The hailstorm

I returned home early that day. Home means my rented quarters. It was very unusual for us bankers to return early, early means there was still daylight, dusk was about to set in. Normal time to close shop was beyond evening hours, when the evening was no longer young. There was always tasks to perform, a never ending list of returns to fill, chain of queries from head quarters to answer to, other accounting works that demanded hard labor of summations of long columns of numerical figures, not to mention continuous persuasion of persons who preferred to forget repaying installments unless poked. Add to that the ever increasing demand of targets for implementation of welfare schemes that the banks were burdened with. There were other compulsions too, what with daunting targets of a milieu of abracadabra that were never achieved, only to be berated in a future meeting that the people at the helms so loved! It was a time when there was no computer, everything needed to be done manually, no SMS alert or message or whatsapp group.

Off course there were calculators, but most staff preferred doing mental arithmetic. Letters were typed out in type-writers, but most of the time it had to be hand written, the typist mostly engaged in other unavoidable manual works, to fill up shortage of hand which happened to be a perennial issue at all times, that is if the office was fortunate enough to have a typist.To leave office late in the evening had grown into a habit over the years, often because the Day book would not tally, requiring staff to work late till the books were final. At times, even if the day’s normal transaction works were over, we would feel awkward to leave early until it grew dark, mostly the senior staff would wait for the evening to pass by, tea and snacks would accompany the leisurely wait. Tallying of the Day book for the entire day’s transactions would take a good deal of time, much beyond normal office hours, most of the senior staff fully engrossed in the task to locate the bete-noire, because it was taboo to leave an overnight accounting hangover for the next day, something that we bankers never indulged in. Though we were very late leaving almost everyday, our time of attendance was almost always early, that is before duty hours commenced. Cash counter had to be opened in time, people would stand in queue much before the usual time, besides other duties that demanded first hour clearance etc.

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Off course there were exceptions, there was a lady who always followed the old adage, she had to leave early because she was late in coming!! Since the time I was in the branch, ie a couple of years before, I saw her husband sitting near her from late noon onward, most of the time sat silently, observing her work. I heard he was suspended from his service long time back, a court matter was pending and he spent his siesta time near her almost daily. She was reasonably charming, had a brightness about her and was very loquacious. A senior officer, posted in the nearby regional office, was also one of her admirers, who would very often keep company with her when her husband was missing! In the afternoon, her two daughters would arrive after school hours, and the family would wait patiently until she would wind up for the day. Nobody objected, her family members had almost blended with the bank ambiance over time. As the closure time neared, she would look surreptitiously at me, myself sitting in my chamber, I would consciously avoid her gaze,and in some auspicious moment, the family would vanish!!

And then there was a branch-in-charge in a moffusil town, whose rented quarters were not far from his workplace. An old and seasoned person, who had spent much of his lifetime in serving his provider of bread and butter. The bank was his lifeline, every breath he spoke and dreamt bank only. He would go out for a morning walk in casual attires and enter the branch premises robot like out of habit. Set of keys for the premises as well as that of strong room were always in his person, ie the set of keys that he was supposed to keep.And he would remain so in the branch with cups of tea and accompanying snacks whole day long, breakfast and lunch made up of tea. At times, his married compulsion would show up, a Xanthippe of a lady, who would castigate him left and right, in front of staff and customers, shouting out a long list of kitchen essentials that he was asked to bring on his way back home!!

This was when I was posted in a remote Upper Assam semi township that a Tai Phake of the Phakial people came to open an account. The phakial people mostly reside in villages by the Dehing river, a tributary of the Brahmaputra. The complexion of the person was a fair yellowish white, round face, almost hairless. Scrutinizing the form, I found he left the space for details of date of birth etc vacant. As I inquired, he said he wanted to open a savings account for his minor son. He said,” mul lolatul kalone”( mur loratur karone, meaning for my son). He had difficulty in pronouncing “R”. I insisted that the date of birth is an important information for opening minor accounts and necessary. He remained silent for a while, seemed very embarrassed, very shy, looking downwards. I was bemused, puzzled. He slowly said in a low voice, ” lolatu jonom hua nai” ( my son is not yet born)!!

One day, it so happened that we had to stay put in the branch well past midnight. Day book was not tallying!! Smallest denomination of a Rupee was the culprit, she would not show her face, so very shy that she was. The senior staff, all very seasoned and veterans in their own right, struggled with repetitive additions of long columns of figures with subsidiary books, checked and cross checked again and again all the records and vouchers of the day, made all possible efforts that they could put in. I also put in my bit, though I was not as accomplished an expert as the other old horses, but failed to locate the naughty child. That single paisa played such truence that every effort came to a naught, being the smallest and youngest among all the elders, it was particularly playful that day and sat silent, perched somewhere in its safe sanctuary. The seasoned veterans were now in their wit’s end, extremely tired and exhausted from a long day’s travail. Repetitive additions now only compounding the task, piling up tired mistakes. The tiniest child lay supine, playing pranks, enjoying gleefully yet silently, the harrowing plight of the master old timers.

Giving up, exasperated, they now looked at the accountant, who was busy in his own world, quite oblivious to the battle that was being fought at the other end, his table littered with registers, books of record and piles of return forms that needed his attention, head down, meticulously copying and jotting down figures on huge sheets of returns, happy for the extra hours that came as a bonus. Senior staff urged him,” Sarmada, please look into it, otherwise we will have to spend the whole night here”.

Sarmada was a stout, rotund, a rather heavy set man, bulging at the belly, of normal height but appeared short, trousers always a bit longer that covered his shoes up to the ground. An incorrigible ‘tamul pan”( betelnut and betel leaf taken together) chewer, his mouth and teeth were always stained red. A particular peon was always at his beck and call to serve his myriad errands. One would rarely see him standing or walking, head always bent over writing or jotting figures on sheets of returns or other records. A very hairy man, a bushy moustache and a matching pair of hairy outgrowth protruding from both ears adorned his face.A veteran’s veteran, he had a name for solving any type of accounting imbroglio, an expert in locating the most enigmatic and intricate problems that day to day banking transactions would throw up.

Answering to the distress call, he asked for the Day book and other connected subsidiaries to be brought to his table, a rather large one, all the records and return sheets etc he was working on were neatly piled up at one corner by the ever obedient peon. We all sat around him, like students sitting at the feet of a Guru.Munching a mouthful of fresh ‘tamul pan’, He first checked the Day book patiently and thoroughly, checking on figures that were copied from others at the same time, the process taking only a few minutes. Satisfied, he turned his attention to other subsidiaries, adding up the columns in no time, correcting some figures in pencils that he knew were tired mistakes, not the culprit that all were searching for.He added up long columns of numerical figures, the forefinger dancing merrily down the huge numbers, adding in hundreds and thousands position, not bothering in tens and units, checking and jotting down totals very carefully with neat pencil marks, mental exercise taking hardly a few moments. The process went on, systematically checking and adding long columns from an assortment of subsidiary books, a milieu of different records of the day, with patience and absolute concentration, he seemed to be enjoying the intricate search, as if he had all the time in the world. Others looked on, enchanted by his boundless enthusiasm. In one particular subsidiary book, after adding up the long columns, he stopped, neatly erased the grand total written in pencil,( it was a habit to write all totals in pencil until everything was finally tallied and confirmed), and very neatly and clearly put the figure he summed up. Eureka!!! The figure he erased was a little soiled due to repetitive additions made before, a zero in paisa’s position was not erased, a one was faintly overwritten on the zero, making any body to take the figure as zero instead of one. The obstinate baby was at last tamed! The naughty child, so long hiding behind the zero, came out with a guffaw, pleased and elated at having kept so many seasoned old war horses at bay!! A celebration was in order! tea and snacks followed immediately. It was already past midnight.

So one day I returned early. It was very unusual. She was at first concerned, am I unwell? Realizing that it was one of those rare occasions, she immediately proposed,” let us go to Himuda’s place”. I readily agreed. Himuda’s house was a little far, beyond the branch premises. We immediately got ready, she pillion riding with our baby daughter, about a year and a half old. We always enjoyed at Himuda’s place, a very lively home, always happy to see us, especially our daughter, they doted on her. As we were about to go, starting my two wheeler, the early evening appeared overcast, giving indications of a smart shower. She seemed a bit concerned, will we get wet on the way? I was confident we would reach before the rain set in, it was not that far. As we were almost half way, it grew very dark, the sky above darker, there seemed to be a distant roar approaching, something very out of the ordinary, but there were no raindrops. I tried to drive faster, but was slowed down negotiating the evening traffic. The thundering roar seemed to be fast nearing, a deep rumbling as if an earth quake was brewing up in the dark sky. She became very anxious, tightly holding the baby in her bosom. I tried to drive faster as best as I could, and as we almost reached our destination, the thundering, rumbling roar seemed almost overhead, an indescribable cacophony, as if some thousand heavily loaded trucks howling in first gear. The moment I parked inside the concrete verandah of Himuda’s residence, all hell broke loose! The dark sky above opened up, as if nurturing in its womb for delivery precisely for this moment, the hailstorm lashing the ground mercilessly, gargantuan, huge hail stones pounding the earth, breaking into myriad tennis balls scattering all around. The deafening howl drowned everything, mother nature was going wild, as if bent on demolishing all creation!!

As we ascended the steps, I stood on the upper landing, beholding, brooding over the blitzkrieg of a fury the sky above was unleashing from its boundless womb. It was an escape by a hair’s breadth!! What if………what if we were caught up on the way, hitting us while driving!! herself and the baby without protective head gear!! The situation would be unthinkable!!! Is it providence, God’s mercy?

The incident remained etched in my memory ever since.