Serial

Teen's Scrapbook

Sujoy Roy

(Continued from last issue)

After a week it was time to set back home. Grandpa arranged that the journey to the railway station should be high on view. The elephant of the house, Gangaprasad his name, was led up to our front grass lawn. His driver, Maulabox, was driveling him and calling him choicest bad names. The animal trumpeted like canon balls in the ears. Several house guards surrounded him holding spears. Because, he had a tendency make his way into the living quarters. Uncle was advised to make quick hop, step and jump on top of the animal. Because, Gangaprasad refused to be lessoned. He lowered himself or rose on his legs by sudden swings of mood. At one stage he sat down and started crushing young bamboo shoots which were offered to him. Uncle was helped to mount the elephant. The driver had momentarily dislodged from the animal’s back himself for toilet behind a bush. The local sardar, who was to accompany the city guest to the railhead, was a robber by night. He was peeling a banana for his vitamins.

Gangaprasad stood up at such a moment of delicate unpreparedness. He breathed out like a steam engine in complete combustion. The driver managed to climb the elephant by its trunk. The sardar came up by the tail.

The pachyderm lurched forward, his height was brushing against the mango trees . The three men on his back tried to stretch flat in lizard fashion, to avoid being combed away by the branches. There was a beaten track to the railhead which he avoided. Perhaps there was a shorter course that leads up the elephant trail .Instead, Gangaprasad stepped down in a wayside pool. It was muddy wetland where frogs leaped and mosquitoes swarmed. He pumped in water along with foul gravy of mud and mosquitoes through his trunk and pistoned out on the riders. Giving away hospitality to them in his native wisdom.

In the direction of the railway station a blue sky was getting painted in black smoke from a steam engine. The train started hooting, because it was close to the time pull and chug out. Gangaprasad immediately steadied on a course which was shortest to the smoke in the horizon. He heaved across the crops and ploughed earth, ran into the village fairs. He laid his heavy trunk on horse stables and pig farms. Cocks crowed their rudest shock. Hens went pitchfork from hatching. The country dogs ran and barked their lungs out. The driver used up all his vocabulary to bring order to a likely last ride together.

The train was hooting and the green flag was fluttering in guard’s hand. Gangaprasad ran up to the grass lawn at the platform side, when it was breaking the back of everybody's patience. Now, the question was when would the beast suit itself to seat down. Uncle called for a ladder and climbed down for a big relief to the platform scene. He went back to Calcutta and received a letter from grandpa after two weeks, "Dear Tarun, we are hugely relieved at your safe departure. Gangaprasad is usually sentimental about parting. He ambled away to distances, any news about him seemed outdated . Of late he has come back after a week with another of his kin. Maulabux, the driver and the sardar had to walk back home."

(To be continued).