On Sunday last I went to Malda by bus. I got into the bus at Durgapur. The bus dashed on between the fields of paddy. The houses and trees on either side of the road whirledpast in the opposite direction. Bullock carts moved along the village roads leaving behind a trail of dust. Bare-bodied village children displayed funny gestures as the bus ran past them. A pond or two caught my sight and I saw men and women bathe and swim in them. When the bus neared Farakka, the Farakka Bridge, the marvel of engineering skill, came to my view. bus had left Kaliachak the landscape changed suddenly.
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After the I found to my utter surpprise, the endless stretch of mango-gardens. The trees full of green leaves presented a rich panorama for the eyes to feast upon. The bus moved on and on like a rocket and went past Gour. Suddenly the driver steered the bus off the metalled road to avoid a head-on collision with a lorry and then braked it quickly, lest it should fall down into a way-side ditch. The passengers were jerked dangerouly; some were even hurt. The bus reached Malda in the evening. I had a sadly pleasant journey. I will ever remember it.
