Photo by Katharina Roehler on Unsplash

Villages in Bengal were picturesque, green, and with a lot of water bodies (ponds) in those days. It was in the 1970s and I was in my teens. The waves of consumerism had still not hit the shores of these villages.

The villagers lived on myths as they had no other source of entertainment. Apart from myths originating from folklore, there were local heroes and myths surrounding their feats.

“Bagha-da (‘da’ is suffixed for an elder brother in Bengal) has won over his fear. He fears nothing, he fears no one.” Kanchan, my maternal aunt’s youngest son, was describing the most daring man on earth in Memari, a tiny village we were visiting in the Burdwan district of West Bengal.

Tushar Mondal, nicknamed Bagha (borrowed from the Bengali word Bagh, meaning Tiger) was perhaps the most fearless man of the village. He was almost like a living legend and stories of his feats of fearlessness traveled across villages.

Memari was a tiny and obscure village we were visiting to meet our maternal aunt while attending a marriage in the family in Calcutta.

As the cycle rickshaw was speeding its way through the narrow serpentine pathways of the village, I was mesmerized by the greenery around, unseen in Delhi. Finally, the rickshaws came to a screeching halt in front of a large mud house with a tiled roof.

A fairly large gathering had assembled to greet us. Most were curious onlookers to have a glimpse of the Delhiites. I found all the men wearing dhotis (loincloth), and shirts while women wore saris. My aunt emerged from behind the assemblage of people and hugged my mother with tears flowing freely from her eyes after meeting her beloved sister for ages.

We settled down with a plateful of ‘telebhaja’ (vegetable dipped in Gram flour and deep fried), and soon it was dark outside. “Come.” Kanchan held my hand and took me out of the house. “I’ll take you to the club.” I looked at him with curious eyes, wondering what this ‘club’ would look like.

We walked past what was a primary school. Faint lights from Lantern emerged from a small window and I could see shadows inside. “My father and his troop are rehearsing for their forthcoming ‘play’ during the Durga Puja,” Kanchan explained.

Kanchan held my hand as we walked, negotiating through the dark alleys. I was completely blinded by the darkness, but soon my eyes adapted to it. “There it is.” Kanchan pointed towards a small one-room structure. We entered the house. It was illuminated with lights from a couple of lanterns inside.

Needless to say, electrification was yet to reach the village.

“This is my brother from Delhi.” Kanchan introduced me to the three boys playing carom. “Join us.” One of them said. “I can’t play carom,” I replied sheepishly. They all laughed loudly at it. “Why do you bother him.” A strong voice scolded them from the corner of the room.

“This is Bagha-da.” And I was introduced to the legendary man in his early twenties. “Wow! I have heard so much about you.” I exclaimed. He laughed loudly. “You don’t fear ghosts?” I asked. He nodded negatively. “There is nothing like ghosts. It is merely the fear of the unknown.” He explained.        

“Can you see any ghost here?” He asked and I nodded negatively. “Khokon.” He shouted addressing one of the boys playing carom. “Put off all the lanterns.” Soon there was complete darkness in the room.

Suddenly I felt lonely and realized that there was no one in the room. “Kanchan! Bagha-da!” I screamed at the top of my voice. Soon the room was illuminated and I found Bagha-da standing in front of me with a smiling face. “Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you. All I wanted to show you is ‘what fear is all about’. It is just darkness that we fear.” He hugged me tight.

“Aha! The fearless Bagha!” Bappa-da entered the room with sarcasm in his voice. I immediately recalled the rivalry between the two as mentioned by Kanchan. They were engaged many times in betting to showcase their fearlessness, but Bappa-da seldom could succeed.

“What is it that you bring in today, Bappa.” Asked Bagha-da to his arch-rival. “Well. You could succeed in walking through the forest last Sunday night. Can you go to the river-side crematorium tonight, all alone?” Asked Bappa-da with a tangent and sarcastic smile.

I was half-dead at the very thought of it. “Yes. If you insist.” Bagha-da replied with a wide smile on his face. “No one saw you walking through the forest that night. So, tonight, you should leave behind a proof.” His cunning eyes were shining in the darkness.

He looked around and drew out a piece of small bamboo stick, about 20 centimeters long, from the thatch on top of the doorway. “Hammer it to the ground in the middle of the crematorium before you leave the place.” He hands over the stick to Bagha-da. We left for our home.

“Get up! Get up!” Kanchan was yelling into my ear. “Bagha-da is dead.” We ran towards the crematorium. His lifeless body lay on the ground, encircled by people. We pushed a few people to get a closer look.

A police officer was stooping over his body. “Can you see this?” He looked back and said it to my uncle who was standing behind him. My uncle kneeled to get a closer look. “It’s a bamboo stick!” He replied. “Yes. And it is hammered to the ground along with his dhoti”. The officer opined.

Further investigation revealed that as challenged, Bagha-da had gone to the crematorium in the middle of the night. As decided, he sat there to hammer the bamboo stick. But in the process, part of his loincloth got hammered into the ground along with the bamboo stick.

When he got up, he was held back by the part of the loincloth which was hammered with the bamboo stick into the ground. He must have panicked and instead thought that ‘someone or something’ was holding him back and died of cardiac arrest.

Bappa-da was meanwhile admitted to the local health center with repeated convulsions.

In his death, he taught me that fear may not elude even a fearless man like Bagha-da.