Sagnik

Lying in my sickbed, I heard the news of our college organizing a football tourney named after our deceased friend Sagnik. I lauded the concept, because Sagnik could so easily be associated with the vivacity of a college football tournament, and though he himself didn’t play the game, he would always enliven the audience and the reserve bench alike by shouting and singing at the top of his voice. But, in this season of festivities, I couldn’t help being filled up with memories of a dear friend, a vibrant, jolly young man, and a great human being (how rarely these clichéd adjectives hold true to their meaning!), who is no more. On that afternoon, as the parting sun poured its melancholy light through my window, a great humdrum rose in the city, the pandals revved up their decibels and the happy crowd had their opportunity to hit the streets, at last. Still, this wasn’t the saddest afternoon of my life, for the memories from the burning ghat are fresh in my heart.

It was a long queue. Aged men and women, having breathed out their last, waited for their final passage. After having roamed this earth for three quarters of a century, most of them were withered, yet they seemed unready for the most important moment of their life. Some looked like complaining on being denied the opportunity to witness the turn of another century and the procession of successive generations of their genes. Beside them, Sagnik was such a misfit. He lay there, on the bamboo pall, as if resting peacefully. I don’t know if he was smiling inside, having pulled off a final mischief over his friends.

We surrounded him, and stood by him silently, as long as we could. Then came our turn. The serial number was called up. Somebody had completed the formalities already (Who was that? Does he himself remember now?). Our friend was put on the conveyor belt. The crematorium staff, a boy of our age, and of Sagnik’s age too, was busy. He handed us back the wreath laid on his body. The furnace began roaring, as it had been doing, stop and start, throughout the day. Finally, the gates opened up (I feel like I’m quoting from Kafka, ‘In the Penal Colony’). Many of us, who were silent till then, broke down as the sight of golden yellow flames took its toll on young minds. A reckless push on the lever, and Sagnik’s body went in.

Fifteen minutes later, we were handed a small bag of ashes… … To this day, that afternoon stands shocked to stillness.