The railroad from Alipurduar
Junction to Buxa Dooars logging station in the northern frontiers of Bengal used to run through a deep forest. It
also carried the pleasure seeking colonial officials and their wives to the edge of the Bhutan
hills. Today the railroad is closed but the rumbling and whistle of a ghost
steam train is still heard at eerie midnights.
The Whistle in the Forest
There used to be a merry metre
railroad here,
To the blue hills from the Terai's green plains,
It’s closed now for seventy or eighty years;
You can’t see any of those lean steam trains.
They used to carry timber from Buxa Dooars,
And bring up the whites seeking cool revelry,
In special chair compartments meant only
For the British officials and their fair gentry.
Wild bushes, creepers and thorny berry brambles,
Cover the abandoned lifeless parallel steel lines,
Now abode of foxes, snakes and vampire leeches;
In daylight and when the lonely moon shines.
In the far tea estate quarters the people hear,
The elephants trumpet and jolly jackals howl,
And to answer the call of the heartless hunger;
Cheetahs from the wild quietly visit and prowl.
If you stay in the estate or in a forest bungalow,
Among eerie sounds of the woods at midnights,
A ghostly whistle you’ll hear near the log station;
The rumbling of a train and giggles of the whites.
To the blue hills from the Terai's green plains,
It’s closed now for seventy or eighty years;
You can’t see any of those lean steam trains.
They used to carry timber from Buxa Dooars,
And bring up the whites seeking cool revelry,
In special chair compartments meant only
For the British officials and their fair gentry.
Wild bushes, creepers and thorny berry brambles,
Cover the abandoned lifeless parallel steel lines,
Now abode of foxes, snakes and vampire leeches;
In daylight and when the lonely moon shines.
In the far tea estate quarters the people hear,
The elephants trumpet and jolly jackals howl,
And to answer the call of the heartless hunger;
Cheetahs from the wild quietly visit and prowl.
If you stay in the estate or in a forest bungalow,
Among eerie sounds of the woods at midnights,
A ghostly whistle you’ll hear near the log station;
The rumbling of a train and giggles of the whites.
***
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