Etched... (Part 2)

I licked the raspberry ice candy, and ambled along the busy lanes of the Bazaar, gaping at the surroundings, absent mindedly. What I loved about this place was its smell. A few minutes of stroll here was nothing short of a nasal experience of thousands of smells that one could never find on the other side of the Bridge. Dust, burnt tobacco, spices, mustard oil smelling of fried tit-bits, new clothes, rubber, incense sticks, polished wood… It was a labyrinth of inexplicably blended aromas. And then there was the din of shouting traders, haggling customers, tingling bells of the rickshaws, dogs barking, motorists honking their vehicles… I dint realize how long I took to walk just a furlong.

A couple of people were running towards me, someone was screaming for water. A usual street brawl. I knew I had to be careful and keep away from any uncivil activity but I also wanted to reach our shop quickly, so I kept walking. After a few minutes, I found the crowd thinning and the line of shops along the side of the lane becoming visible. It was highly suffocating to fight my way through rustic, smelly people who refused to budge. Eventually, when I felt it was easy to elbow some space and get out of the crowd, I pulled myself outside for a breath of fresh air. I inhaled with all my might to the extent my lungs could withhold. But the air no more smelt of the sundries of the Bazaar. Disturbed, I opened my eyes.

Demonic red flames ate away the colorful saris which were displayed outside the shops. Fire leapt up into the sky, reforming into sooty black fumes.

I saw Baba standing in front of one of the shops, looking aghast. There were tears in his eyes.
I froze… It was our shop.

I saw a group of men running around to help Choto Kaku and the workers put off the fire. I stood there, confused, not knowing whether to move or not. Hundreds of saris-cotton, nylon, silk, chiffon were ablaze, the fire transforming every design, every color, every texture, into black crumbled nothings. And with them, was ablaze, Baba’s life – his sweat and struggle for years, his dreams and aspirations. And with them were ablaze our happiness, our livelihood, our future.

I looked around myself. People were getting scalded in their attempts to douse the fire. There were too many people running helter-skelter. Some were standing a bit away, watching the whole drama. But my eyes kept on searching for a familiar face.

Where was Mili?

I walked towards Baba and took his hand. “Baba?” I asked. “Where’s Mili?” He dint say anything, just stared at the fire.
“Mili kothay, Baba?”
I could have been dreaming. But I had a dirty feeling that something was never going be alright ever. I sensed a lump in my throat. Fighting against the urge to cry, I called him again, “Baba?”
Tears rolled down his cheeks. And he hid his face in his hands. As if he wanted to see no more. As if he wanted to be seen no more.
“Vava!!” I pouted and began to cry.

“ Golu, amaar Mili…. Everything happened so quickly... I was… I wanted to…” He said, trying to breathe between his sobs. I looked towards our shop. I dint know what i was thinking then. My limbs felt extremely heavy and my brain was seemingly numb. All i knew was that somewhere amidst the blazing rows of saris, was my poor little Mili, helpless, horrified, screaming.

I ran towards Choto Kaku and grabbed his kurta. “Is someone going to get Mili out?”, I asked, barely able to speak amidst my sobs and hiccups that followed. “Is someone inside with her? Which floor is she on? Did you hear her scream?”

“Shondeep!!!” Kaku held my shoulders tightly and shook me. “We have been trying to put off the fire for a long time now. She is trapped inside with two other workers. Even if we get them out, I don’t think they would ever be the same." He exclaimed. "Golu…” He said slowly, “...It’s over.” His eyes were red and swollen and his hands, trembling. I guess he was also as scared as I was. My eyes were then on Baba. He was now sitting on the ground with his hand on his chest.

“I don’t believe you”, I said, tears dripping from my chin.

“Goluda, can you touch the ceiling of the bus?”

“Bhoy peyona, bhoy peyona tomae ami marbona..”

“Would I have to grow a moustache to travel alone in the bus?”

“shotti bolchi kusti kore tomar shathe parbo na…”

“You want to go to the bazaar all alone. I shall go and ask Baba. He loves me more than you!”

"...obhoye dichchi shuncho na je? dhorbo naki theng duto?..."

“Shondeep!! Come fast! We're getting late!”

“I don’t...” I whispered, as I helplessly watched the huge sign board of our shop and the extended ceiling crumble to dust.

Burrabazar was never the same after that.

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P.S: Burrabazar is one of the oldest wholesale markets in India. It has been a trading hub since the British Era and continues to be a prime commercial node of Kolkata. Unfortunately, due to crumbling infrastructure, and blatant defiance of building safety norms, the bazaar is prone to major fire hazards. Till now, the area has witnessed umpteen outbreaks of fire which have destroyed thousands of shops and killed as many people. It is claimed that the Municipal Corporation has been trying to pull down unsafe buildings to avert any further tragedies. But thanks to bureaucracy and a lot many unexplained reasons, nothing material seems to have happened. Burrabazar is still waiting for a disaster to happen... Yet again.
The above story is purely a work of fiction… just an attempt to capture the feelings of one of the many unfortunate, who have lost their loved ones in the Burrabazar mishaps. Sadly, my protagonist is too young to realize that deaths and tragedies are too frequent a matter at a place he calls his favorite.