A Walk To Remember

My mind was filled with melancholy. I was too distraught to sleep. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I felt the burden of loneliness crushing upon me, for the first time in my life. It was a strange night. The night spoke in my ears about how I have chosen to lose all that was special to me, all that I held dear.

I sat up on my bed, frustrated. And then it occurred to me, like a blissful breeze. I have to do this today. If not today, then when? And if I don’t do this today, I will never be able to do it.

It was nearly four in the morning. But outside, it was hardly any better than the night. I dressed up and packed my bag and was ready to leave. I woke up my mother and told her that I will be gone for some time but I would return by afternoon. I told her not to worry about me.

But as I stepped outside the door, my heart was filled with uncertainty. So, I thought that I should sit by the lake for some time. And so I did. I sat on the cold bank and prayed for strength for the journey that lay ahead of me.

At thirty minutes past four, I started walking.

This was something new for me, something out of my imaginations. For days I had hoped for this. For days I had planned about setting off so suddenly and without any destination. But for days I had only planned and never dared to actually set off. And here I was, walking alone in the darkness of the early morning of winter, my fists clasped between my armpits to keep them warm.

There was something magical about the road that lay ahead of me. The fog of night allowed me to see only a few metres ahead of me. The rest was shrouded in its thick envelope.

I have to remain vigilant, I kept saying to myself; for the trucks ran like hell on these roads and they, too, must be suffering from visibility problem. At any sign of distant headlight or rumble of engine, I stepped down from the road and walked on the sidewalk till the monstrous vehicle passed by me.

After half an hour of walk, I was going through a village. It was so dark that I could not even see myself properly. I heightened my auditory senses. And as I did so, even the most ordinary sounds seemed to become extraordinary. The chattering of crickets rose like a din. And even the faintest rustling sound made me start. I stepped up my pace. The ghostly atmosphere was getting on my nerves. But at the same time, at some level, it was bringing peace to my mind. I can say so because the overwhelming melancholy of my mind was slowly ebbing out, making way for a profound sense of purpose.

A series of high tension wires stretched along the side of the road. The darkness, the fog and the crackling sound of the HT wires... oh what a symphony they created together...as if the night was waving its wand like the conductor and all its elements were obeying its every motion, thus creating a harmony of musical fusion.

The road that I have travelled for years appeared unfamiliar. It was out of a dream world. And it reminded me of a dream I used to have when I was younger—I was walking alone on a straight road for eternity.

The emptiness around me was obvious. As far as my eyes could see, there were no settlements...only fields with dried crops. I crossed a mustard field. Its yellow colour flashed even in the darkness.

I varied my pace from time to time. For some time I walked briskly to cover the maximum ground and then for another interval, I walked slowly to give my legs some rest. The road seemed never ending.

In an hour and half, I had covered eight kilometres. The day was becoming clearer, even though, the sun was not visible yet. I stopped in a village, by the name of Maliara. I had bread and a rest period of about fifteen minutes and then I began my walk once again.

One-third of my journey was over, for by that time, I had fixed my mind on the destination. It was Durgapur. From Maliara, I stepped off the main road and moved into a bypass road through the village. The milestone by the road showed me that Metali, another village, was seven kilometres from here. The Durgapur Barrage was another five kilometres from Metali.

The sun had come out and the magical aura was disappearing. But the sense of purpose was not lost. When I had set off, I did not know my destination, but now it was different. But there was a little problem. My legs were wearing out and I did not know how long it would take before they succumbed to the pressure. I am no hiker. And the longest I have walked at a stretch, willingly, was for an hour or two. But this journey seemed never ending.

After I crossed the eleven kilometre milestone, the first signs of real fatigue began to appear. It was becoming really difficult to walk. So I decided to have a rest period. I sat beside an irrigational canal and tried to find a small amount of peace in the kol kol sound of the flowing stream. I stretched my legs, feeling the warm gush of blood through my veins, bringing relief to the wearied muscles.

The journey became difficult from then. I had not slept at night. As a result, my head was dizzy. To top it, my legs were aching and my back was hurting. I felt pity for myself...at my weakness. But I kept walking, at the same time. I kept saying to myself—at the end of the journey there is peace, but to find that peace, I must reach the end of the journey. I have to walk.

When I reached Metali, my legs were screaming and all I wished for was a soft bed to lie on. I kept repeating to myself...only five kilometres...four kilometres...three...

Oh! Why doesn’t this road end? The closer I came to my destination, the harder everything became. I tried to keep a normal face, biting back the pain that was searing through my limbs. The journey seemed no longer magical to me. All the charms and heavenly beauty were gone. All that remained was numbers—the distance that separated me from the barrage.

And at last, after walking for almost four and a half hours, with two very short breaks in between, I was there. I slumped onto a bench and could not move for the next twenty minutes. I sat there, wondering what the purpose of all this was. I was tired to the bone but at the same time I felt cleansed from the inside. My mind was at peace. Maybe this is why people go on pilgrimage...to cleanse their inner dirt by the pain of their limbs.

The water of the Damodar river appeared peaceful, but a thousand ripples glided through the surface. And the ripples brought with them masses of floating water vegetation, like entire continents. They merged together and dispersed, took new form every now and then...so magical and yet so neglected... They all speak out to us, asking us to follow them. And if we listen to their call, everything falls into place, every last piece of the gigantic jigsaw puzzle. And we hear the eternal words—peace...peace...peace...