It was the winter of 1979. I was employed in Ranchi - then in Bihar, now Jharkhand. I frequently went to Dhanbad on work. The company I worked for then was in the business of electronics for mining, especially coal mining, and hence Dhanbad. I usually took a 'de-lux' bus from Ranchi and reach Dhanbad in the evening.
Those journies feel unreal now. Roads were really bad. At many places, all that was visible around me was scrub jungle without a sign of human habitation. The dust raised by vehicles on these roads had settled on the trees and bushes and the scene was incredibly dreary and depressing. What made me look outside eagerly was that in the middle of nowhere, there would be a single, thatched house, perhaps with a few goats or cattle, a couple of hens, smoke rising out of the whole thatched roof, no chimney there, a woman doing some chore with an infant on her hip, a little girl playing all by herself or doing some chore. No other human in sight. I have never understood why they were there. What did they live on? How did that poor lady end up in a place like that? What future did the little girl or the infant have? Only disturbing questions and no answers.
The bus passed a bridge on a small river with just a trickle of flowing water. It was at least a hundred and fifty meters below at the deepest point. It was a cantilever bridge built of steel, if my memory serves me right. It was painted with "silver" paint in some unrecorded and indeterminate past. Now only rusty patches were visible. The road on the bridge had holes in it in some places and one could perhaps see the river below. It creaked and groaned when the bus crossed it. The bus crawled across at very low speed, pitching and rolling like a small craft in rough sea. I let my breath out, with relief, every time I crossed that bridge and become aware that I was holding my beath only then.
I have crossed that bridge a couple of times by the company jeep. I remember the Jeep’s registration number even today. DED 757. The driver, Mohammed Naim, always bragged that he was a pilot piloting a craft more modern than the Boeing 747. I have often wondered what my mother would have done then, if she saw the bridge and the road I had used.
The owner of the company I worked for, once took a couple of Britishers on this road, by jeep, to Dhanbad. He called the bridge The Tower Bridge and recounted with great glee that they were livid!
After this perilous crossing, the bus crossed roads under which, deep in the fiery bowels of the earth, coal burned! The road here was more uneven and there were just patches of the original road surface left. There was a black dust covered board that read, "ROAD ON FIRE. DRIVE AT YOUR OWN RISK". For those who do not know what this is all about: there are large reserves coal in this area. Though they are underground, they have caught fire. Though still very much underground, the coal is burning. If you search on the net, you will find some details.
Here, there was human habitation around. Right next to the road on fire! Actually these houses were on land underneath which a fire blazed. I am told that it is a distinct possibility that the earth under your feet could open up and you could fall into the inferno below. I have never heard that it actually happened, but the theoretical possibility exists. When I heard that, my first thought was that one won’t suffer much and the end would be mercifully swift. In this area, I have actually seen plumes of smoke rising from the ground. In spite of all this, there is some vegetation! You can only marvel at the hardiness and tenacity of life. In this area the air is always smoke filled. There is a dull yellow streak to the sunlight. In Dhanbad itself, the air is so thick with smoke and coal dust that I have stared into the sun, still high up above the horizon, with naked eyes. You perhaps do not need any protection other than normal dark glasses to watch a solar eclipse.
After one such journey, I had reached Dhanbad and settled into an air conditioned room, a first for me I think. The hotel was called The Black Diamond. I had had a late dinner and slept. The next morning, I got ready to go to work. I came down to the restaurant for breakfast. When I looked out, the streets looked deserted. I did not wonder why. I went to the reception to hand in my keys and I was told that I could not go out! There had been some trouble the previous night and a curfew had been imposed. I do not remember if it was communal violence or a gang war. Yes, you heard it right. There is coal Mafia in Dhanbad and a gang war could easily bring the whole place to a standstill.
I had no idea what to do. There was no TV. I had carried a novel with me and it was over very soon. I had brought that more out of habit and not because I had not imagined that I would get any time to read! I was told that the curfew would be relaxed at noon for an hour, so that people could get some essential supplies. It so happened that there was a very good book shop near the hotel and made a beeline to it. While browsing, I came across a two-volume set called “Morning Deluge”, by Han Suyin. I had not heard of her. I read about the her and what the book was about in the blurb and was intrigued. Her prose sounded very poetic. There was a portrait of Mao on the cover. I asked the bookseller if I could buy just the first volume. To my surprise, he said yes! So, I bought it and hurried back to the hotel.
The day was full of reading and many cups of tea. I loved the tea there because it was made the Bengali way, light, sweet, aromatic and very watery. I was so enthralled by the book and Han Suyin's writing that I had finished the book by noon the next day. Having read, Red Star Over China by Edgar Snow I was fascinated with China. This book had whetted my appetite. Han Suyin's writing is unpretentious and it often made me feel that I was reading a long poem. The combination made it impossible to put it down. By breakfast the next day the book was finished. I eagerly waited for noon so that I could buy the second volume. By the morning after, I had finished that too.
The curfew was lifted the next day. I did meet the people I was supposed to, but nothing really got done. In spite of it, I made the perilous journey back to Ranchi feeling fulfilled. Soon I looked for other books by Han Suyin and have read many with great satisfaction.
