Motipur ki Moti baat!
My penultimate month in Bihar is about to draw to a close; but the variety & novelty of experiences still amuses me at most times.
So today started as just another day but ended up pretty much unassuming. Towards late afternoon, after having worked the markets of Motihari, we (I was with my sales officers) were supervising the liquidation of expired stocks of Real juice on the request of the local stockist, when the surrounding retailers complained of the stench being felt.
Agreeing with their view, we loaded the remaining 3 cases of expired stocks onto my leased Sumo and sped off to get rid of the same outside town limits. En-route to the town of Muzaffarpur, looking for a suitable dumping place on the way, we made a halt before the village of Motipur. A filthy stream flowed below the main road and seemed ideal for our purpose. With the back door open and one case out, we were about to proceed with our plan when we found a jeep come around and make a halt right behind ours.
8-10 policemen got off and surrounded our vehicle enquiring into the purpose of our halt. With a straight face, they were explained our objective right away. The main officer charged us with trying to carry out something illegal in his jurisdiction area without requisite permissions. Taken aback, we explained ourselves again, but he insisted how cattle that may feed on the water of the stream (filthy stream I repeat) may get poisoned by the expired juice we dispose off in it; his concern then shifted from cattle to humans who may consume it thinking it to be fresh, as though a pack of Real juice comes as manna from heaven, besides, each pack is broken from the seal, juice emptied and pack torn as per policy. Not paying heed to our explanations, he insisted on having a word with his seniors – the intent of getting a quick buck was obvious, but the inherent desire to irritate and squeeze out more than a buck soon took over. Meanwhile, our need to get back to our base seemed postponed beyond late evening.
On the phone soon, his words were unheard to us, but he soon got back with wanting us to join him to the police thana. My appeal to put an end to matters before they progressed further fell on deaf ears and was sharply retorted to by the main officer saying “ab to baat upar tak chali gayi hai!”
My penultimate month in Bihar is about to draw to a close; but the variety & novelty of experiences still amuses me at most times.
So today started as just another day but ended up pretty much unassuming. Towards late afternoon, after having worked the markets of Motihari, we (I was with my sales officers) were supervising the liquidation of expired stocks of Real juice on the request of the local stockist, when the surrounding retailers complained of the stench being felt.
Agreeing with their view, we loaded the remaining 3 cases of expired stocks onto my leased Sumo and sped off to get rid of the same outside town limits. En-route to the town of Muzaffarpur, looking for a suitable dumping place on the way, we made a halt before the village of Motipur. A filthy stream flowed below the main road and seemed ideal for our purpose. With the back door open and one case out, we were about to proceed with our plan when we found a jeep come around and make a halt right behind ours.
8-10 policemen got off and surrounded our vehicle enquiring into the purpose of our halt. With a straight face, they were explained our objective right away. The main officer charged us with trying to carry out something illegal in his jurisdiction area without requisite permissions. Taken aback, we explained ourselves again, but he insisted how cattle that may feed on the water of the stream (filthy stream I repeat) may get poisoned by the expired juice we dispose off in it; his concern then shifted from cattle to humans who may consume it thinking it to be fresh, as though a pack of Real juice comes as manna from heaven, besides, each pack is broken from the seal, juice emptied and pack torn as per policy. Not paying heed to our explanations, he insisted on having a word with his seniors – the intent of getting a quick buck was obvious, but the inherent desire to irritate and squeeze out more than a buck soon took over. Meanwhile, our need to get back to our base seemed postponed beyond late evening.
On the phone soon, his words were unheard to us, but he soon got back with wanting us to join him to the police thana. My appeal to put an end to matters before they progressed further fell on deaf ears and was sharply retorted to by the main officer saying “ab to baat upar tak chali gayi hai!”
Within a few seconds, we had 2 officers seated on the front of the Sumo with the 3 of us at the back and a by now threatened driver finding his way through the pot-holed road into a darkness signaled by one of the officers as the Motipur thana. Faced with uncertainty, man does what he knows best – ‘stays himself’! Having done no wrong, our resolve was to stay put and not give in.
The single public lamp-post with a blazing white tube lit up the outside of the otherwise dark innards of what looked like a long garage built in the middle of nowhere. As with most times in Bihar, the electricity seemed to be on a holiday and the only public authority who would be the last resort for anyone on the lookout for assistance was blanketed completely in its absence. With the main in-charge being out on the rounds, our stupor was broken by the group of policemen who had brought us in, chatting about the further course of action.
Spotting no sign of threat on our faces, the tone now shifted to one of concern, with the main officer claiming how dangerous and notorious the area we had halted at had lately been; stating the instance of a vehicle being plundered after the occupants were relieved of their worldly duties mid-way by some goons a few days prior, claiming as though we had been delivered a service by the sudden appearance of the police there, else the light of day may never have been. The upcoming elections and threats / rumors that do the rounds also gave another opportunity to the uniformed pricks to strengthen their stand – generally, the more one can fatten the chicken before splitting the throat…
The single public lamp-post with a blazing white tube lit up the outside of the otherwise dark innards of what looked like a long garage built in the middle of nowhere. As with most times in Bihar, the electricity seemed to be on a holiday and the only public authority who would be the last resort for anyone on the lookout for assistance was blanketed completely in its absence. With the main in-charge being out on the rounds, our stupor was broken by the group of policemen who had brought us in, chatting about the further course of action.
Spotting no sign of threat on our faces, the tone now shifted to one of concern, with the main officer claiming how dangerous and notorious the area we had halted at had lately been; stating the instance of a vehicle being plundered after the occupants were relieved of their worldly duties mid-way by some goons a few days prior, claiming as though we had been delivered a service by the sudden appearance of the police there, else the light of day may never have been. The upcoming elections and threats / rumors that do the rounds also gave another opportunity to the uniformed pricks to strengthen their stand – generally, the more one can fatten the chicken before splitting the throat…
My word to hasten the process due to the impending journey ahead was met with a “aap abhi jaldi mein kyun hai? Chai pijiyega?”
Spreading out 3 plastic chairs in the verandah, we were told “aaram se baithiye. Aap ke bonafide check karte hi in-charge aap ko jaane denge; aadhe-ek ghante mein pahunchte hi honge…” Our relaxed postures on the seat with a conviction to not give in to the hidden demands of the Gulshan Grover’s of the real world were met with a change in tactic.
The driver who had taken up a seat below the lamppost was summoned to the police jeep and the keys to our Sumo taken away. The original troop was back in the jeep and with a cheer of “aate hain kuch time mein…” the key turning in its chamber with the diesel throttle being heard in the roar of the accelerator and smoke cloud of the rear exhaust. With every passing moment, the conviction to not give in grew stronger and the unexpected cool only made the troop turn off the ignition with the jerking jeep not having moved an inch further. Tense moments followed, in the jeep that is, trying to gauge our reaction – seeing none, an inebriated assistant was called for from the thana and the keys handed over to him.
After having spent almost an hour on a bait that looked juicy but offered no room to bite into, the jeep chugged along throwing aside the mud in its rugged path. It was in the silence that followed, I noticed the only other inhabitants of the thana were 2 police assistants who had taken a seat on the circular cemented bench around the base of the lamppost and 2 drivers seated in the shallow halo of the yellow bulb of their truck that shone through the dark parked at a distance. The inactivity and single blaze of the over-arching lamppost above seemed to be reflecting the mood of the untoward outcome of the very legitimate actions we had planned for the day. Nonetheless, the fact that we had stuck around unaffected, powered us further into planning a safe exit thereon.
All 3 on the telecom airwaves spread the word of our mishap with contacts already being brewed up in action through our random SOS messages passed on earlier. At times, such incidents help one discover the true worth that people consider of oneself. Within a few moments, distant relatives of far-off neighbors had been contacted and at least 4 spokes on the human web touching our current location had been activated – a politician in the ministry, thana in-charge of Muzaffarpur police station, the local newspaper media journalist and one of the assistants at Motipur thana itself. I was not finally aware as to which of the contacts worked, but when the main in-charge made his way into the thana, he offered chai (this time genuinely) and apologized for the delay in arrival.
Making his way to the chamber, the bulb above his seat that strung from a wire hit his head to go off; he adjusted the holder to get the light on again. Having seated us on a chair specially called in, he simply took a declaration stating that we had been called in for regular interrogation and were released thereafter.
As I signed the declaration in the light of the single 45-watt bulb that shone through the grays in the beard of the 45+ aged in-charge, I wondered how we had used the very same ‘influence’, the muted but irrefutable presence of which had been to a large extent at the root of the demeaning feeling of powerlessness among the very same public servants who had effected our prior treatment as assumed simpletons, to be exploited for the sake of show of power and ability to control, where the opportunity so provided, especially so in an ‘influenced’ state like Bihar. Only, our influence was justified, but then again, so is everyone else’s, at least to his or her respective selves.
As we drove back, one of my officers commented, “shuruat mein aath sau – hazaaar rupaiye se hi mamla khatam ho gaya hota!” But then, there wouldn’t have been much to take back home… somehow, the universal laws and values we respect and uphold in our lives, come to our rescue during our times of dire need! We had escaped from the police thana – Untouched! Unmoved! But most importantly, Uncompromised! Motipur ki Moti baat!!
Spreading out 3 plastic chairs in the verandah, we were told “aaram se baithiye. Aap ke bonafide check karte hi in-charge aap ko jaane denge; aadhe-ek ghante mein pahunchte hi honge…” Our relaxed postures on the seat with a conviction to not give in to the hidden demands of the Gulshan Grover’s of the real world were met with a change in tactic.
The driver who had taken up a seat below the lamppost was summoned to the police jeep and the keys to our Sumo taken away. The original troop was back in the jeep and with a cheer of “aate hain kuch time mein…” the key turning in its chamber with the diesel throttle being heard in the roar of the accelerator and smoke cloud of the rear exhaust. With every passing moment, the conviction to not give in grew stronger and the unexpected cool only made the troop turn off the ignition with the jerking jeep not having moved an inch further. Tense moments followed, in the jeep that is, trying to gauge our reaction – seeing none, an inebriated assistant was called for from the thana and the keys handed over to him.
After having spent almost an hour on a bait that looked juicy but offered no room to bite into, the jeep chugged along throwing aside the mud in its rugged path. It was in the silence that followed, I noticed the only other inhabitants of the thana were 2 police assistants who had taken a seat on the circular cemented bench around the base of the lamppost and 2 drivers seated in the shallow halo of the yellow bulb of their truck that shone through the dark parked at a distance. The inactivity and single blaze of the over-arching lamppost above seemed to be reflecting the mood of the untoward outcome of the very legitimate actions we had planned for the day. Nonetheless, the fact that we had stuck around unaffected, powered us further into planning a safe exit thereon.
All 3 on the telecom airwaves spread the word of our mishap with contacts already being brewed up in action through our random SOS messages passed on earlier. At times, such incidents help one discover the true worth that people consider of oneself. Within a few moments, distant relatives of far-off neighbors had been contacted and at least 4 spokes on the human web touching our current location had been activated – a politician in the ministry, thana in-charge of Muzaffarpur police station, the local newspaper media journalist and one of the assistants at Motipur thana itself. I was not finally aware as to which of the contacts worked, but when the main in-charge made his way into the thana, he offered chai (this time genuinely) and apologized for the delay in arrival.
Making his way to the chamber, the bulb above his seat that strung from a wire hit his head to go off; he adjusted the holder to get the light on again. Having seated us on a chair specially called in, he simply took a declaration stating that we had been called in for regular interrogation and were released thereafter.
As I signed the declaration in the light of the single 45-watt bulb that shone through the grays in the beard of the 45+ aged in-charge, I wondered how we had used the very same ‘influence’, the muted but irrefutable presence of which had been to a large extent at the root of the demeaning feeling of powerlessness among the very same public servants who had effected our prior treatment as assumed simpletons, to be exploited for the sake of show of power and ability to control, where the opportunity so provided, especially so in an ‘influenced’ state like Bihar. Only, our influence was justified, but then again, so is everyone else’s, at least to his or her respective selves.
As we drove back, one of my officers commented, “shuruat mein aath sau – hazaaar rupaiye se hi mamla khatam ho gaya hota!” But then, there wouldn’t have been much to take back home… somehow, the universal laws and values we respect and uphold in our lives, come to our rescue during our times of dire need! We had escaped from the police thana – Untouched! Unmoved! But most importantly, Uncompromised! Motipur ki Moti baat!!