Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume
6, Number 1. May 2023. ISSN: 2581-7094
O My Soul’s Mate
[The story is originally written in Bangla by Bikash
sarkar a poet, writer and editor. who was awarded the prestigious Jugasankha
Award 2010.]
--- Bikash Sarkar
Rashik was, what we
call, a moron. He was mentally impaired. He was neither an intellectually
gifted man nor a skilled worker. To put it more simply, he was a non-human
masquerading as a human. But Rashik was capable of putting in a lot of physical
labor. He was capable of working tirelessly. Sometimes, as a result of his
devil's labor, a soapy fizz would emanate from his mouth. Ramanath was an
experienced man. He eventually concluded that Rashik was most like the cows he
kept in his shed. Ramanath chose to refer to him as "son of a bitch"
rather than "son of a cow" since the former was not adequately
offensive. He hurled with every insult he knew at Rashik and all he did was to
offer back a gap-toothed smile in return. The idiot!
He limped sluggishly
back into his room once Ramanath had done with his abuses. His left leg was
around 1.5 inches shorter than his right one since birth.
Rashik's widowed
mother Raikishori had joined the Thakurpath Bhattacharjee’s house as a maid
carrying her boy against her flank. Rashik was two years old then. Ramanath
reminisced about the days when he had graduated from Bairatiguri High School
and taken his school finals. He was not permitted to take the test examination
once since he had failed class IX. That made him 18 years by the time he passed
class X. Ramanath calculated. He was 51 now. Rashik was 35. Ramanath used to
call Rashik’s mother ‘Khuri’. ‘Raikhuri’.
Since Raikhuri's
death three years ago, Rashik has been living alone in the room that was
erected for them against the boundary wall, a structure with three bamboo walls
and a thatched roof. There stand three rooms arranged in a row. The other two
rooms are used by Nagen Roy and Banga Barman, two laborers who worked on his
land. Rashik was the most foolish of all of them- a rather cunning and evil
group. Matching tune with their malik* they also called
Rashik names, called him cow and donkey. Rashik always ate the humble pie. He
only smiled back. All three of them ate their meals at Ramanath’s house. Nanda,
his cook, made them sit in the corner of the verandah and served them food.
Even though there
are no longer any so-called Jothdaars—the lords of enormous
agricultural farms—and Barga only appears in official
records, Ramanath is still a Jothdaar. All land reforms, Barga,
etc. get thwarted here at Bhattacharjee's house. The senior Thakurpath people
continue to refer to him as Jothdarbabu. He still enjoys respect
from his tenants. One would be in awe of the lands he owns in Thakurpath,
Gilandi, and Deomali. He had to sell 22 bighas of land next to Sakoajhora and
Dhiren's shop in order to fund his son's MBA education in Bangalore. There,
Rajatsubhro is currently working for a global corporation. Father and son got
into a fierce argument when he visited them prior to the Viswakarma Puja.
-You joined work
without letting me know. How could you do that?
-Got selected in
campusing. How could I let the opportunity go?
-You don’t need to
work. I still have 50 bighas of land here.
- Why did you enroll
me in MBA then?
- That was only for
the degree. So that people respect you here.
-Does anybody let go
of a job of forty-thousand? In this period of economic crisis?
- I will give you an
allowance of fifty thousand per month. Come back here. There is no economic
crisis in Thakurpath.
-What shall I do
here? Plough? Quarrel with potato sellers of Dhupguri over rates of potatoes?
-That’s what you are
supposed to do. Who will look after all this land?
-You take care of
your property. Or else sell them off. Do not drag me into this. Uff, I feel so
suffocated here at Thakurpath. Pools everywhere stinking with rets of jute. I
feel nauseating.
-Those are not rets
of jute. They are rets of money. The smell of money makes you vomit?
-Yes . The
stink of money at Thakurpath makes me vomit.
Rajat took off. But
he did some good too. He took his mother along with him. A month went by. Rajat
had been very busy with his work. He had no idea when he could fly his mother
back. Anuradha had called up.
Look at the
situation I am in. Babu claimed that it would only be for fifteen days, and now
see how I am stuck here.
– Enjoy with your
Babu a few more days here. He's so alone there, bechara.
- That’s true. But
at Thakurpath you are also alone all by yourself.
--Aare, here
we have Nanda to cook for us. Here’s Nagen, Banga. And Rashik your favorite
-Do you take your
pressure medicines regularly?
-Yes, very punctual.
Don’t worry.
-Then I think I will
stay back for the winter.
-Absolutely. Do not
worry at all. Call up whenever you feel down. Your son earns forty thousand per
month. You can call at your will.
This year's Pujas
are early. Now, it is autumn. During the night, there is a slight chill in the
air. It is necessary to turn off the fan, to snuggle under a bed cover.
Ramanath was kept warm, though, by the heat Noorjahan's thirty-year-old body
produced. It unsettled him in some way.
Replacing the
receiver on its cradle Ramanath climbed onto the terrace. The terrace sprawled
over the second floor. One could see till a distance from there. As far as the
eyes traveled, all were Bhattacharjee’s territory. Rows of potato plants. The
geometrical greenery pleased his eye. This year the rates of potatoes were
sky-high. The way the potato plants were slinking up on his farm, it could be
foretold that the year would see a good harvest. Nagen and Banga were spraying
pesticides. They had gamcha* knotted around their neck to
cover their nose. The land touching Bhattacharjee’s wall had a thin stretch of betel
nut orchard. Perched under a betel nut tree Rashik was singing unmindfully—
Neel dariyar majhi re ,
kul gheshiya jao re,
sabdhane,sabdhane baiyo nao
[boatsman of the
blue sea,
row your boat close
to the shore,
carefully, carefully
row your boat]
Only the idiot Rasik
knew where could find a blue ocean amidst the dry brown beetle nuts. Thank god,
today he was not singing that Paran bondhu re, dao dekha daya kore.
[O my soul’s mate, reveal thyself to me…] He sang it so often that he had
spoilt the charm of the song. Ramanath had reproached him once or twice -“Stop
this song of yours. It boils my blood. When you have so many numbers in your
warehouse why do you harp on the same tune like a house myna? ” Rashik had
digested the reproach and replied –
“ This is my
favorite song Karta.” *
But one had to admit
that Rashik sang only too well. He was an illiterate, idiot, but he had a very
sharp memory as far as remembering words of songs was concerned. Singing came
to him naturally. He could learn all the lyrics by heart only by listening to
them. He could memorize songs. He listened to Pabanbaul at Dhiren’s shop, to
Khagen Adhikary of Magurmari, and Dayal Mondal of Noonkhoaya and had picked up
all. Thus he had Bhatiyali, Kirtan, Baulanga, Jari-
Jikir, and also some Goyalpariya* in his
collection. He had earned quite a name too. He got regular invitations at
Thakurpath on occasions like Narayan Puja, death rituals, rice
ceremonies, and Kirtan.
Ashu Dutta, the
manager of Thakurpath Jatra Samaj, had requested Rashik to play the role of
Conscience in his Rahim Badshah Rupbaan Kanya. Rashik refused.
Ramanath had asked him –“Why did you refuse? It was a good opportunity. So many
people come to the Jatra, think of that. You could have been a
hero Rashik.”
Rashik hung his head
down abashed – “ No Kartababu, that is troublesome. If Conscience
climbs on stage limping, spectators would throw stones at him. It is better to
sing Kirtan. I don’t have to appear on stage. I can sing
off-stage sitting on a Tarpaulin.”
Ramanath had for
once felt that Rashik wasn’t so much of a cow that he had taken him to be.
Ramanath called out
for Rashik from the terrace ‘Rashik. Aaaai Rashik.’
-Yes.
-Go and call Puron.
Tell him I have to go to Gilandi.
-Right Karta.
Rashik stopped his
song and limped towards the main road to call Puron.
Puron Dahal,
Ramanath’s driver, lived across the road in a slum. The night would be cold it
seems. Ramanath would go to Gilandi today. He would spend the night there.
Aradhana was not home. Who would care about his whereabouts? His son had done a
service to him in a way by taking his mother with him to Bangalore. Not only
this winter, if Aradhana decided to stay with her son lifelong Ramanath would
only be salvaged.
The father of Puron
was a Brahmin priest. Puron had previously attended Thakurpath High School.
Ramanath was required to enroll in Bairatiguri High School to keep the family
status. Whatever schools they attended, they quickly grew close because they
were the same age. On the playground, they would cross paths. Puron excelled as
a goalkeeper. He had participated in the Phuentsholing Bhutan Gold Cup. Puorn
was a bus driver on the route between Hantupara and Jalpaiguri when Ramanath
bought his automobile. "Why don't you drive my car when you are into
driving," Ramanath said to Puron. “We two friends can catch up when we go
out somewhere.” For twenty-five years since then, Puron has been a companion to
many of his misdeeds.
Ramanath got ready
and sat on the sofa in his verandah. He found Puron entering the garage. He
looked older than his years. His white skin had turned copperish. He was also
51. Last winter he married his daughter off to Gangutia Tea Garden. Ramanath
had advised –“ If the boy is good go ahead with the wedding Puron. Your daughter
is my daughter too. Do not worry about money”. True to his word, Ramanath had
spent without count. He spent 1.5 Lacs on Puron’s daughter’s wedding. Puron had
not expected that much. After that day Puron’s shoulders wore a hunch of
acknowledgement. He could not speak to him looking straight into his eyes.
Ramanath stood up and called Nanda — “I will not return tonight. I have a
meeting. Ask Rashik to sleep in the drawing room. Lock all the doors and
windows properly.” Nanda nodded her head.
Ramanath sat in the
front of the car. As the car crossed the main gate he saw Rashik limping
towards the house. Ramanath signaled to Puron to stop the car, craned his neck
out of the window, and called “Rashik …Rashik…listen!”
-Yes Karta.
- I will not
come back tonight. Lock your room and sleep in the drawing room.
-Okay Karta.
-See to it that
Nagen and Banga have an early dinner and sleep off. Watch out that Nagen and
Banga do not make advances toward Nanda.
-No they won’t. Go
in peace.
-And you too. Do not
begin discussing your philosophy of physiology with Nanda in the drawing room.
Rashik stuck out his
tongue and hung his head down.
Puron sped the car
towards the main road and asked, “Right or left?”
-Left, left. I still
am a leftist. Everything has not changed colors. Let the elections be over.
Then I shall turn right.
Ramanath thought
that he had been really witty. He laughed. Puron understood that Ramanath will
go to Gilandi to Noorjahan’s house.
Bhattacharjee
had five bighas of land beside the Gildani river. Nuruddin
Ali had been employed to look after it. Nuruddin was now over 80. Decrepit. His
son Fakiruddin used to cultivate the land instead. Fakiruddin was murdered last
year. It was a political murder stemming from local village politics. Noorjahan
is Fakru’s second wife. After Fakru‘s death old and grief-stricken Nuruddin had
requested Ramanath not to evict them from the land. How could Ramanath evict
them? Sitting on a wicker stool he had witnessed a mermaid emerge out of the
Gilandi river. So long he would visit only Fakru’s aubergine farm. He would
look at the healthy aubergines and appreciate Fakru’s knowledge of farming. But
he had no knowledge that Fakru had kept a mermaid hidden in his hut. Ramanath
was a genius in persuasion. And what else could they do? Where would they stay
? What would they eat? Since that day, the aubergine farm gradually filled with
weeds. All the plowing now took place inside Fakru’s hut. Old, decrepit
Nuruddin sat in his room and sucked at chicken legs with Puron. He could not chew.
He had no teeth left. He had never previously consumed alcohol, but now he
accepted two glasses from Puron, stretched his legs, and drifted off to sleep.
He was enjoying his little slice of life only because Fakru's wife was
attractive. Old Nuruddin reasoned that it was more respectable to down two
drinks and get wasted than to consider the snarky behavior of his dead son's
wife. When he returned, he discovered himself on his bed, shapeless. Chirping
birds. sunlight entering through the open door. It was then that he found it
difficult to accept himself as a Muslim.
But Noorjahan loved
and respected her old and infirm father-in-law. Her earnest attention was
almost faultless. The day after Fakru’s murder Nuruddin tightly held on to Noor
and cried –“My son is gone but do not throw me out. Where will I go in this
age? I won’t even be able to go begging.”
Noor had not thrown
him out. In fact she attended to his needs more than before.
Revered him more
than her own father. To tell the truth, Noor had given herself up to Ramanath
in order to save her old and infirm father-in-law. She did not know why a
sorrow welled up within her whenever she looked at that skeletal old man. For
so many years he had kept the Bhattacharjee’s land green, breathing, and
meaningful. Now he could not work. His head reeled if he went out in the sun,
if he got wet in the rain he had breathing trouble. If she had not accepted
Bhattacharjee’s adulterous proposal they would be thrown out of their
homestead. Thank god she has that desirable body! It was evident that her old
father–in–law could not accept this immorality. It is evident from his taking
to drinking at this age. Nuruddin who once thought himself to be a true Muslim
now drank country liquor to remain oblivious of the love–making moans that he
sometimes heard at night.
However, now
everything has changed. Although it initially seemed like quite a burden, she
appreciates her physical interaction with Bhattacharjee. She experiences an
attraction as well as an understanding that it was nothing of a soul-based
attraction but the body stands irrefutable. Bhattacharjee also liked Noor. Or
else would one spend so much just to spend five to six nights every month? When
Bhattacharjee came on his visit last week, Noor was running a high temperature.
The man did not force anything. Rather he sent Puron to Angrabhasa to fetch
medicines from Kalu doctor. At night he caressed her touching her lightly on
her forehead. Noor attempted to open her sari. Bhattacharjee said- “Are you
mad? Am I an animal? Sleep off quietly.” The medicines restored Noor. She did
not know when she drifted off. She woke up at dawn to find Bhattacharjee
sleeping beside her, a little shrunken in shape. Noor pulled his blanket up to
his neck. A little light slinked in through the window. In that enchanting
light, she looked at Bhattacharjee’s face. It wasn’t so impure after all.
Noor walked out of
the room. Her father-in-law’s door was already open. She could see Puron lying
prostrate on the bed. The red car near the gate was sopping with dew. Towards
the farm behind the house, Nuruddin sat basking in the sun on a big rock under
the shefali tree. That was his favorite spot. Abundant shefali flowers
had fallen on the ground. An intoxicating fragrance emanated from them. In his
white cap , brick–colored shawl and checkered lungi the fair Nuruddin looked as
if he had come down from the sky in the sun rays. The old man would climb back
to heaven by them one day.
--Is your fever
down? Did you have the tablet?
-Yes, down. Did you not
sleep Abba?
- You were running
temperature. How could I sleep? I was worried. Come here. Sit for a while. It
is suddenly winter.
Noor sat beside her
father- in-law covering her head with her shawl,a little curled up.
-You have so much of
a problem because of me Noor. If I die you can live in peace. I will not even
find a place in hell. I sell you for my living.
Noor was used to
such babble every day. They did not affect her. She did not reply. She picked
up some shefali flowers from the ground. Is it so easy to die? So
much of disease, self-deception, oppression --- yet life seemed to have a
beauty of its own . Even now the shefali flowers bloom and
it feels like Id time.
-The flowers are so
beautiful, aren’t they Abba?
-There’s nothing as
beautiful as you. But what a value of this beauty!
Nuruddin sighed. He
was asthmatic. His breath trembled.
Noor did not reply
even to this. She touched the flowers one by one and said “Bhattacharjee wants
to get me married …are you listening?”
-Haa. I know, with
Rasik, isn’t it? I know that chap since his childhood. A very good human being.
Allah has poured all his melody onto him.
- I heard that he’s
lame, he’s an idiot.
--Yes ,Yes, I know
everything. But he has the melody. There is magic in his voice.
- Have you heard him
singing?
-Yes, I have.
Many times. He also knows Jari-Jikir.
Nuruddin began
humming---
Prem jane na rasik kalachand o mor jhuriya thake mon
Katodine bondhur sone habo darishon
Mor mon urau parng kore
Bhador mashi deoyor jhobi tappas ki tuppush ki jhamjhamaiya
pore re
Hai hai praner bondhu re …
[What is love
amorous Kalachand does not know, love occupies my mind
When will I meet my
friend
my mind is
restless
The rain in the
month of bhador drips drops pours down
Alas my dear friend
…]
Noorjahan inhaled
the smell of the flowers and listened to the cracking nasal voice of his
father-in-law. This means Abba has agreed. This loose-skinned haggard did not
know that by marrying Noor to Rasik, Bhattacharjee only wanted to secure her
for himself, wanted to make her his kept. Even if he knew, the spineless old
man did not have the guts to disapprove. He lives on Noor’s generosity, like a
worm, and Noor lives on the generosity of Ramanath Bhattacharjee.
Noor had never seen
Rashik. Bhattacharjee said that he was an idiot, and crazy about songs. Foam
seeped out of his mouth. He worked like a bull. Even if he was abused as a son
of a bitch he displayed all his teeth. One of his legs was smaller, and he
limped. He was physically weak. He knew no desire. That is why if she married
Rashik they could live closer comfortably.
Everything around
was changing fast. It was evident everywhere. When Fakruddin was murdered it
was whispered that it was Bhattacharjee who had got Fakruddin murdered in order
to enjoy Noor. But Ramanath Bhattacharjee never did anything like that. To him
right or left all parties were equal. He donated generously to all. But why
would people believe? Spending nights with Noor beside river Gildani was
becoming risky now. He might be gheraoed by some hoodlums someday. Youngsters
looked out for such chances. Then his honor would be at stake. But Ramanath
wanted Noor desperately. It was a kind of intoxication for Ramanath. After
those who were for change won the Panchayat elections, Ramanath visited them
and gave them a substantial donation. People in power had indirectly supported
Ramanath in every way so long. But Ramanath feared the young faces now. It
wouldn’t be a problem getting Rasik to agree to the marriage with a few strong
words of rebuke. It was difficult to get Noor’s consent. Ramanath had even
persuaded Nuruddin. He said that he would allow Nuruddin to stay in a room
beside Rasik that is now occupied by the laborers. Only, Noor did not agree.
She was god-fearing.
Noor picked up the shefali flowers
and walked towards the river bank beside the farmland. There lay Fakruddin in
his grave. She placed the flowers on his grave and walked slowly back. She
entered her room and gave the sleeping Ramanath a light push. As the man opened
his eyes Noor said – “I am ready to marry your dumb Rashik. I thought over and
over last night. You are right.”
Ramanath returned
home early to find Rashik seated on the wicker stool in the beetle nut orchard
and singing as usual. The noise of the car drowned the words. Puron garaged the
car and walked off home. A syrupy sunlight began in the beetle nut orchard and
crawled across the sprawling potato farm. The delicate triumph of green assured
that the harvest would be good this time. Nagen and Banga were working right in
the middle of the farm. They seemed to be clearing the weeds. It appeared like
they were swimming in a green sea. But both of them are very shrewd, wicked.
The first thing he had to do was to give them a notice to vacate their rooms.
He walked a few paces and stood in the sun trying to listen to Rashik’s
song.
Sadher bhomra uriya pore thai thai
Kay kay se keuya phule madhu nai
Phuler ala madhu nai bhomarao ashe na
Moner jato gopon katha khuliya kabar chang
Kaak kakim mor moner katha manushe naa pang
[The bumble bee
flies and falls with a noise
he says keya flowers
do not bear honey
there is no honey in
the flowers, no bee comes
I want to speak out
my mind
To whom should I
speak out my mind I find no one ]
Ramanath listened to
the song and smiled inwardly. Rashik was singing, self-absorbed. He was in
sky-colored stripped pyjamas and wrapped in an old shawl that Aradhana had
brought for him from Dhupguri once. On his head was a tattered brown balaclava.
Fog blew out of his mouth. He looked just like a monkey. Ramanath had never
thought that this shapeless lame Rashik would be so useful to him one day. He
smiled with satisfaction.
Nanda served him
tea. He carried the teacup to his veranda and called up Aradhana.
- Early call? What
is the matter?
- There’s good news.
-What is it? Have
the rates of potatoes gone up? Have the wholesale dealers crowded you?
-Dhuur! You
have taken after your son. This is different.
-Awww. What is that?
-I fixed up Rashik’s
marriage yesterday.
-Rashik’s marriage? What?
Where?
-In Gilandi.
-That’s really a
piece of good news. Is she auspicious? What’s her name?
-Noorjahan.
-Noorjahan!
-Aare our
old caretaker at Gilandi ,Nuruddin Alam. Don’t you remember?
-Yes, yes, his son
Fakru , used to do farming in our land. He was murdered.
-She is the
widow of Fakru.
-In the end, you are
marrying Rasik to a Muslim?
-Aare I
will convert Noorjahan into a Hindu.
-What does Rasik
say? Has he agreed?
-Dhuur, he
doesn’t yet know.
That irritated
Anuradha.
-That is not right.
He is the one getting married and you haven’t consulted him? Do not impose
everything on him I say.
--Aare Rasik
is a stupid bull. All he needs is yoking and caning at the back.
- Do not start with
your abuses now. Don’t know what witch you are getting for him.
--No witch. Fairy.
Fairy. Rasik’s fourteen generations haven’t seen such a fairy.
-Rashik will be
getting married and I won’t be there? Feel very sad about it. Look even if you
call him a bull Rashik is a good chap. Do not do anything that will hurt Rashik. Bechara.
Even if he is in trouble he will never complain.
Aradhana began with
her lecturing early morning. It was Ramanath’s turn of irritation. This woman
will never miss any chance of lecturing. Habits die hard.
-Why are you so
worried? The bull will get a good wife.
-Gift some gold to
Rashik’s bride. Present Rashik a finger-ring, a wristwatch. Make a bed for
them.
-Yes, yes. Will do
everything.
He disconnected and
pocketed his cell to find Rashik standing right in front of him. As Ramanath
looked at him he smiled with all his teeth out. Then he extended his hand and
said “Hand me the teacup karta. I’ll keep it in the
kitchen.” He took the empty cup from Ramanath‘s hand and limped towards the
kitchen. Ramanath turned his head to look at him. He looked like a primate
slowly stepping forward—a creature somewhere in between man and an animal. Does
a dumbo like him even have a sexual urge? Ramanath asked himself. Then he took
the ridge path of the potato farm and walked towards Nagen and Banga calculating
on the interests that he had to reap this year to make up for last year’s loss.
The wholesalers of Dhupguri were already willing to buy at 500 per quintal.
In the evening when
the sun was dying but the far ends of potato farm still basked in a saffron
glow, Ramanath stepped onto Rashik’s verandah for the first time. Inside Rashik
was singing —
Aji aulailen mor banda mayal re
Hatir pithite thakiyare mahut
Kisher batul maro
Ore porer oi kaminike dekhiya
Jaila keno maro ro …
[Today my pet python
uttered
Mahout, sitting on
the elephant back
Why do you whip the
elephant
Why do you burn with
jealousy
Seeing another’s
love]
Ramanath had the
impression that the son of the bitch was intending the song for him. He coughed
deliberately. He pushed the door open and entered the room, for the first time.
He was the owner, why did he require permission?
Rashik was taken
aback. Ramanath was equally surprised. The room was smaller than a cow’s shed.
Rashik had kept it spick and span. The bed was neatly arranged, and the broken
chair was clean and shining. An old Murphy radio on the table. A glass of water
covered with a plate. A crude flute beside it. Smell of incense stick. Lot of
calendars carrying pictures of gods –Shiv- Parvati-Ganesh –Durga –Kartick -
Kali . Jesus Christ was also there. Also a picture of Kabba of Mecca. Rashik
dusted the chair with the gamcha that hung on his shoulders
and said – “Sit Kartababu. How did come suddenly?” Ramanath sat
on the chair and he took up the flute. Rashik said –“Mother has left me this.
It was father’s flute. It is like god’s gift to me.”
-Rashik don’t you
want to marry?
-Marry?
-Yes. Everybody
marries. Keeps a family.
-No. I don’t wish to
marry.
-Why? Why don’t you
wish to marry?
-You know
everything. I can’t work efficiently. I am rebuked. I do not earn much.
Besides, I am lame. Physically weak. I have no brains. Everybody calls me a
cow. You know everything.
- I will enhance
your salary. How much are your expenses now?
-You bear the
expense of food. You have given me a room to stay, and paid me a thousand.
-Okay, from now on
your wife will cook for you. I shall pay you three thousand.
Rashik thought
something. Perhaps he quietly calculated.
-That will do I
think. But girl?
- I have seen a girl
for you. She is a fairy Rashik, a fairy. But a widow.
- Widow . Eshsh .If
husbands die the wives suffer a lot. I saw my mother .No husband means no life.
- Her name is
Noorjahan. She is a Muslim
- Muslim.
- Yes. But I will
convert her into a Hindu. She will have a different name .She will also do
Laxmipuja.
- No. No. Why that?
My religion is mine. My wife’s religion will be hers. Why change ?
- Then you have
agreed ?
- When you have
approved her ... But one word.
- What?
- Does the girl love
songs?
- Listen. Stop all
this nonsense of yours. If she hears your songs she will run away the very
first night. Nobody listens to these songs nowadays.
Rashik was hurt.
Then he laughed forcefully and added “Okay, that will be done. That means she
likes movie songs. Hindi movie no ? That will do.
Next day Banga and
Nagen were evicted. At a day’s notice, they rented rooms in Puron’s locality.
They could not understand what their faults were. Rashik’s room became a big
room once the partition wall in the middle was removed.
It was as if Rashik
was watching a magic show. A new bed came in. New mattress, pillows, quilt. One
big mirror. One small color TV. Till now he used to light the oil lamp. New
electric connection came in. A twisted milk-white bulb gave out light. New
table. Various cosmetics for women. New scarlet stove.
Plates-bowls-cauldrons-glasses-ladles-spatula. Utensils for kitchen. One day
while spraying pesticides on the potato farm Nagen said “ I see that Malik has
placed you in heaven. Even if he calls you a son of a bitch the landlord loves
you from the core of his soul.” Rashik laughed with all his teeth out. But as
he laughed a melancholy settled inside him. He had not sung these few days.
Songs came up to his throat fervently trying to flow out. But Rashik did not
sing. He strangled his songs inside his throat.
His room seemed
unfamiliar to him now. Like a dream. He touched the TV. He touched the bed.
Nanda instructed him on how to operate the TV. Rashik could not understand how.
He kept the remote on the table. He gained happiness just by touching it. He
hid his old flute under the mattress to avoid Ramanath’s rebuke. He touched the
stove. He touched the steel utensils. Rashik had never cooked. Who knows what
his wife will cook for him? He lay on the new soft bed at night and sang softly:
Baranir dhaner khoi
bhajlam
Sonar bondhu mor
ashilen koi?
O mor bondhu dhon
rashiya
Guapaan khaiya jao
bagole bashiya
[I fried parched
rice
My dear friend did
not come
O my friends come
sometime
Sit beside me and
have beetle nut and paan]
Two days after
Mahalaya Ramanath said –“Bath properly and be ready by morning tomorrow. I will
go bring goddess Durga for you. Wear these and try to look robust.”
Ramanath left a
packet for him. Rashik opened and found a set of embroidered Punjabi and Pyjama
. Ramanath had brought a sandal for Rashik before.
Next morning Rashik
washed himself and wore them. Ramanath took Puron and went to Gilandi in his
car. There was another car. Hired. That was for Rashik. Banga, Nagen and Nanda
went along with him. Pata Chakraborty joined them on the highway. Pata was the
Government representative here for arranging the registry marriage. Rashik sat
shyly in the corridor of the Marriage Registration Office in Jalapiguri. Nagen
and Banga shared rotten adult jokes. Rashik’s ears burned to hear such rotten
allusions to body. They waited for one long hour. Nagen then uttered the worst
joke of the day – “Did Karta run away with your bride? Such
a long wait! They haven’t yet come.”
Ramanath ’s car
entered a little later. Rashik saw her white feet as she opened the door and
stepped out of the car. Can feet be so beautiful? So white? Banga
whispered—“She has come from heaven Rashik. She is not a human. She is a
fairy.” They signed the marriage agreement. While exchanging garlands Rashik
looked at her face—pretty, but melancholic.
After the ceremony,
Ramanath took Rashik’s wife in his own car. It did not matter to Rashik, but
even Pata Chakraborty got angry. “What is this? After marriage bride and groom
should travel together in the same car.Why will the bride travel in the
Landlord’s car?” Rashik smiled.
Ramanath woke up
early the next morning and told Nanda : “Go , call Rashik’s wife. I will
instruct her to help you with the housework.” Nanda was very happy. She will
finally be assisted after a long time. She went and called Noor. Ramanath sent
Nanda to the farm to serve Nagen and Banga tea and biscuits. When she was out
of sight , the beetle nut orchard hid her , he caught hold of Noor and gave her
a long and deep kiss.
-See how I solved
all problems. You got a husband, I got my fairy.
- Yes Karta.
You are very clever.
- He did not do
anything at night, did he?
-No, no . He was
very shy. He was hesitating even to change into his lungi. He did not open his
shirt in front of me.
-He is a stupid
fool. He has no sense of love or desire . He eats, sleeps and works like a
bull.
-Yes Karta.
He sleeps deep. Snores loudly.
Ramanath kissed Noor
again and felt her body in various places. He rubbed his mustache against her
cheek and said –“He is crazy about songs. During the pujas he sings wherever he
gets a chance. Will send the chap off along with Thakurpath Jatra Samaj. Nanda
also wants a leave. She wants to go home. I will send her to Madarihat in the
evening.”
-Alright Karta,
everything’s alright. But when will you bring Abba?
-Let the old man
remain there. Will send him some cash to run his household.
--He suffers because
he is old. Please bring Abba today. I feel sorry for him.
--Alright then. He
can stay in Banga’s room.
-Can I go now?
-Will you go? What
will you do there?
- I will make some
tea. Serve the man some tea.
--Babba. So
much feeling just in one night!
Ramanath
snorted.
On Sasthi it’s
Kahgenhat. Saptami Daukmari. Asthami –Ambadiba. Nabami –Talipara.
Rashik would sing on all four days. Excited he shared his invitations with
Ramanath. He did not have any anxiety whatsoever about his newly married bride
who would remain back home, alone.
-When you are there
why do I need to worry? I told Noor to cook you rice and curry. Nanda is also
not here. You are suffering.
--Will your wife let
you go? He asked jokingly.
-She has not
objected. Only demanded that on Dashami she will go to
Gayerkanta burning ghat to see the immersion of the goddess. I told her that I
will take her.
-How is your wife?
-She is very
good Karta. She understands sorrow. She is religious.
-How did you
understand that?
-When I play my
flute at night she cries. Tears flow ceaselessly from her eyes. She is so much
sorrow.
-Why did you
play flute for her idiot ?
- I did not. She
insisted. I hid the flute under the mattress. She found out. She said I will
listen to your flute. So I played.
--I had told you not
to. You dumb.
-I have made a
mistake, Karta.
-Does anyone play
flute at home? Play in the Jatra. You will earn applause.
-Right Karta.
I have no sense of indoors and outdoors.
As the evening
dawned the dark house of Bhattacharjee’s wore a look of a haunted house. There
was a nip in the air. Ramanath climbed up the terrace once and found the entire
Thakurpath engulfed in darkness. Faraway on the Highway Durga Puja was being
celebrated. The lights of the pandal could be seen. It was Sasthi.
All the lighting decorations were not complete yet. Suddenly the drums began
beating. Perhaps the idol of the goddess arrived from Gayerkantha by truck. The
drums played for long. Fireflies were flying thick in thousands over his potato
farm. Ramanath looked at Rashik’s room. The corridor was dark. The door shut. A
dim light could be seen through the wicker fence. It looked mysterious, the
room that touched the wall. Nuruddin had put up in Banga’s room beside
Rashik’s. The old man’s room was dark. It seemed he had slept off early. Rashik
had gone to Khagenhat to sing. Ramanath had instructed Noor in the afternoon to
serve an early dinner to the old man and to come to him. The very thought was
exciting. Sasthi, Saptami, Astami ,Nabami , four days at a stretch. No risk, no
fear of young hooligans.
The clock struck
nine. Noor did not come. Ramanath climbed up the terrace again. Just then the
drums began beating again. The beats seemed louder now because it was nighttime
and all the other sounds had died out. A dim light in Rashik’s room. No bulb
had been fixed yet in Nuruddin’s room. A lantern was burning outside. The light
flickered. The old man was coughing. One could hear him cough even form this
distance. It seemed he did not have his dinner. Maybe he had. He could not
sleep because of his cough. How could poor men live for so long was a real
mystery!
Ramanath could wait
no longer. He had not given any gold ring to Rashik as Aradhana had requested.
But he had spent a lot. Not for Rashik. Actually, all his investment was for
Noor. That beautiful widow had shaken his very roots. How could he wait?
At ten o’clock old
Nuruddin stopped coughing and his lantern went off. Ramanath wrapped his shawl
and came out into the courtyard. He could not bear it any longer. He would go
to Noor himself. As he stepped down from the verandah his ears turned cold. He
drew the shawl over his head. Own house, own homestead, own land, own
investment –but still he felt like a thief. Once when he was a child, on a
similar autumnal night, a robber had climbed the fence while wearing a shawl.
There was a granary where Rashik stays now. At midnight Ramanath was up for the
toilet. He wanted to piss in the corridor instead of walking as far as the
toilet. As he came up to the corridor he saw a shadow creeping towards the
granary in the dim moonlight. The thief crept up to the granary door. Opened
the lock by some trick and entered the room. Ramanath had forgotten all about
his pissing. With widened eyes, he stood there and watched. As the shadow
entered the barn Ramanath yelled: “Thief , thief, thief .” Chowkidaar had come
running with his three-battery torch. Lakhan ran up to the beetle nut orchard.
At Lakhan’s Maithili shouting the thief jumped over the boundary wall and fled
off. He had filled only 2 kilos of paddy in his sack but could not take
it.
Today Ramanath was
feeling like that thief. As he thought of his childhood he turned to look at
the corridor. Was anyone there? Was anyone watching? Was he going mad? Aradhana
was with his son in Bangalore. Nanda had gone to Madarihat. Nagen and Banga had
been evicted. They now stay in Puron Chettri’s locality. Stupid Rashik has gone
to Khagenhat to sing at the Jatra. What did it matter if that old infirm
Nuruddin saw? Yet Ramanath pushed at his door. It was locked from within. That
meant that the old man had fallen asleep. Now in the autumnal wind, Ramanath
could smell the fragrance of Noorjahan’s body. Now he pushed Rashik’s door.
That was also locked from the inside. The light was on. Had the girl fallen
asleep leaving the light on? He tapped lightly twice. No response. Now Ramanath
was annoyed. He held the iron ring of the door and struck loudly. Noorjahan’s
voice came – “Who ? Abba?”
-Not Abba. Noor .
Me.Me.
Noorjahan again
shouted, “Is it Abba?”
Was the girl hard of
hearing?
Ramanath could shout
if he wanted to because it was all his investment. But he restrained himself
and said: “It’s me Noor , Ramanath, your Karta.”
-Aww. Karta!
Wait, wait. Let me open the door.
With that
intoxicating aroma of hers, Noorjahan opened the door.
With her open hair,
she looked like a goddess who had left her eight arms back inside the room to
appear in front of Ramanath. So youthful was she!
As she stepped into
the corridor Ramanath embraced her tightly and said
“What are you? When
were you supposed to come? For two hours I have been restlessly moving out in
the terrace and corridor. And you are showing your antiques here? ”
Noorjahan moved
away, took the shawl off Ramanath’s head and said –“ Karta ,
I want to tell you something…”
-What is it ? Why
words now? No words now. Come up fast.
-You have done so
much for me .
-Yes I have. I will
do more. I shall wrap your body in gold.
-That is why I am so
obliged.
-Obliged? So
what? You can lie to me and pay back everything.
- I cannot repay
this debt.
-Dhuur .
Don’t lecture. Come. All can be settled. Come. Lock your door.
- I cannot go anymore Karta.
- Cannot go? Why?
Are you mad? Why did I get you married to the bull after all ?
-No Karta.
Do not force. You are a good human being.
Ramanath’s hands
lost their hold. He removed his hands from Noorjahan’s shoulder and waist and
asked,
- Have you fallen in
love with that bull?
-I do not know. Is it love? Look. He is so crazy about songs, but once I
asked him not to go he did not.
Ramanath’s voice came down. He whispered
- Didn’t Rashik go to Khagenhath then ?”
-He had been. But he came back in the evening. He is eating rice.
Just then the door pushed open. A broad light fell on the shadowy
corridor and Rashik limped out with all his talents. He burped
indecently, wiped his
hands
in a gamcha, revealed all his teeth and said- “ Had been to
Khagenhath Karta…but could not tame the mind. Noorjahan had asked
me not to go but still I went. But this was the first time I felt that there
was song but no tune. There was flute but there was no breath left in me to
blow through it. Because of Sasthi Puja there were no vehicles today. How far
was Khagenhath? I began walking. I reached home now.”
Ramanath was looking
at Rashik intently. He seemed almost celestial. His monkey – face shone with a
glow. The light that was flowing from behind him, was it a halo? It was
Ramanath’s own house, his own homestead, his land , his investment,--but yet he
felt like a worm. He spoke in a soft voice – “I thought you were not there,
just came to see your wife, if everything was alright. Did you walk all the way
from Khagenhat? Must be exhausted. Go, go to sleep, both of you.”
Rashik smiled.
“Karta please do not be annoyed. We will not sleep tonight. I shall sing all
night at Noorjahan’s request.”
Ramanath drew the
shawl up to his head and started walking towards his house. The painted
structure of Bhattacharjee's house stood in front. Today, in this gloom of
Shasthi it looked like an abode of the dead. He walked towards it like a ghost.
He realized that he was limping. He must be looking like a primate, something
in-between a man and an animal.
There Rashik began
his song: “O my soul’s mate…”
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* malik -master
* bechara –
poor chap
* gamcha –checkered
soft cloth used as towel
* karta –
master
*Bhatiyali, Kirtan, Baulanga, Jari- Jiki r, Goyalpariya - varieties of
folk song
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(Translated by Zinia Mitra)
****************