---------- Forwarded message ----------
I emerged from the railway station and hopped aboard the very first vehicle I sighted. Three hours to `do' Lucknow. The vehicle lurched, squeaked, as is its wont, and set itself in motion.
"Sahib, this is the result of having fallen on bad days. There was the time when the grandfather of my grandfather regularly shared the dastarkhwan of Nawab Asaf Ud-daullah," said the gnome-like figure with a withered, ash-grey beard. "Regard, huzur, this ekka. In the good old days these four posts were plated with gold. Yes, these very same posts, and their glitter blinded the populace."
Now I, of course, knew the reason for the gnome's patter on this bone-chattering journey. No, no, not bone-shattering, for shattered bones are bereft of speech, and here every one of my bones was loudly wailing. I gathered that the ekka was 200 years old. "And Dilkhush," the gnome pointed to the miserable source of traction of this medieval instrument of torture, "was a prince among stallions." I looked into his eyes as he applied the whip to the toothless Dilkhush, looking for mocking irony or the glint of levity. There was none.
"And look at what has happened, tauba. The tanga-wallahs have stolen a march on us. Tauba. You face south when travelling north. It is devil's invention, this tanga, sahib." I was vaguely aware of the controversy over the historical ekka and the parvenu tanga, but had never suspected that the feelings ran so deep.
"And look what has happened since azadi. They are making the ekka wheels by machine. Tauba, tauba. The eccentricity of the handmade wheel was what gave ekkas their power to cure stomach ailments."
Gastroenterology by ekka rides! We were nearing the frontiers of alternative medicine. The gnome read the disbelief in my eyes and explained the matter in more detail. "On a perfectly-macadamed, butter-like road, the perfect ekka should make one feel that it is full of potholes. That's the secret of its curative property: the eccentricity of its wheels. And I can tell you when my grandfather's grandfather went to visit Nawab Asaf Ud-Daullah, the speed and swerve of his ekka had to be seen to be believed. A lesser mortal would have been thrown clear of the ekka, but not my grandfather. Oh, what a man he was. Never a stomach problem..."
We were nearing the Residency now. "When I see it, I weep, huzur. My grandfather's father laid siege to it and but for treachery, the red-faces firangis would have quit after the gadr. And his body was brought back in his favourite ekka -- this very same." I tried to rig an expression appropriate to the memory of a great martyr.
Suddenly he whipped Dilkhush in a sadistic frenzy and true to his description, the ekka swung violently from side to side. If felt like a scale eight earthquake. I would have been thrown out, had it not been for the fact that I was clinging desperately to one of the posts, which was once plated with gold.
"Now that's it, huzur. By this evening, all your stomach problems will have melted away. My grandfather, for instance... This is bhulbhulaiya. Once you get in, there is no getting out, unless you take this naksha with you. Twenty rupees, huzur. My grandfather's uncle's brother drew it and it is the very same map..."
This journey itself was taking on the proportions of a bhulbhulaiya, and there seemed to be no getting out. I decided I had received enough treatment for all my stomach problems past, present and future, and was headed for an overdose. I snatched the naksha out of the gnome's hand, leapt out of the curative ekka and vanished into the labyrinth of the bhulbhulaiya.
Copyright © 1997 Indian Express Newspapers (Bombay) Ltd.
John Cline
burrababa@hotmail.com
Time Out -- Lucknow's curative ekkas
Girish Bhandari"Sahib, this is the result of having fallen on bad days. There was the time when the grandfather of my grandfather regularly shared the dastarkhwan of Nawab Asaf Ud-daullah," said the gnome-like figure with a withered, ash-grey beard. "Regard, huzur, this ekka. In the good old days these four posts were plated with gold. Yes, these very same posts, and their glitter blinded the populace."
Now I, of course, knew the reason for the gnome's patter on this bone-chattering journey. No, no, not bone-shattering, for shattered bones are bereft of speech, and here every one of my bones was loudly wailing. I gathered that the ekka was 200 years old. "And Dilkhush," the gnome pointed to the miserable source of traction of this medieval instrument of torture, "was a prince among stallions." I looked into his eyes as he applied the whip to the toothless Dilkhush, looking for mocking irony or the glint of levity. There was none.
"And look at what has happened, tauba. The tanga-wallahs have stolen a march on us. Tauba. You face south when travelling north. It is devil's invention, this tanga, sahib." I was vaguely aware of the controversy over the historical ekka and the parvenu tanga, but had never suspected that the feelings ran so deep.
"And look what has happened since azadi. They are making the ekka wheels by machine. Tauba, tauba. The eccentricity of the handmade wheel was what gave ekkas their power to cure stomach ailments."
Gastroenterology by ekka rides! We were nearing the frontiers of alternative medicine. The gnome read the disbelief in my eyes and explained the matter in more detail. "On a perfectly-macadamed, butter-like road, the perfect ekka should make one feel that it is full of potholes. That's the secret of its curative property: the eccentricity of its wheels. And I can tell you when my grandfather's grandfather went to visit Nawab Asaf Ud-Daullah, the speed and swerve of his ekka had to be seen to be believed. A lesser mortal would have been thrown clear of the ekka, but not my grandfather. Oh, what a man he was. Never a stomach problem..."
We were nearing the Residency now. "When I see it, I weep, huzur. My grandfather's father laid siege to it and but for treachery, the red-faces firangis would have quit after the gadr. And his body was brought back in his favourite ekka -- this very same." I tried to rig an expression appropriate to the memory of a great martyr.
Suddenly he whipped Dilkhush in a sadistic frenzy and true to his description, the ekka swung violently from side to side. If felt like a scale eight earthquake. I would have been thrown out, had it not been for the fact that I was clinging desperately to one of the posts, which was once plated with gold.
"Now that's it, huzur. By this evening, all your stomach problems will have melted away. My grandfather, for instance... This is bhulbhulaiya. Once you get in, there is no getting out, unless you take this naksha with you. Twenty rupees, huzur. My grandfather's uncle's brother drew it and it is the very same map..."
This journey itself was taking on the proportions of a bhulbhulaiya, and there seemed to be no getting out. I decided I had received enough treatment for all my stomach problems past, present and future, and was headed for an overdose. I snatched the naksha out of the gnome's hand, leapt out of the curative ekka and vanished into the labyrinth of the bhulbhulaiya.
Copyright © 1997 Indian Express Newspapers (Bombay) Ltd.
John Cline
burrababa@hotmail.com
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