handling that Land Rover, and now with the effects of Indian Army Rum, we somehow kept having an argument with the factory fence. That was not too bad for Cliff, but I as the passenger, was right up against the fence each time he decided to over compensate on the play on the steering wheel. How on earth we made it to the road leading up the teela, heaven knows.

The garage for the Land Rover is located at the back of the burra bungalow, so Cliff decided to have a running go at aiming the vehicle into the parking bay. All very well, but he had also not got the ‘feel’ on the accelerator and was going too fast. I thought, “Brace yourself boy, here comes the wall!” Sure enough, with a bang we stopped!

Cliff rolled out on his side, but I couldn’t get out as he had not parked central, so I had to climb over the gear sticks and seat to get out. Cliff meanwhile had disappeared. I didn’t see him until the next morning.

The next year, Cliff was transferred to Hazelbank TE, and during one of my inspection tours - I was overhauling the engines at Nudwa, Nahortoli and Thanai - Cliff suggested that I stay with him at Hazelbank burra bungalow whilst I completed my overhauls.

That was fine by me, so as Hazelbank did not have a Crossley (it was powered by a Lister Blackstone) I just tootled around the three gardens doing my work.

The first night I stayed with Cliff at Hazelbank, I went to bed, and yes readers I am sure you know what comes next! Those infernal mice were in the pillows at Hazelbank!!!

Yet again the bedding was given a good thrashing and mice came out everywhere. I asked Cliff if he had brought the bedding from Jellapore on his transfer. No answer from Cliff.

I did say to Cliff, “those poor mice have been dragged from their home in Cachar, transported all the way to Upper Assam, and are now running around not knowing how to get home!”

All I got was a grunt!”

Editor's note:
patiala peg - Read  the Wikipedia page!
burra khana - feast 
teela - a hillock
nini bye bye - what little children in India call the land of dreams ( being asleep )
maidan - an open field
rusta - road

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My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull.
 Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

Meet the writer:

Alan Lane, a 'cha ka baba', was born in Bombay. His contribution to Indian Chai Stories goes beyond the written word: he keeps a large number of people all over the world connected with their roots in India. In his own words, 'My wife and I still have lots of connections with India and we are, as you may well say, ‘Indophiles’.' Alan and Jackie Lane live in the UK; they left India a little over fifty years ago. Read the story of this cha ka baba's return to the tea gardens of Assam as a Crossley engineer here: Indian Chai Histories.  You will find more stories by Alan here.