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.
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| 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!
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| 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.
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
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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. There are over 120 stories of tea life
here, all written by people who have lived in tea gardens.
3 comments:
An interesting insight into the turmoil of those days. Jyoti Basu, created an unsafe environment on the tea estates to fuel his own political ambitions. He endangered the lives of many planters who went through horrible experiences at the hands of angry, often misguided labour stirred on by the unions. In some ways the situation in the Dooars in the late 60s and 70s seems to mirror what’s happening in the country today. Hopefully there will always be some heroic Mangras with an ingrained sense of decency.
Wonderful narrative. Those were indeed extremely harrowing times in N Bengal.
The situation today is dire with many estates locked down including neighboring Grassmore TE and management/labour relations on fire. Interesting to note Ghatia is doing well.
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