(Top) The Jalpaiguri Rajbari, which captures the story of the town — maintenance and neglect; the Cosmos Mega Mart in boomtown Siliguri. (Pictures by Amit Datta); The photograph of the Bachhowali Tope in front of Hazarduari Palace, carried with Saturday’s report on Murshidabad, was taken by Anindya Shankar Ray.

Independence was still a year away when a little girl, hardly 10, opened the door of her house to a knock.

A stranger stood on the steps outside.

“Where is your father?” he asked.

“Not at home,” the girl replied. “What is your name?”

The man paused. “Tell your father Prasannadev Raikot had come.”

Then he walked away, seemingly unbothered that a commoner hadn’t recognised the king.

The king of Jalpaiguri is long dead but if anything captures what the town is now, it is his palace: dazzling white on one side, crumbling ruin on the other. Sign of care versus signature of neglect.

That’s the story of the town, on the way to Bhutan, a few hours’ drive through dense forests where elephants roam and peacocks preen at passing vehicles. Watered by the Teesta, this once thriving tea hub of north Bengal has seen change.

Roads have been widened, though some are still a congested mess of two-wheelers and rickshaws, a drain is being dug to flush out the town’s waste into the Gadadhar canal and work is on to build a 6km bypass off the Teesta bridge.

A centre for the performing arts has been built for culture-conscious Jalpaiguri that has given Bengal writers like Samaresh Majumdar and Debes Roy.

A bus stand has come up, another is being built; residents can cool off in a swimming pool and a spanking 2-star hotel has opened this January.

But perhaps the most striking change is Vishal Mega Mart, the lone mall the town can boast of. “The average daily footfall is between 350 and 400,” says one of the managers of the mart that opened two years ago.

“Business is about Rs 1 lakh a day,” confirms Gautam Mukherjee, who rented out the plot.

But drive to Dinbajar and you wonder if it’s the same town where you just passed a bridge over the Karala, the tiny “Thames of Jalpaiguri” that runs right through the middle.

The Karala has stopped flowing here. Clogged by garbage, it’s a stinking slush of polythene and human waste. “There are no toilets here. And there are just two taps for 300 people,” says Ratan Joardar, a resident of a slum of 300, as a crowd gathers. “They call this the heart of Jalpaiguri. Can you bear the stench?”

A girl on a bicycle passes by, curious look in her eyes, involuntary hand over her nose.

This is the underbelly of the town, once the headquarters of the Raikots who descended from the Koch Rajbongshi rulers of Kamtapur, which explains the substantial Rajbongshi population in the district.

The town was part of the Duars area of the old Kamarupa and later the Bhutanese kingdoms annexed in 1864 by the British, who merged the eastern half with Goalpara district (now in Assam) and converted the western half into a new district of western Duars.

Reorganised in 1869, the area was renamed Jalpaiguri, with the town becoming the district headquarters.

Today, 140 years on, it’s a headquarters in contrast: air-conditioned mart not very far from a “heart” of squalor.

“Quite a contrast,” says Manik Sengupta, a retired government employee who now manages a school. “You can’t deny development has taken place. But yes, a lot needs to be done.”

To former Congress MLA Anupam Sen, that’s an understatement. “Jalpaiguri has no drainage system,” says the practising doctor whom everybody in the town knows.

His party controls the 25-seat municipality but the 80-year-old doesn’t mince words. Drainage is a key issue in this civic election.

“The Karala pollution is a serious problem,” says Sengupta, who risked his life to save several people during the 1968 floods.

Yet, 42 years ago, this squalid, stagnant apology of a river had swelled into a rippling mass of water during the 1968 floods when the Teesta swamped thousands of homes and killed hundreds.

Old-timers remember a young woman, perched on the roof of her deluged house. “She took off her sari and lowered one end to a man being swept away by the current,” recalls a survivor.

Devastated by the floods, Jalpaiguri showed its resilience as it struggled back to life. Today, resentment breaks through — at a tiny neighbour.

If Jalpaiguri has one Vishal, Siliguri has an Inox, a Koutons, a Cosmos Mega Mart that includes a Pantaloons showroom and several other lifestyle stores. “When a town develops, it stunts the growth of others around it,” says Jalpaiguri municipality chairman Mohan Bose.

“Urban development minister Asok Bhattacharya has ensured that 90 per cent of the funds for the Siliguri-Jalpaiguri Development Authority are used for Siliguri,” says councillor Tapan Banerjee, blaming the Siliguri CPM leader and chairman of the authority for what Jalpaiguri could have been but is not.

“Their anger is justified,” says Siliguri resident and successful businessman Sanjay Mallik (name changed). “But Siliguri is fast developing and needs the funds to sustain its growth.”

Land prices reveal the picture. While land comes for about Rs 3-4 lakh a cottah in Jalpaiguri, it could go beyond Rs 50 lakh in proper Siliguri. (60 cottahs = 1 acre)

If Jalpaiguri flickers — power goes off for several hours every day — Siliguri dazzles. Cars and rickshaws choke Siliguri, too, but it’s a congested constellation of gleaming hotels and teeming malls. “After all, it’s the gateway to the hills and the Northeast,” says school administrator Sengupta.

The only gateway Jalpaiguri can boast of is a relic from the past — the Rajbari gate, a cracked, lonely shape on the road to the town. Turn right and you reach the palace — brilliant white and ruined wreck.

“The well-maintained portion is taken care of by the king’s grandson,” says Ranjit Isore, another descendant of the 500-year-old dynasty.

The king’s grandson, Pranata Kumar Bose, is the son of Pratibha Devi, the daughter of Prasannadev Raikot and Rani Asrumati Devi. He has another claim to fame. His paternal uncle was Jyoti Basu.

“The government has done nothing for the Rajbari,” says Isore, now 70.

But it wasn’t like this. The sprawling structure was once the heart of a thriving hub when hundreds of tea gardens sprouted and people swarmed in to brew their luck. “Today, the tea industry is weak,” says candidate Rinku Bose.

Some gardens have closed down and many have changed hands.

“If a place doesn’t have industry, there’s no scope for development,” says struggling businessman Sovan Sarkar, 55, who runs a repair shop for electronic goods.

There are many like him in the town, small-time entrepreneurs who barely eke out a living. All the big businesses have gone to Siliguri.

As you hit the road to Siliguri, 40km away, the lights fade. Soon, it’s pitch dark on this lamp-less stretch. Only the headlights of buses and trucks, lumbering past towards Assam, break the sombre blackness.

The spell breaks as lights twinkle again in the distance. “Welcome to Siliguri,” says a huge board.

Welcome to the town of Asok Bhattacharya, whom every resident of Jalpaiguri knows.

Even the little girl, now 74, who opened the door but didn’t recognise her king, knows him.

Concluded