By the Banks of the Barak

From her days of play in tea gardens and the river Barak to stories of leopards, Ms M. Mitra fondly recalls a world full of simplicity, abundance, and quiet beauty.

I was born in 1940, in Bikrampur. In 1945, my father accepted a job in Cachar, Assam and moved there with the whole family. I had three brothers, and we lived in a large house next to a tea estate.
It was quite common in those days for leopards to stray into the tea gardens and villages. Whenever news reached us that a leopard was on the prowl, my mother would go from room to room, shutting all the doors and windows. If we were at school, we would be kept back and could only return home once the danger had passed.
The river Barak was our constant companion. We swam in it and used gamchhas (sheer towels) to catch silvery, glittering fish. We loved sailing and would travel up and down the river in boats. Ripe chalta (elephant apples) would drop into the river from trees upstream, and we’d fish them out and feast on them. We seldom had to go to the market; we had a garden where we grew our own produce.
We would play in the tea gardens, opening the buds and drinking the dew that collected in them. With the onset of early autumn, a thick fog would descend upon us. I loved walking past the tea factories then, where the bittersweet fragrance of drying tea leaves filled the air.
Today, I live amidst the noise and bustle of city traffic, but when I think of those days, I travel back, in my mind, to the riverside. I take a moment to sit on its banks, and breathe in the scents of my childhood, and feel happy and rejuvenated.

(As narrated to Support Elders by our member)