Dholiya’s unforgettable party

The lone Dholiya was sitting under the shade of the old banyan tree waiting for the bus to take him to the city. Dholiya, which meant a drummer in the local dialect. He sometimes wondered what his actual name was? He didn’t remember the time when the big “dhol” or drum became a part of his life. He had this vague memory of one of his uncle playing the dhol and later he inherited both the drum, the skill and also the name. It was now more than two decades that he was the professional drummer and most sought after artist.

No occasion in and around the village took place without the rhythmic ,foot tapping music of Dholiya. Life was very sweet. His fee was a pair of dress, food and money to last till the next occasion. Dholiya was happy that all the hard work he had put in learning the skill was worth it. He never cared for the pain in his arms or the blisters on his palm.  

He had no need to go to the fields or the forest to work like other men in his village. All he did was to practise his drum. He took care of his drum. He covered the huge drum with beautiful cloth of different colours like red, blue , green or golden shade. He would often change the leather skin and carefully polished the two sticks with which he played his drum. 

Till late night in the sleepy village , one could hear the sound of ‘dum, Dum Dum...’. The young drummer was always immersed in his music in his old cosy hut.

On one of his trips to the neighbouring village, he fell in love with kamli, the lotus eyed daughter of the village barber. The reluctant father allowed his daughter to marry the drummer but with the condition that if he ever found his daughter unhappy, she would go back to her father. The drummer was so happy that he played the ‘dhol’in his own wedding and all the guests danced till their feet refused to move in exertion. For the first time in all these years the village slept peacefully with no sound of the drum playing on that night. Only in the far distance was a dog barking at some unknown shadow.

The first few months passed like a dream. Suddenly there was this pandemic. All gatherings, festivities and happy occasions came to abrupt stop. Poor Dholiya had no where to go. kamli was forced to work in others fields . All the money which he saved for lean months was exhausted. He would sit to practise waiting for kamli to return. Once she would come back from her work, there would be hardly any conversation and both would go to bed as strangers.

One fine morning his father-in-law, the mean barber came and almost dragged kamli in the waiting bullock cart showing a menacing finger at Dholiya , to collect his wife only when he had money in his pocket.

That night people heard the drummer practise the whole night but the music sounded sad. 

“Dholiya , are you there?”,came the nasal voice of the village postman. Dholiya woke up with a start still clutching the two sticks in his hand. 

“Yes uncle I am here. What do you want from me”, nervously spoke Dholiya.

“You better get ready. You have to go to the city . A group of musicians are planning a holiday party. I have been seeing you for past sometime. It time you should have a break. All the expenses will be taken care by them. You are like my son and I want you to have a good time.They desperately want someone to take over and I felt who could be better than you. The party is on Saturday. You have two days to practise. You better leave today itself and join the group. Here is the address. Make it early or else you will miss the only bus”, saying the postman pushed the address slip and fifty rupees in the drummer’s hand with a gesture that he can return the money later.

That’s how the lone drummer was sitting under the old banyan. It was more than three hours, there was no trace of the bus. Dholiya was hungry but didn’t dare to venture for the fear of missing the bus. The sun was almost on the horizon like an employee packing his bag to leave for home. At a distance Dholiya saw a whiff of dust and sound of an engine. He was excited. He stood up, put his ‘dhol’ around his neck , with great expectation he waited for the bus. The rickety bus stopped near Dholiya almost washing him in waves of dust. Excitedly the drummer put his foot on the half broken iron step but a hand pushed him from the entrance.

“You cannot come in this bus. All seats are full . Moreover there is no place for your drum. Uff. It’s too big.you better walk down playing your drum” there was a peel of laughter from inside adding insult to the injury. 

Even before dholiya could explain himself , the bus left showering him with more dust. Dholiya picked up a few stones and made a futile attempt to throw at the bus. He was both hungry and exhausted but was in no mood to go back to his empty hut. He sat back on the same rock which had borne his weight for the past so many hours. He put his drum down. He hid his head in his rough palms and wished he could cry loudly and pour out all his pain of his recent disappointments.

Suddenly he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Nervously he looked up. A middle aged person was standing near him. The face was not clear in the dark evening but had a strong voice.

“ you are a drummer I suppose. We have small family gathering and we want to celebrate this occasion. We want someone to play dhol for us. Do you mind coming! Our home is just a walkable distance.” Saying the man picked up the drum even before Dholiya could give his consent. 

The man started taking long strides. Dholiya had to almost run to keep pace with the stranger. His thoughts were also racing fast.”who is this fellow? I never saw any house nearby? How is that I never heard him coming?” Anyway I better spend this night with this stranger than going back to the sad hut”, thought Dholiya.

It was quite dark now and it was difficult to know the road where they were going. They reached an open space where suddenly a dozen young and old voices greeted them. “Hey look the dholiya is here. Party time. Let’s dance”. Dholiya was not able to see their face in the dim candle lights . There was wonderful fragrance of incense and flowers. 

Dholiya gathered his courage and asked the stranger, “How long I should play my drum. How much I would be paid. Better be clear. I don’t want any haggling later on.”

The stranger laughed loudly. “You can play as long as you want to. Regarding your fee don’t bother. I promise you will not be disappointed”.

Dholiya took his drum, fine tuned, adjusted the red colour cloth on the top, kissed the wooden drum and looked up as if thanking the all mighty for giving him audience to show his skills.  

He gingerly started to beat the drum after a long gap of performing in front of live audience. Slowly the beat took up. He forgot his hunger, felt no more tired and the artist in him got ignited. He started to play from slow beats to fast beats. He also could see the audience enjoying every moment. After every performance he was showered with money as it was customary to show gratitude to the professional artist. Dholiya was in no mood to collect the money. He was happy that he could showcase his skill again and was glad he didn’t go to the city. 

It was pretty late and Dholiya had a long day. Slowly sleep overcame and he slept on the bare ground hardly bothering. The laughter of the guests seemed far away.

“Wake up ! Wake up! Hope you are fine”, came the nasal voice of the postman. 

Dholiya woke up and found himself in the ruins of a half burnt house.  

“ How did you end up in this haunted place? You were suppose to go to the city? The people called me and I looked for you everywhere. And found you here almost ten miles away from the road. You come to the road and I will arrange some transport for you. You look so tired”, said the postman with a genuine concern.

Dholiya looked at his drum. The skin had ruptured and one of the sticks was broken but he had no regrets. Money didn’t matter. The satisfaction of an artist to play in front of enthusiastic audience was worth millions. 

He returned to his old hut and next day he decided to repair his drum. He tore open the old leather from the top and was greeted with crisp currency bundles snuggled warmly just good enough to bring kamli back...