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But a more constant link with the world is our Bengali doctor and his wife. For them life in Mokokchung is like a bitter exile in a prison. A well-bred Bengali lady, in her delicate sandals and trailing georgette, cannot even go for a comfortable walk on these rocky muddy hillsides. When her (34) husband came here she was carried in a litter over the hills and when he departs she will be carried out, but in between whiles she can do nothing but busy herself with her household and her two children, and lament the lack of company, the drab monotony of the food, and above all, for a Bengali, the lack of fish. Her husband too regards this as a period of exile for although his work absorbs his interest, all his practice is public. When they come for a polite tea party, we talk about mutual Indian friends in Calcutta and Bihar, but never of the life in Mokokchung. For them life will only start again when they leave the hills. |
