Those were the University days. An indefinable romance coupled with a spirit of adventure had me in its grip. A strange something within me always impelled me to do that which no one had done earlier, at least to my knowledge. So, once I decided to climb and cross the range of hillocks bordering the Hirakud right dyke, visible in the skyline from the Burla University campus. One afternoon, I skipped the class of the indomitable Dr Pati, Professor & HOD and walked alone a distance of three kilometres from the PG Department of English and reached the bottom of the range of hills. My intention was to go up the hillock, reach the peak and descend down on to the other side, where the great expanse of the water of the Mahanadi got stored through the stone dyke. On reaching the foothill I looked for an access route, preferably an oft-trodden footpath, leading up to the hilltop. There were a huge number of shrubs and bushes so nettled that one could hardly see anything beyond those. There were trees of all sizes, shapes and heights. However, on moving to and fro at the foothill and squinting at this and that for sometime I found a narrow opening at one place. I wriggled and slid through the hole a distance of 3-4 meters and got space enough at a cleared spot to straighten myself up. I conducted my upward journey, struggling all through, negotiating with rocks, bushes, dirt, dust, heat, sweat, slopes, holes and reached half way through. And then, suddenly danger struck me. I became aware of my parched throat. A terrible thirst caught hold of me. I had no water with me. I knew there was no source of water anywhere near. And that heightened the sense of fear. The heat, the height, the copious sweat, the strain of the unhabituated upward climb had already drained me. My head had started reeling. And now, the thought of non-availability of water nearby made me terribly apprehensive. There was not a single soul anywhere from whom I could hope to get help. I felt like fainting, more out of a strange fear than out of exhaustion. When one turns utterly helpless one prays to a benevolent, though hypothetical, deity. So I did. I had one hope. I had heard that there was a mini temple at the hilltop. It was not exactly a temple, rather a concrete roof resting upon four pillars. A stone,smeared with vermilion, was its resident deity. Now, my hope against hope was that perchance some devotee could have left an unbroken coconut there, which might yield a little water to slake my thirst. It was indeed a wild hope, or rather, a hope in wilderness, more appropriately. But I had to cling to something to avoid a total collapse on the spot. So, my prayers to the Almighty ran in that line-a coconut, Lord. A COCONUT PLEASE ! This lone hope dragged me on through the rest of the climb to the hilltop. A little way away from the temple I saw its rooftop. My supplications for a round, water-filled coconut got intensified. Tears ran down in profusion. I came inching towards the spot that might be my salvation or slumber. While stepping up the two inch pedestal beneath the temple roof, I shut my eyes close, more out of fear of possible frustration than out of devotion to the deity. But I had to open my eyes sometime or other. I heaved a deep breath, offered a last prayer and opened my eyes. And there it was ! A whole, round coconut. I bent low, picked it up , shook it in the air. The water dancing and dashing inside the hard shell sounded like the roars of the cyclone -tossed oceanic waves, just then.
Posted on: Sun, 25 Jan 2015 02:51:56 +0000
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