A Time of my Life : Part 3

With time, memory fades but memoirs remain. The exact reason for this post.

This was possibly the Summer of 2003.

JNNCE. An engineering college in the midst of nature, far from humanity and beside an agricultural college where fruits, sweet enough for the palate as well as the eye could be found in abundance.

Fruits-for-the-eye were spotted long back by young boys in our batch who fought their biological clocks to go for early morning jogs especially to that corner of our cricket ground where they could be spotted.

Deepak Verma was not one of them. He was all for fruits for the palate. Being the university champ in weight-lifting, he was the only 2nd year student who had the privilege of staying in the single-room Sharavati hostel usually meant for final year students. For obvious reasons Deepak never had to face 'ragging'. He was amazingly pious, vegetarian, and extremely strong... everything that I was not.

Sometimes he would descend from his high echelon and meet the devils purging in hell (Room 219 & 220 Tunga Hostel). On this night he brought with him a plan that would send a chill down the spines of hell itself.

The Plan: There was supposedly a mango orchard at the rear of the agriculture college ('AG college' as we called it) and Deepak wanted to loot it in the middle of the amavasya night. I wonder if mango isnt the true forbidden fruit because it succeeded in luring the saint to sin. Sagar, Pandu, KK, Vishal, Uncle, Thakur and I answered the call. We just needed something to do and the plan sounded chivalric enough to a young boy. Uncle by the way was christened so because of his shrill voice which sounded more like a dog being ass-whipped.. his actual name being Amit Kishore.

Now, this was the pre-google map era . We had no idea where in the midst of the 500 acre college was this Garden of Eden.We got hold of black (or near black) trousers and t-shirts to camouflage ourselves. I wore a deep blue track-suit which i used to wear to the gym. This was the time when I had barely started gymming primarily as a response to Deepak's taunts and encouragements. Each one of us had a massive travel bag. These bags had a strange life cycle. They would be filled with new clothes, and condiments at the beginning of every semester when we arrived from home and with garments soiled beyond recognition when we headed back home at the end of the semester. This was mid-sem, so they were lying supine in our closets unknowing of the misfortune waiting on them. To avoid suspicion from the prying eyes of our inquisitive hostel mates, we threw these bags out of our window. They now lay on the grass by the pond at the rear of our hostel.

It was around 11 in the night and the hostel gates used to be locked at 12.The theory behind it was to save the students from 'outside elements'. Given the fact that these students were a dangerous section of human race, my opinion was that the hostel gates were locked to keep the outside safe from them. The concept being similar to that of a zoo. Anyway, we trickled out in ones and twos without raising any alarms. If we came across 'Suresha' the usual excuse would be that we were going to 'Mamu's for milk, phone call, smoke or 'chikki' and that we 'd be back in 5 mins. No issues.

Now 11pm is evening by hostel standards. Our journey was scheduled for midnight. So the next stop was at Chandu's apartment in DVS. DVS was an archipelago of individual houses located just behind our college premises. The house owners rented them to students on the basis of 'goodwill'. If the hostel was a zoo.. DVS was the natural reserve for the preservation of wild animals. If you did not know anyone there, you would be ill-advised to venture there especially in the night. Chandu's was the only house we used to visit in DVS .. and with good reason.

Eight boys cladded in black, with rucksacks slung over their shoulders knocked on heaven's door... and archangel Gabriel answered. Chandu had prepared his extra-spicy Manipuri style chicken curry for us and we ate with a silence belying us. Deepak was the one who did the pep-talk while we ate. He pointed out that there could be night-guards at AG and in the event that any one of us got caught, the rest would not abandon him. Chances were high that there would be just a couple of guards. So, we stood a better chance to fight them if we stayed together than to abandon one of us. It was decided that if need be we would beat up the guard if he disrupted our escape attempt. The history books would note it down as the second battle in Indian history to be fought in a mango orchard after The battle of Plassey.

A suggestion was also made to wrap our heads with dark towels to become unrecognizable, but given the visibility of an amavasya night, it would prove to be more a hindrance to us than to the opponent. Hence, the suggestion was dropped.

At 1 in the night, we started. No maps, no compasses, no pole star... just a hunch and Verma's direction.. we headed south-west. Shimoga is a very green place, but during summer when rain is scarce the place can become very arid. This was summer and the farm lands through which we were traversing now were dry. Big chunks of earth had been ploughed and abandoned, waiting perhaps for the rain to return. All of us wore sports shoes, but occasionally would trip over each other and utter an obscenity. Through the barren land we walked. It was pitch dark. After a mile we found a rock which stood like a monster forcing its ugly head out of the parched earth. We rested on it. KK lit a cigarette. The red glow and the spiraling smoke looked like an ominous beacon. Deepak was not impressed. While the torch was doing its Olympic relay, we discussed our plan from here. Most of us were quietly listening as Deepak spoke. Sagar i think cracked some of his unique jokes to make Deepak a bit more angry. Uncle was the live wire. In his attempt to keep his unique voice down to a whisper, he was sounding funnier. We warned him that the orchard was a place to steal mangoes.. not to eat them. The devouring could be done once we were back in our den. All done we resumed our journey.

After about a mile more of trudging we reached the barbed wires. Beyond it was AG, dense in its foliage even in the summer months. about a 100 meters from the barbed wires was the banana plantation which ran for the next 300 meters. Then came a meandering road crossing which one would reach another fence of barbed wires. Beyond it lay the garden of Eden. The silence of the night was marred by the rustling of leaves from the yonder array of eucalyptus. They looked like dancing phantoms mocking the escapade of eight mortals. But, first, the barbed wires in a row of 3, the highest being about 6 feet.

The fence had concrete columns at a distance around which the wires were wrapped. We threw our bags to the other side. Deepak was the first one to cross the fence. the rest did it with a couple of bruises and torn trousers. Pandu was in front of me. Being about 20 kgs heavier than me, he needed a couple of attempts and an extra leverage of my modest strength in the right place to go to the other side. Finally, we had entered the promised land.

We moved in twos through the grassland till we reached the banana plantation. The only thing consistent was the sound of the heart beat between the ears. The tension was palpable. Every now and then, someone would spot a light seeping through the leaves. Was it a street lamp, a torch or an innocuous bulb hanging in an AG hostel room , we did not know. Occasionally a dog would bark ensuing a chain or myriad barks from myriad directions. At one point it looked like the place was guarded by the hounds of Baskerville. A thief's mind has to think of all possibilities and half of us were already voting for a plan to steal the bananas and leave the mangoes for later. Sadly, this wasn't the time for banana harvesting.

Deepak said, here on we'd have to crouch and move so that our heads did not bob above the long grass. We obeyed. It is easier to see an actor in a Prahaar or a Lakshya do the same. By the time we reached the meandering road we were half crawling and half swimming in the grass. I can still remember my back and calf muscles begging to let go. I had lost habit of doing sit-ups since my kindergarten days. But, the promised land lay just across the road and beyond another fence of wires. This time there was space beneath the lowest row of wire underneath which we could sneak in, one at a time.

Another small meeting, and the instructions were that a pair of us would take one tree and strip her bare of all her fruits (or till our bags were full... whichever happened first). These mangoes were big and hung at ground level, hence, there was no need to climb the trees. They were so heavy that one hand had to hold it and the other had to just tip the stem at an angle to pluck it off. Pulling the mango with brute force had two disadvantages. 1) a kind of syrup would spurt out from the plucking point. This syrup was dangerous for the eye and the skin on contact. 2) the plucking could make the whole branch ricochet and make enough noise to arouse suspicion. And there was going to be NO whispers in the orchard. Once the bags were full, each of us would return to the rendezvous point from where we were to quietly depart. The loot would be evaluated later in the hostel. Fool proof.

The orchard was surprisingly small. We could see the lights in the guard's room about a 100 meters away. But it was thick in foliage. The mangoes hung at about 5 feet from the ground. Even in the dark they looked paler than the leaves and were easily spotted. The problem was to be the dry leaves that covered the base of the trees. The lighter you trudged on them, the noisier they became. Deepak and i took the first tree to the left. I kept plucking the mangoes and he deposited them in my bag. Within minutes my bag was full. We changed parts and filled his bag. I used to weigh around 65-70 kgs in those days. An addition of another 30kg was significant. I could feel it. I was trying not to think of the miles we would have to travel till i could throw myself on my cot.

Then through that eerie calm came a shrill voice ... arre yeh aam to mast hai yaar !!! ... it was Uncle. Apparently, Uncle had broken the code and given in to his instincts. He was sitting on one of the high branches of his designated tree eating a mango and making obnoxious noise apart from his voice. I could feel Deepak turn red. We quietly went to his tree. I think his partner was Sagar (correct me guys if i am wrong) and he was constantly coaxing Uncle to come down. Deepak tried using some expletives and threats of abandoning Uncle in this wilderness if he did not obey. Uncle finally obliged. There was also an instance when we thought we say someone about 20 meters away and thought it was a security guard; only to realize later that it was one of our black-cats. And then the dog started barking. This was a consistent bark coming from not more than a hundred meters from us. We headed for the fence while it kept barking, and immediately realized than now, each of us had a 30kg baby on our back.

I cannot put in words how it feels to move with bent knees, piggy-backing your 30kg guilt. is it the burden of the weight or the sin .. i do not know... but we did it. most us did not care a damn if our heads were bobbing above the grass. We were just running with all our might till we reached the first fence where Pandu had slipped.

Men, learn to give our foot soldiers as much respect as you can because they deserve more. That 300 m dash gave me an inkling of how it feels to climb mountains with heavy ammunition (far heavier than a bag full of mangoes) to fight the unseen enemy with the singular motivation of fighting for ones motherland. NO mangoes and NO cots to enjoy when you reach the end. An enemy bullet if you are unlucky and respite if you are lucky. Salute them whenever you can and make every attempt whenever you cannot.

I do not remember much of our journey back to the hostel. Only that we waited for about a couple of hours at the rock where KK had lit the torch to mark the beginning of our venture. We lit a couple more to mark the end. Deepak would occasionally give a hand to one of us when we were tired and could not carry further. At all times he was carrying two bags. Finally, it was 5 in the morning and it was time to re-enter the hostel. We would have to wake up Suresha to open the hostel gates. The train from Bangalore used to reach Shimoga at around 5 am and the plausible explanation was that we had just returned from Bangalore. This practice was common among hostelites and not susceptible to interrogation. Our travel bags and attire made it sound believable. The fact that he saw none of us leave the previous night was just a lucky coincidence.

The loot remained in room 219 and 220 Tunga hostel for the next two months. Every night we would buy packets of milk from Maamu. Deepak had a plastic jug and a churner using which he diligently made pure mango milk shake for his bandits.. and his bandits drank till they could have no more. Every morning the dustbin would be full of mango seeds and skin and hostelites would wonder who got so rich to buy mangoes every day. We wondered too along with them and said we wished whoever they were would give us some to eat.

Coming from Kolkata I have had mangoes aplenty all my life. None tasted better than these. A lot of things in life leave a better taste with an iota of juvenile delinquency.... mangoes too. I returned home at the end of that semester with a bag full of garments soiled beyond recognition... but smelling fruity. As always... Ma did not complain.




PS: A couple of months later KK and I made another venture to that orchard. This time the season was over and we did not return with anything. However we did spend a whole night in that wilderness enjoying the pristine beauty of Mother Earth.. something which I had missed on my first trip.