Madhupur / Karmatar Tour /Giridih/Deoghar Tour
Day 0: HWH (2320 hrs) > Madhupur (Sept 4, 2025) by Mokama Express
Day 1: Madhupur at 5:10 am and Madhupur Local Exploration (Sept 5, 2025)
Day 2: Parasnath Trek & Giridih Local (Sept 6, 2025)
Day 3: Deoghar (or Baba Baidyanath Dham) (Sept 7, 2025)
Day 3: Madhupur (22 25 hrs) >HWH (Sept 7, 2025) Upasana Express
Day 4: HWH (Sept 8, 2025) 3:05 am
Tour plan : https://maps.app.goo.gl/QiP7JQNGo2TnJ1MN8
After freshening up and having a quick meal, we set off for Karmatar, about an hour’s drive (40 km) from Madhupur.
On the way, we visited Pathrol Kalibari (also known as Kali Pahadi Temple) and later stopped briefly at Sikatiya Dam. Just before reaching Karmatar, we came across a beautiful Seventh-day Adventist Church.
Spirits were high, because this was the place where the revered Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar spent the last 17 years of his life. Disillusioned by the heckling and hostility he faced in Kolkata, he sought peace and dignity here in this tribal belt.
We entered a compound near Karmatar railway station. At the entrance stood a large banyan tree, enclosed within iron railings with a plaque and statue of Vidyasagar.
A local boy explained, “Vidyasagar used to teach village children under this very tree.” He then pointed to a small room, saying, “That’s where he treated villagers with homeopathy.”
Next to it stood Bhagabati Bhavan, named after Vidyasagar’s mother, now used for trust activities.
The main building was a long, single-storey house. Inside, a small room was identified as Vidyasagar’s living quarters, containing a simple bed and a statue of him. Other rooms displayed pictures from his life, though the captions contained many spelling errors and perpetuated myths — such as the story of him crossing the Damodar River. The exhibits also misrepresented the individuals who influenced his thought process.
Sourabh Da and Shampa Mashi both remarked, “This is our problem. In the name of restoration, we simply renovate everything and lose authenticity.”
The ceramic tiled floors and modernised windows confirmed their point.
Note: Overnight stay facilities are available here. With prior arrangement, lunch can also be served.
Although Karmatar didn’t quite meet my expectations, we bought some books on Vidyasagar’s life here. Still, I felt it could have been preserved with greater care and organisation.
A Brief History of Vidyasagar in Karmatar
Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar (1820–1891) was one of the leading figures of the Bengal Renaissance, continuing the social reforms initiated by Raja Rammohan Roy. Poet Michael Madhusudan Dutt once described him as: “The genius and wisdom of an ancient sage, the energy of an Englishman, and the heart of a Bengali mother.”
A man of integrity and courage, Vidyasagar fearlessly stood up even to British officials. But when betrayed and hurt by his own people, he was deeply shaken. In 1873–74, he left Kolkata and moved to Karmatar (then in Bihar) to spend the final 17–20 years of his life among the Santhals at Nandan Kanan, Karmatar. He bought a house here for Rs 500. Karmatar is a quaint little village, about 20 km from the district headquarters of Jamtara.
The property later changed hands multiple times, before being acquired in 1974 by the Bihar-Bengali Association, which preserved it as a museum. Over time, a bust was installed, a girls’ school established, and a free homeopathy clinic opened, honouring Vidyasagar’s legacy. Today, the complex is maintained by the Vidyasagar Smriti Raksha Committee.
(Source: GetBengal Article)
Search for Bengali Bungalows in Madhupur
Suman Midya, the manager at Seth Heritage Guest House, told us about more historic Bengali bungalows — Jahaj Bari and Sadhu Sangha. Naturally, we began pestering Kailash Da again.
He said: “There’s nothing there. All gone. Sold off plot by plot.”
Ashutosh Mukherjee’s House
I first asked to see Sir Asutosh Mookerjee’s house, where his younger son, Uma Prasad Mookerjee (famous travel writer) once lived. But nothing remained — just an empty field. Some locals mentioned a Ganga Prasad Bhavan and a mahua tree once stood there, but no trace was found despite asking around.
Sadhu Sangha
Driving further, we suddenly spotted a grand, well-maintained bungalow named Sadhu Sangha (built in 1915). The gate was locked, but the house still stood as a proud symbol of the once-prosperous Bengalis who sought health retreats here. A caretaker finally allowed us inside, though the owner — an elderly lady from Kolkata who visits only during Durga Puja — was absent. This house is in good shape.
Jahaj Bari (Ship House)
Then we started looking for the “Jahaj Bari” (Ship House).
Kailash Da said: “What names are you saying!”
While saying this, he dropped us at a place and said: “Jahaj Bari might be here.”
Searching around, we ended up entering someone’s house (Champa Bhawan). This was also an old house, but it wasn’t a Bengali’s house.
He said: “Go that way, you’ll find it a few houses down.”
After wandering around again, I spotted a lady and asked. She said: “Come, I’ll take you to Jahaj Bari.”
She led us to a place that was almost like a jungle and stopped. She asked us to enter through a broken gate.
We all stared at the huge two-storey derelict palace in front of us. It is the grandest of all!
All its paint had faded, large trees had grown through the walls. But those huge windows, those massive pillars, the long verandas, and above all, the roof and the specially designed railings of that house had already thrown so many questions at us by then.
Coming out of the gate, I saw the house name — Tara Kutir. Along with it, the names of two individuals — S.G. Saha, B.Sc, B.E, C.E and Dr. B.N. Saha, M.B.B.S.
There’s no one to tell the history of this house either. Where would I find their family? How would I know the history?
Most bungalows have turned to dust, or become hotels… and those still standing exist as living history of the affluence and prestige of Bengalis who came here for health recovery. So, do Bengalis ultimately leave everything? From tea gardens in North Bengal to these once-luxurious bungalows in Madhupur — the story seems the same.
What could it have been? What might have happened? What led to this sad state of Bengali-built bungalows from 100 years ago? Where did all those Bengalis go? Where are their families now? Why did they leave everything like this?
With a mind full of questions, we returned to Seth Heritage Bungalow.
Reflections & Stay
Exhausted from a day of searching since 5:30 a.m., and still restless after our overnight train journey, we returned to Seth Heritage Guest House. Dinner was simple, but satisfying.
👉 Car Hire: ₹2000 per day for Madhupur tour with Karmatar.
Other Notes
Nearby, I discovered the Bengal Motion Picture Employees’ Union Guest House, built in 1932.
Other attractions we skipped: Nag Devta Temple, Laopala Park, Indira Gandhi Ground, Gautam Buddha Wildlife Sanctuary (great for birdwatching).
Dining options: Hotel Blue Heaven and Kumar International.
Other Stays in Madhupur:
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Stoneberry Resort
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Kumar International
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Hotel Nilkanth (budget) (not sure if it exists)
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ABTA Holiday Home – ₹600/head/day (📞 8013909366) (not sure if it exists)
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Leela Kamal Guest House – ₹700/head/day (📞 9123284297) (not sure if it exists)
🔗 References:
📍 Day 2: Parasnath Trek & Giridih Local (Sept 6, 2025)
Day 2: Giridih – “If No One Responds to Your Call” and Burmese Cigars
The next morning, as we were still finishing breakfast, Kailash-da arrived again with the car. Today’s plan was to explore Giridih—not just its natural beauty, but also its Bengali heritage. Bags packed, we set out. We left at 9.15 am
Very soon, we realised that we had already missed Bakulia Falls.
Kailash-da reassured us, “We’ll do it on the way back.” A little further, we saw a stunning plateau known locally as Budhai Pahar. The plateau’s surface was full of holes, as if molten lava had burst and left behind those cavities.
Shampa-mashi exclaimed, “Oh, this looks like Hampi!”
Sourabh-da replied, “Absolutely! Just shoot a video, upload it with the caption ‘I’m in Hampi,’ and no one will know the difference.”
Not far from there stood Khandoli Hill. After feasting our eyes on the view, we feasted our stomachs with sugarcane juice, phuchka, and ghugni.
Then we moved on towards the Usri Falls. Do you remember Tagore’s Sahaj Path where he mentioned Usri?
“উস্রি নদীর ঝর্না দেখতে যাব। দিনটা বড়ো বিশ্রী। শুনছ বজ্রের শব্দ? শ্রাবণ মাসের বাদলা। উস্রিতে বান নেমেছে। জলের স্রোত বড়ো দুরন্ত। অবিশ্রান্ত ছুটে চলেছে। অনন্ত, এসো একসঙ্গে যাত্রা করা যাক। আমাদের দু-দিন মাত্র ছুটি। ক্যালেজের ছাত্রেরা গেছে ত্রিবেণী, কেউ বা গেছে আত্রাই। সাঁত্রাগাছির কান্তি মিত্র যাবে আমাদের সঙ্গে উস্রির ঝর্নায়।”
The fall is small, unlike Dassam or Jonha where you must break your knees climbing 500 stairs. But it is wonderfully picturesque.
Next, we entered Giridih town. We asked Kailash-da :
“Where are the houses of Prasanta Chandra Mahalanobis and Jagadish Chandra Bose? And what about Gol Kuthi and Barganda?”
Kailash-da went silent for a while and then said, “Pasanobish’s house I don’t know. But I’ll show you Jagadish Bose’s house.”
Shampa-mashi quickly corrected him, “Not ‘Pasanobish,’ it’s Prasanta Chandra Mahalanobis.”
“Yes yes, that’s it. But look, madam, my deal with you was Budhai, Khandoli, Usri and Parasnath—all for Rs 3,200.”
We understood immediately: don’t push him too far. Best to get our work done tactfully. So I intervened diplomatically:
“Yes, yes, but you also said that if we travel extra, you’d charge Rs 16 per km. We do want to see a bit of Giridih town and also have lunch there. Let us guide you to the locations.”
By then Sourabh-da had handed us an old travel guide - Bhraman-songi. From that we gathered to trace Mahalanobis, we should look for Ramakrishna Mahila College, and to find Jagadish Bose, we must seek Shanti Nibas. With Google Maps set, we started. But we ended up at the wrong Shanti Nibas. I was terrified—our driver might snap. But globe-trotter Sourabh-da calmed me: “Don’t let him know we’ve gone wrong. Leave it to me.” He and Anjan-da stepped out, asked some locals for directions, and returned as if they’d gathered top-secret intelligence.
Soon we reached Ramakrishna Mahila College. Around it, however, only apartments and flats were to be seen—no old houses. “Let’s check inside,” said Sourabh-da.
The security guards looked at us curiously when we asked, “Do you know which one is Mahalanobis’s house?”
“Whose house? First time we’re hearing this. This is a college!”
“Is there anyone old here who might know?”
“No, today is a holiday.”
“Alright then, where’s Barganda?”
“This is New Barganda.”
We pressed: “You’ve really never heard of Prasanta Chandra Mahalanobis?”
Anjan-da began explaining Mahalanobis’s contributions to statistics and planning. Meanwhile, I whispered to Sourabh-da, “Can you believe this? The college principal is a Sanyal—a Bengali—and yet no one here knows Mahalanobis!”
“Where did you see the principal’s name?”
I pointed to a board.
Sourabh-da, eyes gleaming, shouted: “There it is, there it is!” Another board nearby read:
“PROF. P.C. MAHALANOBISH BLOCK; DONATED BY MRS. RANI MAHALANOBISH THROUGH KHANA SEN (Bordi), GIRIDIH, MARCH 1979.”
We turned to the guards with triumphant smiles: “See? You knew nothing… and we found it!”
Their blank faces seemed to ask silently: “And what have you Bengalis done to preserve this history so that we would know?”
We wandered around, spotting an old house with low windows, overhanging balconies, and carved doors—clearly very old. At this point, I argued with Sourabh-da: “It’s not the driver’s fault he knows nothing. Who asks him about this? Tourists only want Budhai and Parasnath. No demand, no supply!”
Just then the driver returned, shouting, “Madam! You can’t end it here. We still have Parasnath, Digambar, Shwetambar temples. Later don’t complain you missed them!”
We obediently got back in the car. Any thought of asking for stops was silenced by Kailash-da’s strict tone.
A little later we spotted a beautiful white bungalow. On its plaque: “Advocate Abhijit Banerjee.” Opposite stood Sir J.C. Bose Girls’ School. A few hundred metres further, Kailash-da stopped: “That’s Jagadish Bose’s house. Don’t be long.”
I whispered to Sourabh-da: “You all go to Bose’s house. I’ll quickly peek into this advocate’s place!”
Good idea, he said.
I went up, took a photo of the Advocate's house—and froze. An elderly gentleman stood on the balcony staring at me. No way forward, no retreat. Putting on my bravest smile, I opened the gate, closed my umbrella, and said, “I’ve come from Kolkata. My team is at JC Bose’s house. I saw your Bengali name and thought maybe you could tell me some history.”
Meanwhile, I was silently praying he wouldn’t call me a trespasser.
The man, speaking Bengali said, “My elder brother’s name is on the plaque. He’s at court now. I’m his brother, Sanjoy Banerjee. And that’s not Bose’s house—it’s Judge Amritlal Mitra’s. And over there is Mahalanobis’s residence. Come in, I’ll tell you everything.”
Oh bliss! A treasure chest of history had just opened. My heart longed to enter. But time was short. Luckily, Sourabh-da also walked in, saving me from my trespass guilt.
Sanjoy Banerjee told us: “Prasanta Chandra Mahalanobis lived here with his wife, Rani. Later it became a college. He had three houses here—Mohua, Shalbani, and Uttara. He lived in Shalbani. In Uttara he set up a medical facility, and Mahua housed the accounts department. There was even an underground room there under Mohua. As a boy, I received a prize from Rani Mahalanobis while Prasanta himself sat in a wheelchair nearby. Even 6 months back the name Mohua was written on the main gate. I feel so sad looking at the new gate.
That wasn’t actually Jagadish Bose’s house… it belonged to Judge Amritlal Mitra. He was related to Bose through family ties. Later, Mitra either sold the house to Bose or gifted it to him—I can’t remember clearly. But what I do remember is that Jagadish Bose died after slipping in a bathroom in that very house. My father, uncles, and others broke down the bathroom door to bring him out. Now there’s hardly anyone left to recount this history. Around here, apart from us, very few Bengali families remain. Most have sold their homes and moved away. The neighbourhood is now filled with Hindi-speaking newcomers. So these stories are unknown to almost everyone.
“Do you want to hear more? You might be getting late… do you know the name Binode Behari Mukherjee?”
Sourabh-da said, “Yes, the famous painter. He was blind.”
“No, he wasn’t born blind… he lost his sight later in life. His elder brother was Banobihari Mukhopadhyay, whose life inspired the character played by Uttam Kumar in the film Agnishwar. Binode Behari’s house was just a few doors down from ours. If you walk a little further, you’ll see a lane—the last house there was his.”
By then, the elder gentleman’s wife, his brother’s wife, and their sister had come out of the house. They invited us warmly, “Please come inside.”
Sourabh-da explained, “We’re really pressed for time. But we’d love to take a short video with you, as a memory. What we’ve learnt from you today is probably not recorded anywhere. So just a little…”
In the middle of this, Kailash-da’s call came. That was it. I knew the moment I picked up, he’d bark, “Aisa kaise chalega, madam!” So I simply didn’t answer. I only promised myself one thing: from the next tour onwards, I will never book the car myself. Because if I do, I’ll have to bear the brunt of all the driver’s scolding as the “primary person.”
We left their home with full hearts. They all walked us to the gate. Dada noted down their phone number. I asked, “How old is this house?”
The elder replied, “Built in 1328 Bengali era… that is, 1921. The house is now 104 years old.” I saw the date etched on the gate’s plaque.
As we were leaving, he called out once more, “Look at these flower pots in our garden. When Amritlal Mitra’s family left, they gave us many valuable things from their house. These pots are from that time. His wife, Madhurika Mitra, and my mother used to exchange food. If my elder brother were here today, you would have heard many more stories.”
Ah yes… that’s life, bound by time. Can one possibly gather 100 years of Bengali history in just an hour?
As I turned back one last time, his sister-in-law called out, “One more thing… Rabindranath Tagore visited Prasanta Mahalanobis’s house here. And legend has it, it was in this very place that he composed ‘If no one responds to your call, then go your own way alone.’”
Oh Lord… why do I sit cooped up in an office? Why wasn’t I blessed with the life of a wanderer, collecting history like this?
We moved on. I told Sourabh-da, “We’ll have to sacrifice lunch today, otherwise time won’t be enough.” He agreed.
Next, we headed towards Jagadish Bose’s house. At the corner, on the right, we saw a gate with a board: “Sir J.C. Bose Memorial District Science Centre, Giridih.” A giant lock hung on the gate. Inside, there were two houses—one modern-looking, the other old. But since we couldn’t get in, we couldn’t be sure. Locals told us it had been shut down for years. No one knew the reason.
Sourabh-da suggested, “Let’s at least see the back of the house.” We went around and, through thick overgrowth, saw a sliver of a white-and-red brick house. We snapped a photo and that was all.
Then, like guilty defendants, we returned to the car. I declared to Kailash-da: “We won’t have lunch today. That will make up for the lost time. And even if we skip Parasnath, we won’t complain.”
He said nothing, but his face showed relief. Gaining courage, I asked, “By the way, where’s Gol Kuthi?”
I could almost hear him muttering under his breath: “Kahan se aa jaate hain, ye sab namoone…”
But aloud he said politely, “I don’t know. I’ll take you to an old Bengali sweet shop. You can ask there. If you’re not having lunch, at least have a little sweet.”
So we reached Durga Mishtanna Bhandar at Kalibari Chowk—established in 1954 by Lakshmi Narayan Ghosh. A tiny sweet shop, but we enjoyed rasgullas and singaras there, and even treated the driver. He then admitted, “I’ve never heard of Gol Kuthi. Let me ask my father.” Even his father didn’t know. At last, perhaps out of pity, Kailash-da said, “I have a few Bengali contacts.” He rang one up and handed the phone to Sourabh-da. The contact confirmed that Gol Kuthi no longer exists; a hotel now stands in its place. Jogendranath Sarkar used to stay there. He is brother of famous Doctor, Dr Nilratan Sarkar. They have marital relatioship with Herambachandra De (City College South was named after him).
Apparently litti-chokha of Giridih is famou.
With a sigh, we resumed our journey to Parasnath. At Parasnath, we saw the exquisite Digambar and spartarn Setambar temple, and the trekking route to Parasnath hill, before returning to Sett Heritage.
In the evening, the four of us sat on the veranda, gathered around a tea table on four easy chairs. Sourabh-da had brought back Burmese cigars from his recent Myanmar trip. The cigar, thick and wrapped in sal leaves, was such a monster that just lighting it felt like a group project. Standing, sitting, turning the fan off, turning the fan on, fanning with paper—finally, after much drama, the cigar lit. Phew! What a strong puff and what a cloud of smoke!
As we sipped our tea, we reminisced about the day’s adventures. From there, our discussion wandered far and wide—starting with the Naxalite movement and somehow ending at “Why You Should Not Buy a Second Home.”
Now, a few words about Seth Heritage. The current owner is Anjan Seth, but everything is managed by his son, Sourav Seth. The house is 139 years old.
As you enter, you’re welcomed by lush greenery. Then comes the veranda, with its easy chairs. Next is the drawing room, with old chairs, tables, and an almirah filled with antique books. Around it are several bedrooms, followed by a dining room, and finally the backyard kitchen. Each bedroom has an attached bathroom. Both the rooms and the bathrooms have full-length windows. The floors are of typical red oxide, we see in old buildings, the ceilings supported by thick wooden beams, and the walls nearly 10–15 inches thick. At the back, there’s a narrow staircase—barely a foot wide—leading up to the roof. On top, there’s a lovely terrace with more rooms. Altogether, a true heritage bungalow, soaked in old-world charm.
You do find heritage bungalows in West Bengal too—like Bawali Rajbari in Budge Budge or Bari Kothi in Murshidabad. But the problem is, those places couldn’t quite preserve the original feel and are super expensive. They’ve added bars, swimming pools, and modern frills. At Seth Heritage, though, you get a 100-year-old vibe effortlessly, with your eyes wide open. Completely organic.
📍 Day 3: Deoghar (or Baba Baidyanath Dham) (Sept 7, 2025)
Day 3: Deoghar – Trikut Hill, Tapovan and more
It was time to leave Sett Heritage Palace. On the last morning, we were browsing through their cupboards full of old books/magazines from 1971, when the car arrived. But today Kailash-da didn’t get out of the car. Instead, a stranger had come—he said he would take us around. Sadly, we couldn’t even say a proper goodbye to Kailash-da. Maybe we troubled him too much, so he sent a new driver. We learnt from him that Kailash da owns 7 cars.
Our plan today was to visit Deoghar. As soon as we got in the car, we told the driver clearly: we don’t want to go to Baba Dham / Baba Baidyanath Jyotirlinga Temple – one of 12 Jyotirlingas of Shiva (since it will kill the whole day) , Naulakha Temple or Satsang Ashram. Our aim today was to look for Bengali memories in Deoghar.
From an guide book (Bhromon-songi, we learnt that Deoghar’s famous landmark is the Clock Tower (Ghori More), from which four roads branch out. During British times, four main settlements grew there where Bengalis lived:
Williams Town,
Bilasi Town,
Bompas Town and
Castor Town.
We asked the driver to take us through these areas first, then to Nandan Hill, Trikut Hill, and Tapovan. That was our plan.
Driver Jyoti Paswan didn’t say anything.
We decided to stop for breakfast at the famous Burdwan Sweets in Deoghar. Their kachori, jilipi, chhana murki, and rasgulla are famous. But when we arrived, we heard the kachoris were finished, since we were little leate—what a disappointment!
But Sourabh-da worked his magic—he emotionally pleaded with the owner: “We came all the way to Madhupur to eat your kachori. Please, at least give us two each.” I thought this was pointless—finished means finished. But surprise! After much persuasion, they actually served us two kachoris each with curry. Later, we learnt those were kept aside for the shop staff after closing, and they gave them to us instead. We had some sweets also - Rasomali, Kalakand etc. They were all reasobaly good.
Burdwan Sweets was originally started by the Nag family in 1932, later sold in the 1960s to the present owner, Uttam Kumar. The name of the shop is still written in Bengali.
After breakfast, we headed to Deoghar. On the way, a debate began among us—why did the old grand Bengali bungalows here get abandoned and left to caretakers? Why do caretakers behave oddly, warning “Don’t take photos, the owner will scold you,” yet not even knowing where the owners live? Some even suspected we had come to buy the houses!
Jyoti-babu then explained: “This is our area—we know what happens here. Land brokers are always roaming. Caretakers want sales only through brokers of their choice, so they can take cuts from the Broker and even demand a share in the property. That’s why they block outsiders from directly contacting owners.”
As we talked, the roadside was filled with beautiful white kash flowers, swaying in the wind. Then we entered Deoghar city.
At the Clock Tower, our driver pretended he knew the roads but actually didn’t. Sourabh-da laughed: “This is a problem with drivers everywhere. In Tunisia too, our driver kept bluffing like this.”
Jyoti finally dropped us at Bompas Town. The first sight was a huge red gate marked in Bengali “Panu-shala.” We tried knocking, but a girl from inside said, “Baba isn’t home, so I won’t open.” Clearly another caretaker family. We left.
Next, we saw a grand palace now used as a banquet hall for marriages —no Bengali connection, the caretaker said it belonged to a local politician.
A little further ahead, we came across a satsang. Its name was Deb Sangha. On entering, I saw that the history of its construction—made possible through the donations of disciples—was engraved on a stone plaque.
Sourabh-da said, “Look carefully at the writing on the stone plaque. Then tell me what you understand.”
I read through all the names. In the very beginning, the names started with Jhunjhunwala, Jalan, Agarwal, and so on. After that, it ended with Banerjee, Mukherjee, Das, Biswas. I also saw the names of many women devotees who had donated whatever they could to help build the Sang. But I couldn’t figure out what dada was trying to say.
Dada said, “See, compare the donation amounts of the Jhunjhunwalas, Agarwalas, Bagrias with those of the Bengalis. They were rich back then, and they still are. And we were poor back then, and we still are.”
Outside, we noticed an old Post Office built in 1960 from a Jalan family donation, but the plaque was in Bengali—showing Bengali influence was still strong then. Even now, many locals in Deoghar speak Bengali well, and many staff, drivers, and workers have roots in Bengal.
We then visited more houses—some abandoned, some under churches, some marked with “This house is not for sale.”
On the way toward Nandan Hill, my eyes suddenly fell to the left. In front of a gate was written: “Arunava Ghosh, Calcutta High Court.”
Arunava Ghosh? The Congress leader and lawyer Arunava Ghosh?
At once, we stopped the car and got down.
On entering the house, the caretaker greeted us with a smile and said, “Yes, this is the old house of Advocate Arunava Ghosh.”
But the house was very small and without any grandeur. Yes, it still had those green doors and windows, and the light bluish-colored walls. There was also a Durga mandap.
The caretaker added, “Every year Durga Puja is held here. At that time, Arunava Ghosh comes here. But for the past two years, due to ill health, he hasn’t been able to come.”
From Nandan Hill, one can get a bird’s-eye view of Deoghar town.
Then we entered the main town again. No, unlike Madhupur or Giridih, there were not many old bunglaow houses visible here. And even if there were, Bengalis were never the original owners. Moreover, the structure and design of the houses were different from typical Bengali bungalows.
Still, we stopped the car in front of a very old house. It was abandoned. On the ground floor, a charitable dispensary was being run. But otherwise, there was no one around. At the gate of the house was written in bold letters:
“This house will not be sold.” The house was named Seba Sadan. We went inside, took a few photographs, and came out. None of the local people seemed willing to say anything.
We entered another house, also old and almost abandoned. But an elderly lady was standing there. She said, “This is the house of the Dalmias.”
We had come across these Dalmias in Madhupur as well. They had dug a large well there, known as Dalmia Kup.
We moved on. While keeping an eye on the roadside, suddenly a Bengali name caught my attention on the plaque of a gate: “Binoy Sinha, Advocate.”
We got down from the car. You could not enter directly through the main gate. There was a narrow lane beside it through which one had to enter the house.
Inside, we saw a young married woman. She said her home was in Burdwan, and she had come here after marriage. Her name was Lakshmi. We asked her whether anyone lived in this house, so that we could talk to them.
So gracefully she took us up to the entrance of the house and called someone from inside. An elderly lady came out, her face beaming with a smile. Her name was Geeta Sinha.
She said, “The name outside is my husband’s. He is at court now. Please, do sit.”
She seated us in a large sitting area right at the entrance of the house. She explained, “We have been living for many years on rent on the ground floor of this house. But this house does not belong to us. The owners’ family lives upstairs.”
“Can we meet him?” we asked.
“If you go to the hotel you saw while coming here, you’ll find him at the reception. That hotel belongs to them.”
We all engaged in lively conversation with her. She never for a moment treated us as strangers. Somehow she made us feel at home. She chatted with us very warmly.
While we were talking, a man came out through the main entrance. Immediately Geeta-ji said, “Arre Bittu! Look, they’ve come to meet you!”
He did not seem Bengali at all, and on top of that, he spoke in the accent of expatriate Bengalis. He said, “Yes, tell me, what would you like to ask?”
We asked, and he replied, “This is my grandfather’s house. Monindra Sadhukhan built it. Now none of them live here anymore. Everyone stays in Salkia.” Saying this, he left.
Without prolonging the conversation, we took a photograph with Geeta Sinha and Lakshmi and bid farewell. Yet I was struck by Geeta-ji’s gracious smile and her ability to make complete strangers feel like family within moments. Where can one find such warmth nowadays!
We decided not to search for any more Bengali houses in Deoghar. We told this to Jyoti-ji as well.
He said, “What more will you see? Everything has been demolished. Wherever you find big hotels, departmental stores, or modern buildings, you can be sure that once there stood some grand bungalow or mansion. Now everything is in the hands of the mafias. Common people lived by hard labour a hundred years ago, and even today, it is the same.”
We listened silently. What could we say? We could all see it for ourselves. There is no difference between Bengal and Jharkhand in this matter, at least.
We decided next to visit Trikut Hill and Tapovan. Before going, we ate dosa and idli at Hotel Mayur. The formations of Trikut Hill and Tapovan are truly worth seeing. I had never seen anything like them before. How beautiful—rows of small pure hills standing side by side.
While climbing Trikut Hill, your companions will be little monkeys (Rhesus Macaque possibly). And at Tapovan, it will be large langurs with long tails.
In both places, as soon as you get down from the car, local guides will warn you about the monkeys and langurs. At first, it may seem like they are acting like Good Samaritans, but actually, they are trying to build rapport with you so that you will take them as guides. Such techniques are even taught in big management schools. In any case, we did not hire any guide. We climbed on our own. Sampa Mashi bought a conch shell for Rs 700 at Trikut Hill. At the very top in both places, there were temples.
Though the glory of the temples was eternal, the beauty of the hill formations could not be forgotten. Looking at one of the hills in Tapovan, it resembled the head of an elephant. These hills have stood in the same place for millions of years, and in comparison, we are nothing but specks of dust.
Thinking such thoughts, suddenly before my eyes I saw a striking example of human strength, devotion, effort, and determination. Lines of people were advancing along one side of the National Highway, performing dandi—moving forward by lying flat and stretching their bodies along the ground. Women, children, the elderly—everyone was part of this journey!
Jyoti-da said, “They are all going to Basukinath. After offering water at Deoghar Baidyanath Dham, they have vowed to go to Basukinath in this way, by performing dandi. It is almost 50 kilometers away.”
Can you imagine? Even as they moved forward like this, there was not the slightest trace of suffering on their faces. They proceeded without expression, detached.
Jyoti-ji added, “They are not local people. Most have come from Uttar Pradesh.” Perhaps without mountain-like determination and willpower, it would not be possible even to complete 100 meters of dandi. We admired their endurance and moved on.
Deoghar’s pera is famous. When we expressed our wish to buy some, Jyoti-ji stopped at a shop on the National Highway called Maa Lakshmi Pera Bhandar. The owner was Mathur Mondal. Jyoti-ji said this shop is the most famous in the area for pera. During special times, several tons of pera are made here daily. Indeed, once inside, we saw for ourselves. Spread over several thousand square feet was their pera factory.
And the taste? The moment it touched the tongue, it felt as though someone had poured the nectar of the amrit-manthan pot straight into the mouth.
Am I exaggerating?
Perhaps—but the taste is truly unforgettable. It is probably the best Pera we ever had.
At last, it was time to return. Our train was from Madhupur. We went back from Deoghar to Madhupur. I had a strong wish to once more spend an evening sitting on Sett’s verandah, but in the end, it was not possible.
We returned to Madhupur station at 8.00 pm. At 10:25 p.m., we had our tickets booked on the Upasana Express.
Standing on the station platform, we watched a total lunar eclipse.
Since we had some time and the train was running late, we decided to book the AC delxue room in the platform by paying Rs 300 for 4 of us.
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