The trip was long and very tiring. Our American friend Pagli, Baba and I took a normal sleeper class train, in which we spent two days and almost two nights. I never manage to get a good sleep on such a train. For instance there are shouting travelling vendors constantly jumping in and out of the train trying to sell chai, snacks, cheap watches or whatever; and usually they do so when I am just about to fall asleep. I always admire the Indian art of being able to sleep in whatever place and under whatever circumstances; it’s amazing! Yet I prefer train rides to busses; at least you can walk around, there is a toilet (even if most of the time bringing yourself to use it might take a larger amount of courage) and you can sit at the open door to watch the landscapes rushing by for a while.
Pagli and I were imagining how it would be to live in a small Bihari village, but actually had not idea of what to expect really. We asked Baba many questions about life there, his family and his 103 year old grandfather who was presently on his deathbed, which was the reason we decided to go on this trip in the first place. Baba told us some of his childhood memories; He remembered the elephant his grandfather once owned, recounted some urban myths like the mysterious money printing machine, which somebody one day buried somewhere in the village, but which never could be found, that many Biharis out of necessity work as illegal gun-makers and how quite a number of scorpions used to sit on the ceiling of the classroom during the monsoons.
If that didn’t sound like and adventure, well then I don’t know!
Late at night of the second day we finally arrived in Patna, the capital of Bihar. I don’t remember that I ever felt that much exhausted before. I felt sweaty and dirty. It was July and it was sticky and unbearably hot. Another disadvantage of sitting in a sleeper class train is that the windows don’t have glass panels and you end up breaded with dust like a pakora.
It was raining when we went off the train. The streets consisted only of mud and puddles. Baba’s brother was supposed to pick us up at the railway station, but we couldn’t find him. He had probably been waiting at the station for a long time, as our train, of course, had a delay of several hours. Finally Baba found him and after a short and a formal greeting he led us out of the station area through the mud, where I lost one of my slippers in the thick dirt. I was carrying a pretty big backpack and felt like in a boot camp while I was trying to follow the small group through the rainy night.
Baba’s brother, who resembled him a lot, reckoned that Patna station was a dangerous area and more for two female foreigners and that it was safer to get away from there as fast as possible. It was about 2 a.m. and the rickshaws and taxis were not operating yet, so we took refuge under a tin roof that belonged to one of the closed shops. We wearily sat down on a couple of wooden benches. There was a police office next door, which felt kind of comforting. A whole regiment of mosquitoes was attacking us under the ugly neon lights. I had to fight hard to keep my eyes open; at least the insects helped me to stay awake. For a moment I even thought that I was hallucinating when I discovered some tiny snakes that looked more like earthworms crawling underneath the bench on which we were sitting. With excitement I informed Baba about my discovery
“Oh, look Baba! Little Baby-snakes!”
Baba looked and jumped up to shove them quickly aside with his foot
“This wallah very dangerous! Much poison! This biting you then you dead!”
Three hours later the first Rickshaw-wallah showed up and we headed for Baba’s village, which is 12 Km away from the capital. During the ride my mind did nothing else but to repeat the following mantra like a zombie over and over again:
“SHOWER, SLEEPING! SHOWER, SLEEPING! SHOWER, SLEEPING…”
The sun was already rising while we were driving by lush green rice fields. The rickshaw suddenly stopped on Baba’s demand. We finally had arrived! We had to walk down a slope to reach the village, which we could see in a near distance. Pagli jumped out of the Rickshaw, slid and sled down the slope holding her Banjo high over her head to save it from getting damaged.
Like this we marched towards the village:
Exhausted, stinky, dirty and clustered with mud!