Roots Beckons
Nivaâs Return: A Homestay Dream in Hajo
Niva stood by the window of her modest home in suburban Chicago, her eyes tracing the gray, steel skyline beyond. The air was cold and sterile, far from the warm misty mornings she remembered back in Assam. Her two boys, Roop and Rang, were playing quietly in the corner, their laughter faint but familiar.
It had been nearly ten years since she had left her homelandâher holy village of Hajo, nestled in Lower Assamâafter marrying Arjun. Back then, she had been so full of hope and dreams. But now, amid the bustling chaos of American life, a part of her felt achingly incomplete.
The Roots Left Behind
In her mind, the scent of the blooming Kopou flowers, the serene Brahmaputra river, and the ancient temples of Hajo were never far away. She could almost hear her motherâs voice, soft yet firm, calling her for breakfast under the shade of the huge mango tree in their courtyard.
âNiva, come quickly! The rice is almost ready,â her mother had said with that familiar warmth.
Her father, with his weathered hands and quiet wisdom, would be sitting on the veranda, watching the village children play. The ancestral home was old but proud, its walls echoing stories of generations past.
âNiva, your roots are here,â her grandmother had whispered once, her eyes shining with pride.
But now, thousands of miles away, she wondered if she could ever truly belong anywhere but in that small village serene and beautiful.
A Longing That Grows
One evening, as the boys slept, Niva sat scrolling through photos on her phoneâimages of the Brahmaputraâs shimmering surface at dawn, of paddy fields golden and ripe under the sun, and the mist that clung to the hills in the early morning.
âI miss home so much, Arjun,â she said quietly to her husband as he came to sit beside her.
Arjun sighed, tired after a long day at work. âI know, Niva. I want you to be happy. But my job here⌠itâs stable, itâs what gives us this life. Maybe one day we can visit for a long time.â
Niva nodded, but the ache inside her only grew. The boys were growing older now, and she wanted them to know where they came fromânot just through stories but by feeling the soil beneath their feet, smelling the monsoon rain on the earth, tasting the sweet Kettle Pitha (delicacy of Assam) made by her mother.
The Spark of an Idea
One rainy weekend, Nivaâs phone buzzed with a message from her cousin back home:
âThe old family house in Hajo is falling apart. Father is weak now. We are thinking of selling it.â
A wave of panic and sadness washed over Niva. The ancestral homeâher childhood, her rootsâwas at risk of being lost forever.
Suddenly, an idea bloomed in her heart. What if they could not only save the house but breathe new life into it? What if the old home could become a place for others to experience the magic of Assamâits culture, beauty, and warmth?
âArjun,â she said one evening, her eyes bright with hope, ââWhat if we give the house a new life? A place where people come to feel Assam, to breathe its air, to hear its songs. What if we turn the ancestral home into a luxury homestay? A place for travelers to come and live the Assamese experience, just like we did.â
Arjun looked at her thoughtfully. âItâs risky⌠but also exciting. I think it could work. Our boys can grow up here, with stories and roots. Letâs do itâfor them, for us.â
That night, they made a pact to bring the dream to life.
Back to Hajo
Within months, Arjun managed to get a sabbatical from work. The family packed their bags and flew to Assam. As their plane descended, Nivaâs heart raced. The lush greenery stretched below, rivers glistened, and the hills stood guard like ancient sentinels.
When they reached Hajo, the village welcomed them like a long-lost song. The ancestral house stood silentlyâits paint peeling, windows dusty, but its soul intact.
Nivaâs mother hugged her tightly. âYou have come back, Niva. The house is yours. Make it live again.â
Roop and Rang ran through the courtyard, their laughter blending with the chirping of birds.
Reviving the Past
The next few months were filled with hard work and love. They hired local craftsmen who knew the old art of weaving bamboo and cane, of painting walls with traditional motifs.
Niva spent hours with the cooks learning to prepare authentic Assamese dishesâpitha, tenga, khar.
âYour guests must taste the flavors of home,â she told them with a smile.
Arjun worked on renovating the rooms, adding modern touches while preserving the heritage look.
Villagers came to help, sharing stories and laughter, reminding Niva why she had missed this place so dearly.
Raghu Khura(Uncle) , a respected elderly villager who knew Niva from her childhood days came to visit them that evening. He had happy tears in his eyes,âYour familyâs home has always been a light in Hajo. You are welcome back with open arms. The village stands with you.â
âWe are grateful Khura. Together, we will make this house sing again, with the laughter of many.â
A Homestay Like No Other
The homestay opened its doors with a grand celebration. Travelers from across India and abroad came to experience Assam through Nivaâs eyesâthe morning walks through fragrant mustard fields, visits to the ancient Hayagriva Madhava temple, watching the fishes and huge turtles in the big Pukhuri (pond) , a hike to the Kedar Temple and stopping by Baba Ganesh to seek his blessings on the way. Get-togethers with folk music and Bihu in the evenings set an ambience to be cherished by the tourists forever.
The tourists thanked Niva and her family for the incredible experience and a promise to come back again to relive these moments of bliss.
Roop and Rang, now more connected to their roots than ever, guided guests with pride, telling stories their mother had shared.
One evening, as the family sat around the fire pit under a star-studded sky, Arjun took Nivaâs hand. âThank you for bringing us home,â he said softly.
Niva smiled, her heart full. âWe never left. This is where we always belonged.â
Epilogue: Dreams Rooted Deep
The homestay flourished, becoming a beacon of Assamese culture and hospitality. Nivaâs parents found peace in their old age, surrounded by family and visitors who respected their traditions.
And Nivaâshe had found her way back to the place where her story began, weaving together the past and the future in the heart of Assam.
