The Divine Suggestion

Sanjaya Mishra

The not so small hill, capped by the guesthouse created a silhouette against the crimson rays of the setting sun, as if determined to shield the bazaar in the valley. But, I knew the June sun here was relentless throughout the day.

"Jharbandh Sir," the driver said, stopping the jeep at the foot of the hill where concrete steps led up the hill as well as to the guesthouse. Intrigued by the novelty of such a construction at such a remote place, I ascended the steps - exactly fifty-two of them. The flat land at the top of the hill, also occupied a small temple that had a big red flag fluttering tirelessly in the hot evening wind. Deciding against going inside, I sat on a chair on the verandah, hoping it would soon cool down.

Extending a cup of scalding hot tea, the watchman introduced himself; "I am also the priest of the temple, Sir." His watchman uniform and a forehead lined with three parallel lines of vermilion marks confirmed his dual responsibility. "Why don't you take a 'darshan' Sir? It is 'aarti' time. All the babus do so when they come here", he continued. "But, shouldn't one wash before the 'puja'?" I asked.

The darkness was deepening when I paid homage to the deity at the temple. The lights at the small village bazaar in the valley below and the twinkling stars surrounding the half moon above formed contrasting visions of two different worlds.

"The deity inside the temple was actually in a cave in the thick jungle on the western side of the hill." The watchman had unobtrusively crept by my side and was pointing west. "I brought her here," he continued not awaiting my response. "The Additional District Magistrate was here when I placed her here." I was not particularly interested in hearing of the deity's travels. Eventually, the lack of response on my part kept him from further elaborating. I was here for a reason. My mission was to locate a portable source of water in a village fifteen kilometers from here.

Early the next morning, I set out when the sun was just peeping out over the eastern horizon. I almost found it difficult to believe that so far from the hustle and bustle of urbanity, on this remote corner of the world where for its inhabitants, the day begins and ends within the valley, here too, in their small villages, the sun shone.

Covered by dust, I got down from the jeep in the village and soon found myself surrounded by a small crowd of people. While the driver struggled to keep the inquisitive children at bay, I took a tour of the village. The exposed boulders all around radiated so much heat that I began to sweat profusely. Trying my best to ignore the attacking heat, I engaged myself in conducting the water tests. Working on the second series of trials, I had to work very hard to summon up and apply some of my scientific knowledge on the field. My driver approached and said in a low voice, "Sir, there is no hotels nearby. These people want us to have lunch with they here."

At a distance some of the villagers were looking on, probably expecting some sort of sign of affirmation from me. Although there is no written official code forbidding it, I knew it was not wise to have lunch with the villagers while on duty. I suspected the driver, always a smart fellow, might have had a hand in arranging the lunch invitation. Sensing my reluctance, the village head came closer and repeated the invitation in an apologetic tone that I could not refuse. So, after completing my tests, I, along with half a dozen villagers settled for a lunch of desi chicken and rice in the village head's house.

"When an officer like you come to our village, we ask for wisdom from them," commented one. "What kind of wisdom?" I enquired. "Some ways and means to solve our problems....", he went on inarticulately. They certainly had problems. There was only one primary school in the nearby village, the public health center, the only visible signs of the growth of civilization in the post-independent India was some fifteen kilometers away.

After lunch, when I offered them money for the meal, they vehemently refused to accept it and informed that me it had been arranged for from their village fund. Assuring them that the recommendation for drilling for a well would soon be sent, I returned to the guesthouse.

Upon my return, the watchman-cum-priest approached me with a request bordering on command to pay homage to the temple diety that evening. After dinner, I sat on the verandah allowing the now cooler breeze to hit my face. The lights in the valley below had already died down as if accepting defeat at the hands of the bright stars and the naughty moon above. As I thought about the tests conducted that afternoon, a sense of uneasiness began to creep into me. The sources I had tested had not been encouraging as a potential source of water. I was duty bound to locate a good source of water for them. In their small world and within their limited knowledge, they had taken me to be a kind of a savior who could provide a commodity essential for their living. Their simplicity and need, coupled with the lunch offered during the day added an ethical dimension to the whole issue.

The next morning, as I boarded the jeep to depart the village in the valley, the watchman-priest smeared vermilion on my forehead and presented pieces of coconuts as 'prasad' and proclaimed with all seriousness, "the second site where you conducted the test yesterday would be the ideal site for finding water - so the deity says." I was taken aback. Surely, the fellow must have gathered the information about my work from the people who come to the bazaar. Could it have been 'divine knowledge' behind his suggestions or something else. The analysis of the field data through computer aided techniques in the office put me in a fix. The best site was not the second one as declared by the watchman-priest, rather they pointed towards the first test site. However, it is a fact that the scientific method for finding water bodies is not always cent-percent accurate. There have been cases when even with all positive indications, not a drop of water was found. Such are the vagaries of nature.

With the previous days lunch in the village still at the back of my mind, I found myself in a dilemma trying to determine which site was best to take up drilling. After much deliberation, I decided to go by my scientific moorings, not allowing myself to be swayed by any providential directive.

Much to my relief, three weeks later, I was notified that the drilling had been a success, and that the villagers were happy to have a source of water. They had conveyed their gratitude to me through the local officer.

That night, at the dinner table, I regaled my father about the work at the village. I described how I backed my scientific understanding and how it paid dividends. After listening carefully, my father, a judge said, "But my dear, how can you be so sure that the other site would not have yielded just as much water. By your own admission, your so-called scientific endeavors are not foolproof. So, if you had settled for the other site, you might have been able to hit upon a more bountiful source. Perhaps, a water supply project to the village could have been initiated then." Suddenly, I had nothing to say. That comment of his set into motion a chain of thoughts, an array of imponderables. Why did I not even consider the watchman-priest's recommendation? It is true that even the scientific method is not fully dependable. Why then did I not even consider the watchman-priest's counsel? Questions: the answers for which I am still groping towards.