The Saga of Kartoo

by Indi Khanna 

I of course had to pay for the victims of his hunting expeditions, not just for the bird but also for the many eggs she would have laid.... a chicken which was supposedly the ultimate egg-layer in the lines.

Hello, dear readers! Join Indi Khanna as he takes us on another of his enjoyable 'rambles'.  

In 1987 when I was the manager of Limbuguri Estate in Upper Assam our docile and beautiful Labrador Lady (thats her in the picture above ) probably got out of the bungalow compound one day and managed to get knocked up by one of the many dogs from the labour lines who would be hanging around the fencing hopefully whenever Lady was in heat.

Two months later with Kitty and the kids away on holiday to Simla, preparations had been made in the kids' room for the day when I was to become a grandfather. The day arrived and our bearer Japan and I watched in wonder while Lady worked her way around delivering eight beautiful Lab pups, five of them a lovely golden colour like Lady's and three black ones. And then with a final push, out came a rather strange looking animal. My immediate reaction was that this one was a runt which we would probably have to put down. However, barring the fact that he was very different from his siblings, the fellow seemed to be perfectly healthy. A couple of days later after the pups had opened their eyes and had started moving around, I had a good look at the last arrival and decided that this was the one which the children would love and the one we'd keep.

He was just about the strangest looking dog one would ever see. His coat was reddish brown. Four legs which ended in white, dappled with black spotted socked paws. A tail which was thinner than a Lab's but ended in a white speckled tuft much like a lion's tail. One ear which stood erect while the other was lazily bent over double. A muzzle which, like his tail and paws, ended in black speckled with white and eyes which had a strange and beautiful golden hue. There simply was no way that I could have named him anything other than CARTOON (this fellow with Muskan in the picture below is not Cartoon, though of the same size as him).

And to the workers he became Kartoo.

Much like Jack's beanstalk, Cartoon grew by the day. He ended up a very tall and large handsome specimen, living up to his name. He loved to wander and would disappear from the bungalow compound for hours on end, most likely fathering cartoons all over Limbuguri, but would always magically appear in the dining room in time for our dinner. He loved to ride in my Gypsy and would accompany me on my garden rounds sitting proud and erect on the front seat. Driving through any of the labour lines, should he spot a chicken anywhere, he'd be off the seat in a flash and then would dart off with the bird in his mouth only to be seen in the bungalow after hours.

I of course had to pay for the victims of Cartoon's hunting expeditions, not just for the bird but also for the many eggs she would have laid. In addition to the hunting on wheels, fairly regularly I'd have workers coming to my office complaining about Kartoo having visited one of the six labour lines on the estate and having made off with a chicken. Always a chicken which was supposedly the ultimate egg-layer in the lines.

Went on for ages with the hole in my pocket becoming ever deeper , but try as I might I was unable to control Cartoon's hunting adventures. In Limbuguri labour lines Cartoon became something of a legend, being famously known as 'burra sahib ka murghi chor' (the Manager's chicken thief).

And then that day while walking out of my bungalow gate next to which were the bungalow staff houses, I spotted Cartoon sitting erect and very alert in front of Gokulchand, our rather lovable and regularly drunk house boy. I was taken aback to see the gentleman busy plucking the feathers off a chicken. It being almost the fag end of the month, by which time most workers would normally have exhausted their salaries and would be scrounging, that scene stopped me in my tracks. The penny having dropped, I called Gokulchand and in my most stern voice I asked him how on earth at the end of the month he had money for buying a chicken. After much humming and hawing and shuffling of feet, it was explained to me that on a regular basis Kartoo would bring a chicken for Gokulchand and that the bird would be cooked and shared between the two.

Other than glaring at the duo, both looking at me most innocently, there really was not much else that I could do. The bottom line was that Gokulchand kept getting his regular supply of protein and hapless me had no option but to keep paying for it.

When we finally left Limbuguri in 1990, since there was no way that we could take Cartoon with us, we very reluctantly had to leave him behind to be adopted by his hunting buddy. With Gokulchand being of a ripe age, he and Kartoo must have carried on with their expeditions long after we had left Assam and would, I am sure be still at it in their happy hunting ground - wherever that may be.

Meet the writer:

Indi Khanna with Xerox

With an industry experience and a tea knowledge base of four and a half decades and counting, I literally live and breathe tea. 

Starting my career in 1975 as an Assistant Superintendent with Malayalam Plantations Ltd, rolling up my sleeves by 'dirtying' my hands at the grassroots level and having literally 'grown' in the business, my experiences have matured me into a ‘one of a kind’ unique entity in the industry.

My journey which literally starts from the tea nursery and stretches all the way up to the consumer shelf, is in many ways unique. Regularly roaming the tea world, delving into the most remote areas wherever tea is grown or consumed, constantly interacting with Tea folk, I have always been learning and innovating. The invaluable experiences along this very interesting route have culminated into a unique new venture, a one-of-a-kind specialty tea manufacturing facility unit in the Nilgiris - www.teastudio.info.

My life has been and continues to be blessed.

Thankfully this very interesting Tea journey continues as an ongoing learning experience.

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
 
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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!

 

Oh! The O’Valley

by Vina Madappa 

Once again, I'm most happy to welcome a new writer. Thanks to Radha Madappa* for sending us this engaging story by her mother-in-law. Vina Madappa tells us about her early days as a planter's wife, and about the fine man who served the family as butler.   

It was in 1958 that we were wed and honeymooned and drove up to the Ouchterlony Valley Estates in the Nilgiris. This was the valley that the Raja of Nilambur gifted to Colonel Ouchterlony for having presented him an exclusive suit length from England. At first the Raja offered the Colonel gold in appreciation, but he expressed his desire for a piece of land. The Raja then led him up a hill in Naduvattum (about 30 kilometres from Ooty town) and pointed to a valley down below and said with a generous sweep of his arm, “All this I lease to you for a hundred years as a gift!” The gift encompassed 15,000 acres of pristine rainforest.

The Valley was then cultivated with tea and coffee and prospered. It had been sectioned into different estates for cultivation and administrative purposes. So there was Lauriston, Guynd, Glenvans, New Hope and Kelly. The Ouchterlony Valley Estates was popularly referred to as the OV or O’Valley.

 With my husband Tata Madappa at Suffolk bungalow, 1958

I was a bride when we moved to Suffolk Estate, a division of Lauriston which was the closest to Gudalur - the little town where we sourced all our essentials. The butler at Suffolk had been with my husband, Pilfering and nimble fingered, lined his pockets with no fear at all. Being just out of college I had no inkling of cooking and store-keeping, or of supervising the bungalow staff, who luckily were well trained.

In Mysore from the Metropole Hotel we interviewed and engaged a butler cum cook. A small-made, sprightly and pleasant faced man called Chinnappa. This was shortened to Chinnan which suited us all better and eventually our children (Navina and Vinod) called him ‘Chin’!!

With Vinod and Navina at Lauriston, 1964

He proved to be a good cook and punctual too. Only drawback was the quantity- having worked in a hostel and hotel, he was accustomed to producing big quantities for just the two of us!! He soon cut down and all was well.

He was willing and good at learning varied dishes. “You teach it me Madam, I make its keeping you”! Yes, Chinnan spoke not “Butler English” but his own style, a quaint language in which he was amazingly fluent. I had to unlearn my English so I could comprehend and instruct him-- as he insisted on speaking only in English! Never did he fumble for words or pause or stutter. His sentences flowed like a stream down a mountain. His narrations and statements were so utterly delightful and hilarious, but I was so intent on understanding his communications that never did I laugh. When we asked him if he had passed on a certain message, he’d promptly declare “I told me Madam” or “I tell it me Madam”. There was no ‘he’ or ‘him’ at all in his vocabulary. When I felt blue he’d be so concerned and enquire “Why Madam looking dim”?

The Valley was lush and beautiful, of a rich green, with the blue mountains of the Nilgiris bordering it along one side. The mountains so blue and magnificent such a feast for the eyes and humbling to the soul. The Nilgiri Peak and the Needle Rock were visible to most of the bungalows. In the summer, jungle fires broke out on the mountains in pretty chains, quite a spectacle. Except in the summer, the mountains were veiled and unveiled all day by the mist - an enchanting sight. The bungalows were not too far apart, about half to one hour’s drive over some good, some bad roads. The numerous streams were delightful, either tumbling over rocks or gurgling under the small bridges. Waterfalls cascaded down the mountains and just by gravity facilitated all the needs of the valley- including irrigation of some areas.

The tea in the Valley was emerald green and flourishing. The shade trees, mostly silver oak, looked ethereal and lovely. There is a tale, or a joke perhaps, about a foreigner who on his first visit to a tea estate admired the trees and finally looked down to comment- "But there are too many weeds (i.e.the tea bushes), you ought to control them”!! The Valley was teeming with wildlife. Chinnan would excitedly tell my husband, “Too much jungle pork coming in one place Sir, master shoot betters. I make it nice spig roast and spig fry”.

Our family, who visited often, loved to engage Chinnan in conversation and when they burst into laughter and he’d merrily “gallop” (actually) back to the kitchen. Our daughter Navina was fond of him and he’d patiently push the pram while we were at the table. When she was six years old there was no avoiding admitting her in a boarding school in Ooty (Nazareth Convent). The worst drawback to wedding a planter.

Chinnan with Navina and my husband

Whenever we set out once a month to visit her at school, Chinnan would call out- “Tell it Baby, ask it me”!! Meaning,     tell her, “I enquired”. This message was unfailingly entrusted to us and it went on to become a family favourite and is still used. We often entertained friends for a meal and I being no cook would get all wound up and anxious. Then repeatedly impress on Chinnan that he must prepare all the dishes really well and on time. “They’ll be here at 7 p.m Chinnan. Everything should be ready”. 7:30 then 8 p.m. and no sign of the guests. He’d corner me- “Why this Madam simply worry-ed. Guest coming coming say that, not-aay coming”!!

When my parents came from Bangalore, I'd be so excited. Wanting to show off how well I ran the home and especially the kitchen, I would draw up an elaborate menu for Chinnan to prepare. His reaction every time was, “Why this simply make it so much Madam? Big Madam bringing lots and lots- not make anything here”. It was a fact that they always came laden with food to last us a few days.

Chinnan was an excellent cook and enjoyed improvising and producing new dishes. O’ Valley club hosted the Annual inter club tennis ‘do’, it was attended by all the neighbouring clubs - Mango Range, Mepadi and Prospect club. It was always Chinnan who made the popular Biryani for lunch.

He was of the firm opinion that boy babies were better. “Girl babies we spend too much for school fees and books then marriage. Then they go away. Boy babies good. When big man, they work job and make money”!!

Never did he take a day off work. Except once when his wife went to her village and was marooned in the floods. He rushed off and returned very soon, with tales of the disasters there. His wife, he found shivering on a tree with water all around. He described this incident as- “Monkey sitting no? Thassus- way sitting”! He was honest and responsible. One day we rushed off forgetting to lock our bedroom door. What did our Chinnan do? He stood watch by the bedroom door without budging the whole day till we returned. He didn't trust the other domestic help. I am sure he was one of a kind.

He was invaluable, in that he inspired in me confidence to cook. “Why this fraiding Madam? Go to kitchen, show powers. Nothing go wrong”!! Eventually I followed his advice and fared well.

Such a dear, loyal and reliable chap was our Chinnan who stayed with us through all the transfers. When my husband retired, he did too. “After working Master and Madam, I no work for anybody”, he declared. He visited us in Coorg and attended our daughter's wedding. We were lucky indeed to have him take good care of us all those years.

  Meet the writer: Vina Madappa

I am a Kodavathi from Kodagu and was born in Mysore. At that time Jayachamarajendra Wodeyar was the The Maharaja of Mysore. I marvelled at the grandeur of the Dussehra celebrations of great pomp and splendour. I did my schooling in Mysore from where I completed the Lower Secondary School. My father, an Ayurvedic doctor, was then transferred to Bangalore where I did my final school year and then went on to complete my degree in English Literature ( Honours) from Mount Carmel College.

My favourite hobbies were reading, playing tennis, listening to music and watching movies. I married a planter and settled in the Nilgiris and took to the game of bridge like a fish to water. Besides my hobbies, the occasional get- togethers, partying and picnicking with friends in the OV, Wayanad and Ootacamund, were mainly what made our lives exciting. Lots of tennis and bridge was possible. We had two great blessings, our daughter Navina and son Vinod. On retirement we settled down in Kodagu on our property and I continue to enjoy my hobbies. 

*You can read Radha's story here: Darjeeling Days

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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!

 

Dacoity at Hattigor

 by Bhupendra (Bob) Singh 

Hattigor Burra Bungalow ( pix by Chumki Bhattacharyya )

I was Senior Manager of Hattigor Tea Estate, the biggest estate belonging to Tata Tea Ltd., in Mangaldai Dist. Assam from 1986 to 1991. It was a big estate, about 1000 hectares under tea and producing about 2.2 million kgs of tea. There were two divisions, Hattigor and Khoirabari, the latter being the bigger one. The estate employed about 3000 labour during the season. There was a PWD road which bisected the two divisions. The factory was on the Hattigor side and the Manager's office about 200 meters from the factory on the Khirabari side. The garden was in middle of Bodo country and at that time the agitation was in full swing. 

One afternoon on a weekly labour payday I was sitting in my office when there was a commotion outside and Krany Babu (head clerk) came and informed that dacoits had attacked the place where the labour payment was going on, both in Hattigor and Khoirabari. I got into my car and drove 100 meters to where the Khoirabari workers were being paid.

Apparently two men had arrived on a motor bike and while one kept sitting on it, the other got down and threatened the staff with a locally made pistol. He then started filling his bag with cash. In the meantime, one of the workers threw a bamboo shaft at the person sitting on the bike. He got scared, and after letting go of the bike, he jumped over the fence and tried to escape. At that time in Khoirabari section no. 4, the old tea bushes had been uprooted and it was under guatemala grass. 

The man must have thought he would hide there and escape from the other side. However, Gojen Bardoloi, the Senior Assistant Manager, got some labour to encircle the section and these guys quickly came with bows and arrows. Seeing this, person filling the bag with the money panicked and started running from there. On the way he lost the bag! That was retrieved by a member of the staff, but some money had fallen out of the bag and the shopkeepers holding the local bazaar on the PWD road pocketed it. The dacoit hiding in the grass was injured with an arrow shot by one of the workers, caught, and beaten up badly by the angry workers before being brought to the factory.

In the meanwhile, with the help of some workers, I surrounded the person who had escaped with the bag of money - just a few tea sections down the road - and though he was pointing his country made pistol at us we managed to get hold of him and take him to the factory. At the same time two other dacoits struck at Hattigor Division where labour was being paid, and before the Assistant Sanjay Sablok could reach there, they had made off with a bag of money. He did give them chase on his motor bike and in turn, they fired at him and missed, but he could not catch them. 

In the absence of telephone connectivity in those days, I took off immediately in my car to Paneri Police station ( about 20 kms away ) to inform them of the dacoity. The police were very helpful and came at once to the garden to take stock of the situation. However, the dacoit who was caught first was so badly beaten up by the workers that he died in police custody. The police could not file a case of murder against anyone, as there was a mob of few hundred people; against whom would they file the FIR?! 

We lost about Rs. 75,000/- which could be claimed back from the Insurance Company.

 Meet the writer: 

Bhupendra (Bob) Singh 

After graduating from Mayo College, Ajmer, I joined tea in May 1959, with James Finlay & Co., Ltd. at their Hattigor T E in Assam. The company changed hands and became Tata Finlays and then later Tata Tea Ltd. Having served in many gardens in Assam as Assistant Manager and later as Manager since 1974, was lastly transferred to Dam Dim T E in Dooars in 1991. In my last year with Tata Tea, I was posted to Delhi to look after their rice exports to the Middle-East.

A keen student of history, fond of outdoor games and shooting, we enjoyed our days in tea with my wife Teeka and two daughters Harsha and Raksha, who still remember their good days in the gardens.

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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! 

Shobha the Bison

 by Norman Wood

It's always good to welcome a new writer at Indian Chai Stories and I have to thank Noreen Wood for sending me this lovely story by her brother Norman ( 'three generations of planters in the family', writes Noreen ) All pix courtesy Noreen.

Pic of Norman's children Carol and Andrew taken at their home on the tea estate some years ago

Kadamane Tea Estate is situated on the Western Ghats, about 30 Km from a small town named Sakleshpur, in Hassan District, Karnataka. The town and its surrounding areas are mainly plantation country. Saklespur is known for its lush vegetation, thick forests, flowing streams, waterfalls and beautiful meadows stretching for miles.

The name Kadamane (prounced Ka-da-man-aye) in the local language literally translates as Kaadu (Forest) and Mane (House). Kadamane was the only tea estate in the district and is known for its thick vegetation, picturesque landscapes and wildlife. Originally purchased to be the hunting grounds for the Earl of Warwick, it extends for 7600 acres and was a place of work and home to us for many years at the start of my career as a young tea planter in the 1970s. The property is surrounded by vast grasslands and it was customary in the months of February/March for the villagers who live along our border to set fire to these grasslands as precautionary measures adopted to prevent forest fires and to enable luxuriant re-growth of the grass for grazing their cattle.

In 1976, the estate workers noticed a raging forest fire, and saw that a bison and her calf were trapped in it. Great efforts went into saving the bison and her calf, but unfortunately, they were only able to carry the calf to safety.

My wife Lorraine and I decided to take care of the bison calf which was a herculean task at the onset. We named her Shobha.

We first tried to let our Jersey cows adopt her, but this did not work. We then decided to bottle feed her; she could drink anything from 3 to 6 bottles of milk a day. We gradually weaned her and started her on rice conjee water, ground nut cake, ground cotton seed and of course her favourite jaggery (molasses). 

A small pen was made for her in our cattle shed. Shobha became very tame and mixed with the other cattle to graze on the grasslands. In the evening she was fed her food supplements. She soon became a favourite with all the workers and if called by her name she would respond by coming down the hill to join them. She would eat jaggery, bananas and coconut from Lorraine’s hand.

Shobha came on heat and we tried to rehabilitate her with the bison herds on the grass hills, but she refused to join them and would return home with the cattle.

Lorraine, our two children Carol & Andrew and I used to go home for our Christmas vacation via Mysore to Coonoor, a hill station town in the Nilgiri Hills. The children enjoyed their trips to the Mysore Zoo where we usually stopped for a break in our journey. It was on one of these trips that we realized that the Mysore Zoo had no bison. I got in touch with the designated zoo authorities and asked them if we could donate a bison to the zoo. After the initial documentation and inspection, they happily agreed. 

The day arrived for Shobha to leave. It was with mixed feelings that we saw her being loaded into the zoo vehicle. We made a trip after a few months to see her at the zoo and we were happy to see that Shobha was well looked after and happier to note that she responded to her name and came towards us. She had not forgotten us. With the permission of the authorities, we were once again able to give her her favourite food, jaggery. The rest is history.

We have photos of Lorraine feeding Shobha jaggery, the letter from the Mysore Zoo acknowledging our gift of the Bison and the write up in the local newspaper of our star attraction, Shobha. 

Meet the writer: 

Norman with Lorraine

Norman's career in tea spanned 34 years with Chennai based Murugappa Group and he retired as General Manager after heading their South India plantation operations with Parry Agro Industries Ltd. His retirement is spent serving as Chairman of the Board, Managing Trustee and Member of the Board respectively, of three English speaking schools in the Nilgiri Hills. He and his wife Lorraine enjoy visiting their daughter Carol in the USA and their son Andrew in the UK whenever they can.   

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com

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. There are over 120 stories of tea life here, all written by people who have lived in tea gardens. 

Add this link to your favourites: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/ 

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

Mangra Oraon – A Man of Many Parts

by Aloke Mookerjee

When I first met Mangra Oraon back in 1965, he was a flamboyant, swarthy, six-foot tall Adivasi of middle age with a twirling handlebar moustache and a raffish smile reminiscent of Errol Flynn*.

Mangra was then the driver of the estate’s ‘Thames’ lorry imported from England many years back and popularly known to all as ‘Thaamis’. Thaamis had, by then, seen better days and in her years of toil had turned into a cranky old lady. But with her in his charge, Mangra Oraon artfully coaxed the temperamental dame to productive service – day after day. 

Errol Flynn (Pix source https://www.criminalelement.com/errol-flynn-the-swashbuckler-way-out-west-edward-a-grainger-hollywood/)

Colourful Mangra, however, did not start his working life as a lorry driver or one even remotely connected to anything mechanical! Before the transition, he was happily engaged as the ‘syce’ in-charge of (the then) Manager, Bill Hudson’s stable of horses. According to Bill, the tall and strapping young Mangra was not only an impressive sight in his smart livery and starched ‘saafa’( headgear ) but also a very efficient keeper of his horses. 

In the years that followed, the ever rising cost of upkeep eventually sounded the death knell of the horse riding and polo playing days. The inevitable redundancy of a syce’s prestigious position loomed up menacingly leaving Mangra uncertain of his future. Foreseeing this eventuality, Bill Hudson worked on a plan to ensure his loyal employee remained gainfully employed with the dignity and status of the position he had been holding. Accordingly, he initiated Mangra‘s metamorphosis from a ‘syce’ to a truck driver. And so it came to pass, that only Mangra, with his sheer dexterity (and some will power!), could now safely handle the old, groaning and spluttering second truck of Ghatia Tea Estate!

Mangra and I ‘hit off’ well from the start and whenever he saw me huffing and puffing while negotiating the steep Ghatia roads on my bicycle, he would stop and insist on getting me and my bike onboard. In the driver’s cabin, Mangra would regale me with stories of his love life and other small gossip of the ‘lines’. He had charm and a way of story telling that I thought was was wasted as a driver in a remote area.

With his charm, the swarthy rugged looks and romantic leanings, Mangra in time acquired for himself, two fetching wives, one Nepali and the other a ‘Madhesia’. The two women lived in the same labour line but in separate huts which faced each other with a dirt road in between. Mangra juggled his time deftly (and by all accounts very successfully) between his wives with six months exclusively devoted to one and the next six to the other.

The women of his life lived in bliss with the time and space that their man had so thoughtfully provided for them. There were no quarrels, rivalry or competition. The three had reached a level of serenity and harmony in their lives that remains so elusive to so many couples (with only one spouse!) today. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learnt here!

The Jaldhaka River (pix by Gowri Mohanakrishnan https://seventhchords.blogspot.com/2009/04/darjeeling-jaldhaka-river.html )

Meanwhile, in this idyllic setting, strong political undercurrents were gradually surfacing to a seething boil in the Dooars. The turbulent politics in West Bengal of the ‘60s, with the entry of the CPM (Communist Party Marxist) supported United Front Government, greatly impacted the labour movement in the Dooars. In many estates, the CPM affiliated labour unions were gathering strength and getting aggressive. Jyoti Basu, then the Deputy Chief Minister as well as Labour Minister of West Bengal’s UF Government, on his first official visit to the Dooars, addressed the tea garden workers at a massive rally organized by the CPM party. 

In his speech Jyoti Basu roused the workers to a mass movement against the management for their ‘tyrannical’ ways and ‘profiteering’ through the sweat, blood and tears of the ‘down trodden’ workers. Following this, reports of gross indiscipline, manhandling of Managers, Assistant Managers, and illegal strikes with demands started pouring in. A new trend began with the belligerent workers surrounding the Management staff for long hours till their demands, often unreasonable, were met. ‘Gherao’, as this new tactic got to be known as, was soon added to the lexicon of the English language.

In this state of labour turmoil, it would seem incredulous that Ghatia should remain unaffected. But that was a fact. The workers of Ghatia believed good and sincere work paid for their livelihood and welfare ever so much more than union movements and strikes. Work, therefore, continued peacefully for us.

 Then, sometime in the month of April of 1968 (if I remember correctly), a state-wide ‘hartal’( strike ) was declared by the CPM unions of the Dooars. Characteristically, the workers of Ghatia were not in favour of the strike. They approached the then manager (Mohan Keswani) with a wish to continue work. We decided to keep the estate open, blissfully unaware that the consequences of this decision would be the cause of a great deal of anxiety bordering on tragedy. 

Amongst other garden jobs, we decided to continue with our crop protection sprays, on the strike declared day, using the usual battery of power sprayers close to the estate entrance. It was a serious lapse and exposed our naïveté; for a squad of fifteen or so motorised sprayers, together in operation, could cause an enormous din and be heard for miles in that tranquil country air. As usual, work started early and peacefully, without an incident. After the morning rounds, I returned to the bungalow at around ten o’clock for a late breakfast laid out in the veranda. The height of the bungalow on stilts allowed a good view into the distance. Looking out casually during the relaxed breakfast, I suddenly noticed six trucks, crammed with men, driving into the estate. The leaders of the mob would have heard the sound of our working sprayers and had thus gathered enough supporters to enter the estate with the intention of stopping work – forcefully if required.

I also noticed, with far greater concern, that Mohan Keswani, the estate manager was walking towards the vicinity of the now parked trucks and the men jumping off their vehicles to surround him. To say the least, the scene appeared ominous. He must not be left alone, I thought and so leaving my half-eaten breakfast, hastened to join him. On reaching the spot, the mob parted menacingly allowing just enough space for me to enter their midst. Swallowed up amongst them, I found myself next to the Mohan surrounded by at least two hundred scruffy men armed with ‘lathis’ , axes, bush knives and even some with their tribal bows and arrows! I looked carefully into the crowd but failed to recognise any of our estate workers in amongst this scruffy lot. All these men were strangers from outside who were now brandishing their weapons threateningly while screaming obscenities with raucous demands to stop all work immediately.

With the mood of the mob turning uglier by the minute, I realised (and no doubt so did my manager) prudence was the need of the hour. I whispered this to Mohan who quickly agreed and immediately thereafter, announced loudly enough for all to hear that work would be stopped forthwith and the estate shut down. However, even while making this announcement, we began to receive the first body blows from their (thankfully only) lathis. To say I was not scared would be untrue. I shielded myself with my hands with morbid thoughts flashing through my mind that this was our end and that we would soon be consigned to memory.

And we would have surely been, a mere thought today, if it was not for the courage and quick thinking of our moustachioed Mangra Driver who suddenly appeared in our midst like manna from heaven. Towering above all, he stood unflinchingly in front of us and with his personality and persuasive talk succeeded in pacifying the crowd and stemming the physical blows.

As with most mobs in a similar situation, confusion followed Manga Oraon’s intervention. Loud arguments for and against lynching us could now be heard all around. In this ensuing melee Mangra furtively succeeded in opening up a way to escort us out from the centre. He turned to me and whispered that I should now follow him, very quietly – no rush, no heroics! I passed this message on to Mohan Keswani and got him to move ahead of me. With Mangra leading and our heads lowered, we walked very slowly out of the unruly gathering. Still busy with their feisty arguments, no one seemed to notice our quiet exit. The factory being just around the corner, we managed to reach safety within its high fencing and locked gates.

Thus ended an incident which would have certainly resulted in tragedy had our flamboyant bigamist truck driver, Mangra Oraon, not appeared at that dangerously critical moment. I shall always remember him with a great deal of respect and affection that a brave and loyal person deserves.

During my usual field duties, the following day, every single worker of the estate I came across expressed his or her anguish over our harrowing experience. I could sense their genuine concern as also of their relief and happiness on seeing us unharmed. Their kind words were touching enough to remain forever etched in my memory.

My stint of five continuous years in Ghatia as an assistant manager was a unique experience. The workers there deserve the best.

*For those of the younger generation not aware of the yesteryear Hollywood celebrities, Errol Flynn was a dashing and swashbuckling hero stealing the hearts of countless - off and onscreen - maidens of the time! 

PS: It gives me much pleasure to know that Ghatia today is amongst the very best estates in the Dooars for its high yields and quality teas.  

 
Meet the writer: Aloke Mookerjee

Here's what Aloke has to say about himself : 'Long retired from tea, but still active in business. Even after all these years, tea remains to live strongly in my thoughts; they were the best years of my life. Other interests? Always loved Jazz music - still do and have written about this incredible genre. Love vintage airplanes (thus my love for Dakotas!) and cars, and intend to make this my next focus.'  Here is the link to all posts by Aloke - Stories by Aloke Mookerjee

Aloke has published a book, The Jazz Bug, which is available on Amazon. Read about it here: https://notionpress.com/read/the-jazz-bug?fbclid=IwAR2HjxSU2rY6sq5cX_lzBxJY5oat1i_Z22qKdRRP1Tm77Dqp48B2CAlnGvY 

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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. There are over 120 stories of tea life here, all written by people who have lived in tea gardens. 

Add this link to your favourites: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/ 

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!