The River.

Featuring: 

The River; 

The Boatman; and 

Uncle A.

Uncle A was an important person at a university on the outskirts of the quaint little town in Assam that had our home. Uncle A lived with Aunty C and their three girls in the best house the university could offer. From the house, which stood a little apart from the rest of the residences, one could see the boundary wall of the university campus and the thick forest beyond. The only person who disliked the house was portly Aunty C who had to walk a fair distance to meet her friends and who would come back huffing, puffing and cursing. Uncle A, a botanist as I later learnt, was oblivious (and a tad intolerant) to everyone and everything around him except his beloved plants (and seeds and cuttings and foul smelling chemicals he did strange things with). The youngest of the three girls was my friend from school and our respective parents thought it wise for us to spend part of our holidays together- and so it was- in each of our homes by turn.

With minimal supervision from the absent minded Uncle A and the portly Aunty C, the girls and I would be outdoors most of the day. But under NO circumstance were we to step outside the university campus, we were told.

And come sundown, all of us were expected to wash, change and gather in the cavernous drawing room to spend time with Uncle A and Aunty C.

Spending the evenings with Uncle A and Aunty C was entertaining – both miraculously turned into completely different people in time with the setting of the sun! A beautifully dressed and coiffed Aunty C would hold court. Uncle A, smartly dressed in a jacket and tie (even in the oppressive Assam summers) would be actually smiling! The gramophone would play the latest ‘English’ records as we sipped freshly made lime juice and Aunty C sipped something called a cherry? Uncle A with the assistance of a domestic help (let us call him ‘Brother’ for convenience) would follow a precise ritual. Brother would come in at 5.45 PM holding a single crystal tumbler and a bottle of golden liquid on a tray. Brother would hold up the tumbler for Uncle A’s inspection. After a careful examination of the tumbler, Uncle A would slowly pour the golden liquid into it to the height of two fingers (Brother’s). This ritual would be repeated twice every evening before an ‘English’ dinner was served at 7.45 PM (Assam is actually almost an hour ahead of the Indian Standard Time without being accorded the honour!).

By about the fourth day, we would be bored out of our minds.

And so we gathered in our bedroom after dinner one night and whispered out a plan for the next morning- the eldest of the three girls REFUSED to have anything to do with our plan. But she wouldn’t tell Uncle A and Aunty C, she promised.

Aunty C looked at us suspiciously the next morning as we gobbled, giggled and whispered our way through breakfast. But Aunty C soon forgot about us as she prepared for the hellish walk to meet with her friends. We slipped out of the house.

We ran through the backyard, clambered over the boundary wall of the university campus and reached the edge of the thick forest beyond. As we faced the tall wall of trees before us, we contemplated whether we really wanted to look for the gnomes rumored to reside there. We fearfully entered the thick forest and walked down a well-worn path, careful not to make too much noise. No Gnomes! After walking for what seemed an eternity, we reached a clearing. We stepped out of the shadows of the tall trees and saw a RIVER! We were filled with joy at the prospect of spending the day by the river. We skipped and jumped around, trying to outdo each other in finding the best place to make camp, when we spotted a boatman standing next to a battered canoe. We ran up to him to ask him about the river.

The boatman looked up when he heard the sound of three excited youngsters rushing up to him. He smiled gently as we tripped over each other’s words and gestured for us to sit down. In a lilting accent, the boatman told us that the river was as old as the forest and that we should see more of it- he would take us. We jumped into the battered canoe and the boatman rowed away. We saw a sandbar in the distance- the boatman steered towards it- he was tired he said and needed to rest his arms. We climbed out of the battered canoe and looked around the unshaded landform – we did not like it much, we saw animal bones bleached white by the sun scattered all around. We asked the boatman to take us back. Rested by then, the boatman nodded his head and we headed back whence we came.

We walked back through the forest, clambered over the boundary wall of the university campus, ran through the backyard and slipped back into the house.

Not being able to hold a secret very long, we recounted our day’s adventure to Uncle A and Aunty C later that evening. Uncle A set down his golden liquid filled tumbler with a thump, turned around and asked sharply, What RIVER?