Nikhil Khasnabish

(“A Walk in Nature” visually narrates the soothing feeling after walking in nature. Walking in the forest calms the mind. The story depicts especially the jungles of Assam.)

Nobody could thrust an idea into Sumit’s mind if he didn’t like it. Sumit went into Ansuman’s room. Ansuman was still sleeping soundly. Sumit lightly jabbed his ribs with his fingers. Ansuman instantly woke up. “Don’t you like to take a walk?” Sumit asked.

      “Where will you go today?” Ansuman sat up in the bed and yawned.

      “We’ll go to the forest.”

      “To the forest?”

      “Yes, to the forest. It’s enjoyable to walk by the forest, in the afternoon. You’ll be able to see wild boar, deer and monkeys there. And also wild cocks and hens. There is a beautiful lake inside the forest.”

*

Sumit and Ansuman entered the forest area. The forest guard confidently came forward. 

      “Good afternoon, Sir. Where are you going?” the guard said and looked at Ansuman.

      “Good afternoon. We’ve just come out for an afternoon walk,” Sumit answered.

      “Please go to the side of the lake. You’ll find migratory birds there. Today two men came from Guwahati and took some pictures of the birds.” The guard adjusted his skullcap.

      “He’s asking us to go to the lake where migratory birds have come. Some ornithologists came from Guwahati and took snaps of the birds,” Sumit said to Ansuman, creasing his forehead. 

      “Do migratory birds come at this time of the year?”

      “I don’t know what species these birds belong to. I never watched the migratory birds at the lake. I don’t know when they come to the lake.”

      They began to walk to the lake fast and reached the lake. Not a single migratory bird was there except some snipe. “Where have they gone, Ansuman? Did the guard joke with us?”

      “Perhaps we haven’t come at the right time. Maybe they’ve flown back to their shelters. Let’s go back.”

      They turned from the lake and started walking through the forest.

      “We have to come in the morning.” Sumit scratched the tip of his nose.

      “We should come with a loaded camera. I think you have a camera, Sumit.”

      “My camera is not that good. Amit has bought a new camera. Pentax efina. Let’s go by the short cut. You’ll know how thrilling it is to pass through a dense, solitary forest. You can feel that the trees can really talk.”

      “Can they really talk?”

      “J C Bose has proved it. I can’t tell you much about this. A political science teacher can’t explain these things.” Sumit smiled and shrugged. The forest was thick ahead. The afternoon sun couldn’t filter through the foliage. Not any wild animals anywhere. 

      “I think tigers and rhinos don’t live in this forest,” Ansuman said.

      “They live only in the sanctuaries. This forest is not a sanctuary.”

      “The smells of the forest are really exhilarating.”

      “You can get the smells of nature in a forest.”

      “Look, some trees are being felled here and there. I regret this recklessness.”

      “These crimes have been committed by some rich people of Sunjuri. They are killers.”

      Ansuman did not say anything.

      “Oh, look at that monkey! It’s come probably to welcome us. You’ll find a lot of monkeys in the forest. Sometimes, they go to the town too.” Sumit shook his head.

      “It’s afraid of us now. So it’s running away. How far is it to the main road? From here?”

      “We’ve come near the road.” Sumit suddenly stopped and put his forefingers on his lips, indicating Ansuman to stop and make no sounds. Tiptoeing, they silently followed the sound. A young man and a young woman were happily lying together. Sumit and Ansuman did not disturb them.

      “They haven’t seen us,” Sumit whispered and pulled Ansuman by the hand and walked away fast. A scooter had been parked under a teak tree. Sumit went near the scooter, read the number plate and recognized its owner. The owner was a clerk in the local branch of a nationalized bank. “Let’s go.” Sumit put his hand on Ansuman’s back.

      “Have you identified the owner?”

      Sumit nodded, caught hold of Ansuman’s right hand and strolled on toward the road, side by side. After some time, the bank clerk with his nervous companion riding the pillion reached them. He slowed down. 

      “Hello, Mr Barkataki, where are you coming from?”

      “We’re taking an afternoon walk.” Sumit focused on the face of the woman straight. “Where did you go?” 

      “We went to one of our colleague’s house, on an invitation,” the bank clerk said. “Please don’t mind. We leave you here. I have to see her home.”

      “Oh, sure!”

      “Sumit, do you know the woman?”

      “She’s a married woman,” Sumit said. The bank clerk accelerated the speed as if he wished to escape from the forest.

      “These things have become common in the small towns too.”

      Sumit looked at Ansuman’s eyes in the twilight. 

*

Diganta and Amit were comfortably sitting in the sitting-room. Sumit came and sat on the divan. Ansuman quietly followed Sumit. Amit got annoyed and left.

      “Where did you go?” Diganta asked Ansuman.

      “To the forest.”

      “What does interest you in the forest?

      “The trees and the wild life. Have you left composing poems, Diganta?” Sumit looked into his eyes.

      “I know you’re ridiculing me. No poet can compose poems in such hard days.”

      “I don’t agree with you. Suppression and oppression inspire the sincere poets to compose better poems. If you are a sincere poet, you can compose better poems now.”

      “Sumit, you’re quite ignorant of the causes of the movement. You don’t feel for us because you don’t know anything about it.”

      “Diganta, you’re wrong. I know what you don’t know. I think you’ve joined the agitation because you don’t know what I know.”

      “What do you mean to say?” 

      “Have you time to listen to me?”

      “Yes.” Diganta nodded his agreement.

      “Then listen, Mr Poet! Since that day of July, nineteen hundred seventy-eight, when All Assam Students’ Union held a meeting at Jorhat, to draft the sixteen-point charter of demands, one point concerning the expulsion of the foreigners from Assam has been smarting my mind. Who are the foreigners here? Without making a concrete definition of the foreigners, how can you shout slogans? Foreigners are there in all countries. Foreigners are like guests. They should be honoured and offered hospitality. I’ll always repeat it. Having the reputation of a gentle and hospitable race in India, should we do something to blemish our image? Last week, I had been to Guwahati. I was returning to my friend’s house, after buying a book at Panbazar. Then I saw some graffiti, which is still fixed in my mind. My mind was gripped with an unknown fear. Who did write the graffiti? And why? The graffiti clearly showed the people you call foreigners. I think you are well-aware of such writings. So I don’t say in vain that sinister clouds are hovering over our heads.” Sumit moistened his lips. “Mangaldai Parliamentary by-election was only an issue to bring the vested interests of the frustrated politicians to the surface. The politicians have now joined the agitation to build their careers. In my opinion, you aren’t fighting for your identity and security. Being hypnotized by these two words, you’re simply shouting and struggling for making their platform stronger, forgetting your security and identity. It may sound nonsense to you. But it’s not nonsense. The weak Governments at the Centre and the State have made the situation conducive for these frustrated politicians. I don’t know why you shout such slogans against the so-called foreigners.”

      “Distance disturbs understanding. Join us to know us well.” Diganta breathed deeply.

      Sumit realized that what he had told had failed to impress Diganta.

      Diganta got up.

      “Are you angry, My Poet?” Ansuman asked.

      Diganta shook his head horizontally.

      “Don’t write slogans, Diganta. Write poems. Intelligent readers like poems. Not slogans.” Sumit laughed.

      Diganta gave him a sidelong glance and disappeared. 

      “The poet has grown angry,” Ansuman said. 

      “His anger doesn’t last long. I like to make him angry like this.”

      “He is very good at heart. He’s your real friend. He always praises you.”

      Sumit ran his tongue over his lips.