He: (Shey) (Modern Classics (Penguin)) (7 page)

‘We must prompt her with the first line, otherwise she won’t have an inkling of my character. The beginning of the ode is to be: “As a man, I perceive you’re extremely queer.”

‘If we insist on a perfect match of three entire lines, the girl will hold her head in her hands in despair. She’ll just have to admit defeat. Let’s hear
you
give us the next line, Dada.’

I recited:

You’re possessed by a demon, such is my fear.

‘Excellent! But the poem will be incomplete without a few more lines. I’d say, forget the bride, not even her father could find lines to match these. Dada, can you think of anything, sense or nonsense?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘Then listen—

Jump off the roof with a thud,

Land on your head in the mud;

Just as the fit takes you, any-how-where.’

‘What on earth is that? Where do they speak such a language?’

‘Why, it’s Sanskrit, the language of the gods—at a stage when it had not progressed beyond strange noises.’

‘Any-how-where—what does that mean?’

‘It means, whatever you like. Just as you please. That’s in Bengali. Modern scholars call it a verbal legacy.’

My reverence for the fellow overflowed its banks. He had extraordinary potential in him. I thumped him on the back and told him he had stunned me.

‘It won’t do to stay stunned,’ he declared. ‘We must get going. The auspicious hour set for the wedding is passing. The hour of Babakaran will pass, then Taitilakaran, then Vaishkumbhajog, and after that, Harshanjog, Bishtikaran, and in the end, Asrikjog and Dhanishthanakshatra.
²⁶
The Goswamis
²⁷
maintain that when Vyatipatjog, Balakaran and Parighjog coincide with Garkaran, disaster is imminent. A housewife knows no greater danger than Garkaran. Siddhijog, Brahmajog, Indrajog, Shivajog—none of them occur this week. There’s a faint hope of Bariyanjog, if the seventh of the twenty-seven stars appears in the sky.’

‘No more delay. We must set off immediately. Shout for Puttulal, tell him to bring his motorcar. He’ll have sat down at his spinning wheel by now. He can’t sleep without spinning a while; that’s what driving has done to him.’

We climbed into the car.

We were driving through a forest. It was very dark. A jackal howled somewhere among the thick clumps of weeds guarding a pond. It must have been about half past three in the morning. The noise gave Puttulal such a shock that he drove the car straight into a pool of water. Meanwhile, a frog had got into his clothes and was hopping around wildly in the region of his back. What a shrieking he set up! I tried to soothe him by saying, ‘Puttulal, you keep complaining of backache. Let the frog jump about all it likes, you’ll never get such a fine massage for free!’

I clambered up on to the roof of the car and began calling, ‘Banamali, Banamali!’

Not a sound from the stupid fellow. It was clear he was bundled up in a rug on the platform at Bolpur
²⁸
station, snoring loudly. I felt strongly inclined to go tickle his nose with a fountain pen and make him sneeze. Perhaps that would wake him up.

Meanwhile, my hair was drenched in muddy water. I couldn’t possibly present myself at our friend’s sister-in-law’s without combing it properly. Roused by the hullabaloo, the ducks by the pond had set up a furious honking. With a single bound, I landed among them and, grabbing one, scrubbed vigorously at my head with its wing. That restored my hair to some degree of order. Puttulal suddenly remarked, ‘You were right, Dadababu. That frog hopping over my back is really making me feel quite comfortable. I’m beginning to feel rather drowsy.’

We finally reached He’s sister-in-law’s house. I was so hungry that I’d completely forgotten about meeting the bride. I asked his sister-in-law, ‘He was with me all this while, why don’t I see him now?’

His sister-in-law’s dulcet tones issued through three yards of swaddling dupatta: ‘He has gone to seek his bride.’

‘In what dump?’

‘In the bamboo thicket by the dried-up pond.’

‘How far away would that be?’

‘A nine-hour journey.’

‘Not very far, then. But I’m famished. Bring out that chutney of yours.’

Sister-in-law lamented in nasal tones, ‘Curse my ill-luck, it was only the Tuesday before last that I filled the shell of a burst football with all that was left of it and sent it off to Buju-didi. She loves it so with mustard oil, chillies and gram-flour dumplings.’

My face went pale. ‘What’ll we eat, then?’

Sister-in-law answered, ‘Shrivelled shrimps in treacle syrup. Do eat something, son, or you’ll have a stomach ache.’

I ate what I could, but there was a lot left. ‘Have some?’ I asked Puttulal.

He answered, ‘Give me the jar, I’ll take it home and eat it after evening prayers.’

We came back home. Our sandals were soaked and we were plastered in mud.

I summoned Banamali. ‘You monkey, what were you doing when we called you?’

He burst into tears and sobbed, ‘A scorpion had stung me, and it sent me straight to sleep.’

Having said this, he trotted back to bed.

Suddenly, a villainous-looking fellow burst into the room. He was very tall, broad-shouldered and barrel-necked; as dark as Banamali, with bushy hair and bristling whiskers. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was dressed in a printed smock, with a three-cornered yellow towel knotted around his striped red lungi.
²⁹
In his hand was a bamboo cudgel topped with long copper spikes. His voice was like the horn on Gadai-babu’s motorcar. His bellow of ‘Babumashai!’ would have turned the scales at no less than three and a half maunds.

I flinched, tearing a hole in my paper with a nervous thrust of my pen.

‘What’s the matter?’ I demanded. ‘Who are you?’

He answered, ‘My name is Pallaram. I’ve come from my sister’s house. Where’s that He of yours?’

I said, ‘How should I know?’

Pallaram glowered at me. ‘Don’t know, indeed!’ he shouted. ‘I can see that single sock of his—the patched, hairy, green one— dangling from your bookshelf like the chopped-off tail of a dead squirrel. How would he bring himself to leave that behind?’

I said, ‘Our He isn’t one to sustain losses. Wherever he’s gone, he’s sure to come back for it. But what’s the matter?’

He replied, ‘Yesterday, my sister went to the house of the commander-in-chief of the army and made a pact of friendship with his wife. She returned to discover that your He had made off with a pot, an umbrella, a deck of playing cards, a hurricane lantern and a sack of anthracite coal. She can’t even find the basket of bamboo sprouts, tender ends of bottle-gourd and cane-bush leaves that she’d brought in from the garden. She’s simply furious.’

‘Well, what am I to do about that?’ I asked.

‘That He must be hiding somewhere on your premises, bring him out!’ ordered Pallaram.

‘He isn’t here,’ I protested. ‘Go lodge a complaint at the police station.’

‘He must be here.’

‘This is a pretty kettle of fish! I tell you he isn’t here!’

‘He must be here, he must, he must!’ Pallaram pounded on my table with his brass-topped cudgel. The madman next door began howling like a jackal. All the neighbourhood dogs began yapping. Banamali had left me a glass of bael sharbat, which Pallaram now knocked over. The juice mingled with violet ink from a smashed bottle and ran gracefully down the silk sheet to puddle in my shoes. I began yelling for Banamali.

As soon as he saw Pallaram, Banamali fled, calling upon his ancestors to save him.

I suddenly remembered. ‘Our He has gone to find his bride.’

‘Where?’

‘In the bamboo thicket by the dried-up pond
.
’

The giant exclaimed, ‘Why, that’s where I live!’

‘That’s all right, then. Do you have a daughter?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, now you’ve found her a suitor.’

‘I can’t be quite sure yet. I’ll stand over your He with my cudgel till they’re married. Only then will I consider myself relieved of my paternal responsibility.’

‘Well then, you’d better be off. You mightn’t see the groom around, now that he’s seen his bride.’

‘Right you are,’ he agreed.

There was an old broken bucket in the room. He seized it. ‘What will you do with that?’ I asked.

‘It’s very sunny outside,’ he explained. ‘This’ll do for a hat.’

He went off. By then, the crows had started cawing, and I could hear the trams rumbling by. I sat up hurriedly and called for Banamali.

‘Who was it that entered this room?’ I demanded.

‘Didimani’s cat,’ Banamali answered, rubbing his eyes.

At this, Pupu-didi looked bewildered. ‘Why, Dadamashai, all this while you’ve been telling me how you went to a feast and were visited in your room by Pallaram.’

I stopped myself just in time. I had been about to explain wisely that I had dreamt it from start to finish. That would have ruined it all. From now on, I would have to manage Pallaram as best I could. When the Creator interrupts our dreams, it doesn’t do to complain. When we do it ourselves, it seems most unkind.

Pupu-didi reminded me, ‘Dadamashai, you still haven’t told me whether they got married.’

I realized a wedding was necessary. ‘There was no way they could escape it!’ I told her.

‘Did you meet them after their marriage?’

‘I certainly did. It was half past four in the morning. The gas lamps on the streets were still burning. I saw the bride marching her husband along.’

‘Where to?’

‘To New Market, to buy some yams.’
³⁰

‘Yams!
’

‘Yes. Mind you, the groom had objected.’

‘Why?’

‘He’d said he’d buy a jackfruit if they really needed it, but he wasn’t equal to yams
.’

‘What happened after that?’

‘Our unfortunate He had to lug the big yam home on his shoulder.’

Pupu was pleased. She said, ‘Serve him right!’

²⁰
When Shiva married
his ascetic bride
: Shiva’s consort Parvati won her husband
through long and severe penance.

²¹
Narada
: an ancient sage of great wisdom and musical prowess, but also
known for his bad temper and contentiousness.

²²
Mahadeva
: another name for Shiva.

²³
Mahakali
: goddess of destruction; an incarnation of Durga.

²⁴
Rangmashal: a popular children’s magazine of the time.

²⁵
Brahma
: one of the principal Hindu gods; the creator of the universe, while
Vishnu is the preserver and Shiva the destroyer.

²⁶
Babakaran,Taitila
karan,Vaishkumbhajog, Harshanjog, Bishtikaran, Asrikjog
,
Dhanishthanakshatra
: words mocking the rigmarole of Sanskritic terms of ritual
and ceremony.

²⁷
Goswami
: a common surname or appellation of Vaishnavs.

²⁸
Bolpur
: a town (originally a village) near Shantiniketan.The railway station for Shantiniketan is situated here.

²⁹
lungi
: a length of cloth worn wrapped round the waist by men.

³⁰
New Market was a fashionable European-style market. One would not go there to buy something as rustic as yams.

I WAS SIPPING MY TEA IN THE MORNING, WHEN HE TURNED UP.

‘Got anything to tell me?’ I asked.

‘I do,’ he said.

‘Well, tell me quick, because I have to be off in a minute.’

‘Where to?’

‘The viceroy’s.’

‘Does he often send for you?’

‘No, he doesn’t, but he would do well to.’

‘Why?’

‘He’d have found me a greater expert at inventing news than all his informants. No Rai Bahadur
³¹
could ever measure up to me, as you know.’

‘I know, but nowadays you’re saying whatever you like about me.’

‘There’s a demand for fantastic tales, you see.’

‘Fantastic they may be, but even fantasy has its limits. Anybody could put together a string of commonplace, jumbled-up inventions.’