Locomotoring

We are approaching the Bengali New Year, Pohela Boishakh. This is also the time when Kalboishakhi, i.e., nor’wester, starts up. Literal translation of Kalboishakhi is “calamity during the month of Boishakh”. Kalboishakhi, while always expected around this time of the year is totally unpredictable. It is marked by localized torrential rains preceded by 40-50 mph winds, gale speed, in the afternoon. It comes as a violent burst and lasts briefly. The rain and cooling are eagerly awaited by all. They also cause a lot of destruction. Back in the days when waterways and small boats were a popular way of getting about, Kalbaishakhi would invariably result in significant loss of life. Ditto with damage to mud houses whose roofs would get ripped off. In modern day Bengal, the most significant damage comes from uprooting of large trees and electric poles. There is still loss of life.

Unfortunately, the climate change has resulted in fewer but more violent storms. We may yet experience this burst during our week in Kolkata. What we are surely experiencing right now are some wonderfully breezy mornings and evenings. The open windows let it the sounds of civilization – chirping of birds, blare, honking and beeping of vehicles – and mixes it in with indoor sounds, the creaking of the fan, the flapping of the curtains, whistling of the pressure cooker, clanking of the kitchen utensils and more.

I didn’t have to explore too long to find the Bengali poet, Mohitlal Majumdar, who had dedicated an entire poem to Kalbaishakhi. The poem starts with the quiet before the storm where the elderly trees are frightened, counting down the minutes while awaiting their bad luck. He describes the hot afternoon sun as an angry red eye, soon to be made blind by the clouds. The initial stillness of the cloud cover is described as a large umbrella covering the earth. Humans and birds are woken from their siesta to stare at the developing clouds. The wind is described as charged, waiting to explode. Then as the clouds darken, the poet imagines the earth as a large wok, where the clouds are starting to bubble up. He wonders if the clouds are like mountains, rising out of earth, to swallow the sun. He sees a cloud as an uncombed twisted knot of hair on Shiva’s head. The daytime starts to look like evening, as if a princess has let down her hair and that hair is covering the poet’s face in a veil. He likens the thunder with angry elephants fighting each other goaded by the sharp metal hook of their Mahouts. Here, the elephants are reminder of the eight guardians of earth in Hindu mythology. He describes the huge tusks of elephants shredding the mountains to smithereens. He envisions a war between the two mighty opponents, the thunder and the gale. The blue lightning is the result of sword cutting open the opponent. He then describes the clouds dissolving into rain thereby allowing the sun to re-enter the scene. The departing drumbeats of thunder are described as the sounds of victory in the battlefield. The trees that are left standing up start to breathe again. The poem winds down with hope for the new, what will start life after the rain.