Dear Editor,
It has been my privilege to serve 'The Hindu' over the last two decades. I thank you for your active encouragement and support during this period. I am enclosing a brief piece from my posting in this area. This will be my last contribution - my swan song. I request you to carry this very personal piece, as is, and hope the credibility of my authorship, and facts which will eventually come to light, will make this story believable.
----------------
Deadly Development
It is poll time again here. As expected, the state is gearing up for this next election on promises of continued large scale development with high fiscal growth. To reinforce their pro-people position, the state has just completed a new highway joining the capital to Korba and across the state to Ranchi - through the densely forested, wildest and most remote tribal regions of the state. Today the CM inaugurated a new bus route on this highway; I was privileged, as a Hindu reporter, to participate in this inaugural journey. Surprisingly, there appeared to be few people, wanting to make this maiden run. Last night, in a Raipur bar, I heard rumors of poison-people, of their strange rituals, customs. The local drivers were reluctant to drive this route and finally a driver from Chennai had been found for the inaugural journey.
Today, all went smoothly, with a lot of fanfare, press and television coverage. I sat on a front seat, by the window, with a full view through the windshield. The driver and I exchanged a few pleasantries in tamil, with the genuine happiness of finding a kindred spirit in a distant land. The bus was hardly half full - being made up of very few locals - mainly low rank officers who had been forced to take the ride by their superiors. The ride towards and after Korba was through the thickest jungles I have ever seen - and this gladdened the heart. The road was dark and a narrow ribbon of sky accompanied the bus on its empty journey ahead. It was then that I saw two small figures in a distance, standing by the side of the road; apparently, so did the locals - who had been acting very twitchy and nervous - some were even praying. There was an immediate clamor to not stop the bus - the driver seemed uncertain and hesitated. It was at this point that I interfered. Putting full authority of my experience and position, I commanded the driver to stop, for what was now clearly two young children waiting at the road.
The two children got on and smiled in glee; there is no other word to describe the innocence and the happiness of their smile. They looked like brother and sister, in tattered rags, and between 10-12 years of age. I smiled back and pointed to the empty seats across from me, for them to sit. They clambered on their seats with excitement of ones who had never seen any machine. The driver asked them where they were going, but got no response, except their smiles. It was very likely that they did not speak hindi. It was then that I noticed their small knotted bundle, probably their food and belongings.
Soon everyone settled down and there were sheepish exchanges between the locals, for their unfounded fears. A couple even ventured tentatively to volunteer that I had done the right thing by asking the bus stop for these two young ones. It was about an hour later that the two started chattering amongst themselves with suppressed excitement and cheeky laughter. They opened their bundle and I was startled to see the contents writhing inside - there appeared to be about 10-12 snakes wriggling and darting their forked tongues - clearly in agitation at being bound up so long. I immediately asked the children to tie them back, but they just looked at me and laughed and set them all free.
It took a while for the passengers to catch on what had happened, and by that time it was too late for them, or me, or the driver. It is too late now. The weaker ones have already fainted - their pulse, feeble. One passenger has recognised the snakes as the rarest, and deadliest in the nation. It is futile now to fight the inevitable. There is no mobile connection here - and I am frantically typing the story on my laptop, even as I feel a searing through my blood, and a suffocating dullness begin to wipe away my brain and breath. The bus has come to a halt; in haziness and from corner of my eye I watch the children slowly pick up their pets and carefully lower them back into their jola, and tie them in. They have now got off the bus - laughing - peals of young laughter.
It has been my privilege to serve 'The Hindu' over the last two decades. I thank you for your active encouragement and support during this period. I am enclosing a brief piece from my posting in this area. This will be my last contribution - my swan song. I request you to carry this very personal piece, as is, and hope the credibility of my authorship, and facts which will eventually come to light, will make this story believable.
----------------
Deadly Development
It is poll time again here. As expected, the state is gearing up for this next election on promises of continued large scale development with high fiscal growth. To reinforce their pro-people position, the state has just completed a new highway joining the capital to Korba and across the state to Ranchi - through the densely forested, wildest and most remote tribal regions of the state. Today the CM inaugurated a new bus route on this highway; I was privileged, as a Hindu reporter, to participate in this inaugural journey. Surprisingly, there appeared to be few people, wanting to make this maiden run. Last night, in a Raipur bar, I heard rumors of poison-people, of their strange rituals, customs. The local drivers were reluctant to drive this route and finally a driver from Chennai had been found for the inaugural journey.
Today, all went smoothly, with a lot of fanfare, press and television coverage. I sat on a front seat, by the window, with a full view through the windshield. The driver and I exchanged a few pleasantries in tamil, with the genuine happiness of finding a kindred spirit in a distant land. The bus was hardly half full - being made up of very few locals - mainly low rank officers who had been forced to take the ride by their superiors. The ride towards and after Korba was through the thickest jungles I have ever seen - and this gladdened the heart. The road was dark and a narrow ribbon of sky accompanied the bus on its empty journey ahead. It was then that I saw two small figures in a distance, standing by the side of the road; apparently, so did the locals - who had been acting very twitchy and nervous - some were even praying. There was an immediate clamor to not stop the bus - the driver seemed uncertain and hesitated. It was at this point that I interfered. Putting full authority of my experience and position, I commanded the driver to stop, for what was now clearly two young children waiting at the road.
The two children got on and smiled in glee; there is no other word to describe the innocence and the happiness of their smile. They looked like brother and sister, in tattered rags, and between 10-12 years of age. I smiled back and pointed to the empty seats across from me, for them to sit. They clambered on their seats with excitement of ones who had never seen any machine. The driver asked them where they were going, but got no response, except their smiles. It was very likely that they did not speak hindi. It was then that I noticed their small knotted bundle, probably their food and belongings.
Soon everyone settled down and there were sheepish exchanges between the locals, for their unfounded fears. A couple even ventured tentatively to volunteer that I had done the right thing by asking the bus stop for these two young ones. It was about an hour later that the two started chattering amongst themselves with suppressed excitement and cheeky laughter. They opened their bundle and I was startled to see the contents writhing inside - there appeared to be about 10-12 snakes wriggling and darting their forked tongues - clearly in agitation at being bound up so long. I immediately asked the children to tie them back, but they just looked at me and laughed and set them all free.
It took a while for the passengers to catch on what had happened, and by that time it was too late for them, or me, or the driver. It is too late now. The weaker ones have already fainted - their pulse, feeble. One passenger has recognised the snakes as the rarest, and deadliest in the nation. It is futile now to fight the inevitable. There is no mobile connection here - and I am frantically typing the story on my laptop, even as I feel a searing through my blood, and a suffocating dullness begin to wipe away my brain and breath. The bus has come to a halt; in haziness and from corner of my eye I watch the children slowly pick up their pets and carefully lower them back into their jola, and tie them in. They have now got off the bus - laughing - peals of young laughter.
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