Stuck in Bihar

(Unfortunately these train station photos don't begin to compare with the station in Kalihar.)

It was a sweltering hot summer day in Purnia, Bihar. The monsoons still had not arrived but a thunderstorm the day before shot the humidity index way up. The combined heat and humidity index registered at around 150 degrees Fahrenheit. We were conducting a peacebuilding workshop for forty-five participants from Brethren in Christ churches in Bihar and Nepal. Purnia is about a two hour drive from the Nepal border.

The room we were in had fans that made the heat more bearable. The organizers had the foresight to rent an old generator to use when there was power blackouts. I watched the other resource person’s shirt became drenched as he taught. Even so, I was impressed by the interest and the participation of the church folk that afternoon in Bihar. We were on a roll.

Toward evening I left to catch my train back to Kolkata. We drove through fertile farmland watered by the Ganges River. One of the difficulties is that many low lying areas are flooded for as long as three months during the monsoons. During those months, poor farm laborers borrow money from loan sharks to by food. It’s a vicious form of debt slavery that creates cycles of poverty stretching from one generation to the next.

When we got to the station in the town of Kalihar we were told that my 7:15 pm train would be late. The station was in chaos partly because of renovations taking place and partly because that’s how it is in Bihar. The state is notorious for its corrupt government and lawlessness. Kidnappings for ransom are common. I’m told that the police and the kidnappers are often the same people. Many Bihar lawmakers themselves have criminal backgrounds resulting in court cases that drag on forever.

We eventually found the inquiry desk at the other end of the station; the electronic boards announcing the arrival and departure of trains were not working. There was a huge crowd in front of the desk trying to find out about their train. The man sitting there was of little help. My train was listed on a white board with the word “abnormal” written in the arrival column. We eventually found out that it definitely wouldn’t arrive before 10:00 pm.

We, therefore, decided to find an air-conditioned restaurant. That proved to be more difficult than we thought. We drove over broken narrow streets through areas of the town suffering from revolving power blackouts. Perhaps it was the heat and the frustration of a late train but it felt like the most derelict place I had ever been in. We eventually found a restaurant but didn’t have much appetite. Just sitting in a cool place and sipping a fresh lime soda felt like a little bit of heaven.

Now we had a tough decision to make. My companions needed to go back to Purnia before it got too late. We found a waiting room in the train station that felt relatively safe for a foreigner like me. I told them to head on back and I’d be fine. I’d occasionally check at the inquiry desk and wait for the train. Ten o’clock came and went; then it was midnight and still no change on that white board. The arrival time was still “abnormal.” A bright, inquisitive young Indian lad kept me company as his parents slept. We had a wonderful conversation about Gandhi and nonviolence and more mundane things like the Indian invention of the concept of zero.

Other stranded passengers were sleeping on the seats or spread out on the floor. I noticed that the station was gradually filling up with more and more people. They were pulling out blankets to sleep in rows in the station hallways or out on the train platforms. Most of them didn’t appear to be waiting for a train. People were just spending the night and the place began to look like a refugee center.

After a while some strange characters entered the waiting room where I was sitting. They had piles of boxes carried by coolies. It appeared as though they may have had a little too much to drink. Soon they were all stretched out on the floor fast asleep except for one shifty looking fellow who appeared to be keeping watch. I was starting to get a little freaked out and went to check with the fellow at the inquiry desk at 1:30 am. Finally a scrap of news, the train would arrive on a certain platform.

As I walked there through sleeping bodies, a freight train was slowly rolling by. A policeman with a bamboo cane was futilely trying to keep a large group of young men from jumping on the passing train. They were able to run circles around him. When I got to my platform, I checked with some other people sitting there. Good, we were all waiting for the same train. Soon a train arrived but it wasn’t ours. We waited some more.

At 3:00 o’clock we were told that the train was arriving on another platform. We picked up our bags and rushed to get there. Because of the construction, we had to circle around the end of the platform and cross the tracks on the far side. I managed to be standing on the right platform when my train pulled up at 3:15 am. I was never so glad to find my seat on a train.

I now have a much better understanding of why people from Bihar keep arriving to live on the streets of Kolkata. It also helps me understand the huge development issues in this region. Political and economic refugees have been streaming into Kolkata ever since MCC arrived in response to the Bengal famine in 1942. The huge challenge is knowing what good development practice or peace and justice work should be in this context. It feels a tad overwhelming.