Mr Sampath-The Printer of Malgudi, the Financial Expert, Waiting for the Mahatma

by R. K. Narayan

  Kanni stood in the doorway, respectfully watching. ‘How imperious she looks! Even now!’ he cried. ‘A great Soul.’

  ‘I can’t believe she is dead. She looks asleep! How do you know that she is dead?’ Sriram asked.

  Kanni merely laughed grimly. ‘You had better telegraph to all your relatives. I’m sure many would want to have a last look at her face.’

  Sriram sat down on the floor beside the old lady, quietly sobbing. The women looked at him for a moment, and lapsed into mournful silence. One of them turned to Kanni and asked, ‘Is he the only relative to arrive or should we wait for some more?’ Kanni preferred to ignore the question. The night was absolutely still and silent. Even the street dogs were asleep. Except the low voices conversing under the dim light, the entire world was asleep, following the example of Granny herself. Sriram suddenly rose to his feet, went to Kanni, put his arm round his shoulder, and whispered, ‘Kanni, I am very hungry. Can’t you open your shop and give me something to eat? There is nothing in the kitchen.’

  ‘How can there be anything? She was ill so long; those ladies were bringing her milk and gruel.’

  ‘I’m very hungry, Kanni,’ Sriram said again pathetically.

  Kanni jingled his keys and said, ‘Come with me.’

  They crossed the street. Kanni unlocked the door of his shop and lit a lamp. Sriram climbed the platform and went in, then bolted the door again from inside. The shop was hot and stuffy. Bananas hung down in bunches, buns and biscuits filled various glass containers; all, of course, were presided over by the European queen with apple cheeks. Sriram complained that it was stuffy. Kanni explained, ‘I don’t want anyone to suspect your presence. Though handing you over and collecting the reward might prove a better proposition than running a business in these difficult days!’

  Sriram had not realized how hungry he was. He demanded and ate everything that he saw. Kanni took out a paper and calculated: ‘That will be two rupees and four annas. I will put it down on your account.’

  Now he was no longer hungry Sriram said: ‘Tell me about my granny. What was wrong with her?’

  Kanni paused for a while before answering. ‘Ever since the police came asking for you in this house, she lost, if I may say so, her original spirit. She was always feeling that you had betrayed her. You may know all about Mahatma and so on, but all she knew was what people told her, that you had run after a girl. The old lady was much hurt. She hardly ever came out after that, and when the police came to take away your photograph, she was very much upset. She felt that she could not hold up her head in public again. She was always saying that you had betrayed her. The police came and questioned me too about you. I said, “You are merely wasting my shop time. I am not to be bothered about every scapegrace in the town because I have the ill-luck to have a shop opposite his house,” and that satisfied them. I wish you had not gone away without telling her. It worried her too much. She kept saying, ‘What can a little cobra do even if you have brought it up on cow’s milk? It can only do what its breeding tells it to do.”’

  Sriram was visibly annoyed at this comparison. ‘She was a very bitter-tongued person, that’s why I preferred to go away without telling her at all. What chance did one have of talking to such an unreasonable character?’ He forgot for a moment that he was talking about someone dead.

  ‘People came and told her hair-raising tales about you. She was alarmed by your activities. What was the matter with you? I never thought the young master I had known so long ago could ever grow up into a Zigomar.’

  Sriram felt hurt by this comparison with an old classical bandit. He said with a lot of self-pity, ‘I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t eager to see my granny.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Kanni. ‘The Market Road doctor attended her often; even last evening he was there with his tube and needle and stayed till she passed away.’

  ‘Was she talking all the time?’ asked Sriram.

  ‘She wasn’t, but she might have been. Why think of all that now?’ Kanni said. ‘Let us think of what we should do next.’

  ‘Yes, what is to be done?’

  ‘The funeral. Get through it quickly. Are you going to wait for relatives?’

  These were tough and complex domestic questions to which he was unaccustomed. He brooded over them. The word ‘relative’ brought to his mind only his grand-uncle whose dark descendant he was expected to marry; and a batch of miscellaneous folk who dropped in for a meal or two occasionally from their village, and always spoke of lands and litigation. Granny used to find their talk fascinating and forgot to notice Sriram’s arrivals and departures, while he generally sneaked out to a nearby cycle-shop and learnt to balance himself on the pedal of a bicycle taken on hire. Sriram had a sudden vision of being responsible for gathering that entire crowd again: they might stand around the corpse and lament over their lands and litigation. He was aghast at the thought. He said: ‘I don’t care for anyone.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I too think you should not keep the body too long. Better hurry through the funeral. But at least let the lady have the satisfaction of having her pyre lit by her grandson. That may assuage her spirit.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do about such things,’ Sriram wailed.

  ‘I will help you,’ said Kanni.

  ‘One thing. I can’t go with the funeral procession,’ said Sriram. ‘I will manage to come at the end if you will manage the other things.’

  ‘Even the police may not interfere now. After all, they are also human,’ said Kanni.

  Sriram went back into his house and took another look at his granny. The two vigil-keepers were asleep. They sat hunched up with their heads on the floor, curled beside the body, ‘They look more dead than Granny,’ thought Sriram. A cock crowed somewhere. Sriram went out, softly closing the door behind him. Meanwhile Kanni had locked the shop, and had returned. ‘She is in your charge,’ said Sriram. ‘Will you be there at eight? Do everything nicely. Don’t bother about expense.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I can always get my debts. I have kept your account in full detail. You should have no misgiving even about an anna. I have even put into the account what I have been paying the doctor from time to time. Are you sure her relatives will not be angry with us later?’

  ‘What do you care whether they are angry or pleased? What have we to do with them? A set of useless rustics,’ said Sriram with a certain amount of unnecessary bitterness in his voice.

  At about eight Sriram was on the cremation ground beyond the Sarayu river. A couple of pyres which had been lit on the previous day were still smouldering. Bamboo and discarded pieces of shroud were scattered here and there. A funeral procession was crossing Nallappa’s Grove. The bier was decorated with flowers and some men wearing white shirts and rings on their fingers were shouldering the corpse. ‘Must be devoted relatives,’ he thought. ‘They are bearing the burden. But poor Granny has no one to carry her.’ Once again he felt angry at the thought of those village relatives. The heat was intense although it was not even eight in the morning. ‘This is a very hot place,’ he reflected. Bullock-carts were crossing the river, villagers on their way into the town with baskets on their heads chattered incessantly. He noticed people coming to the river for a wash. His mind made a dull note of all that his eyes saw. His main job now was to await the arrival of Granny. Why were they taking all this time? Probably priests were holding up the body so that they might get a higher fee for funeral citations. Or could the police have held up the procession? For a moment a fantastic fear seized him lest the police should have suspected foul play and held up the body for a post-mortem. The other, the pampered body carried by the devoted relatives, was now brought in through the gate and laid down on the ground. They were going through a lot of ceremonial activity … Granny’s pyre was also being built up, with dried cowdung cakes, on a small platform: all the arrangements were supervised by Kanni’s shop assistant, who was haggling with fuel suppliers and ordering the graveyard assistants about. They obeyed h
im cheerfully, which made Sriram wonder why they obeyed him at all. ‘It is in some people’s blood to be respected by all kinds of people,’ Sriram reflected, watching with a certain amount of envy all the fuss that the rich were making with the body in their hands.

  Led by Kanni, who bore in his hand a pot of fire, a couple of neighbours, the manager of the Fund-Office, and two priests, Granny arrived on a bier made of bamboo, carried by four grim sub-human professional carriers. Sriram rushed to the small wooden doorway to meet the procession. Kanni was the first to step through. He held the pot of fire to Sriram saying, ‘Really it is your duty to carry it.’ Sriram took charge.

  Granny’s face was uncovered and faced the sun. Sriram felt a pang of fresh sorrow at the sight. The bier was laid on the ground. ‘Sriram, bathe in the river and come back soon with wet clothes on you. She is at least entitled to so much consideration.’ The words came from the old family priest. Sriram realized that he was still in the garb of a wholesale rice merchant, and felt ridiculous. The old priest had officiated at festivals and domestic ceremonies ever since Sriram could remember, including the grand ceremony of his first birthday. The old man was several years Granny’s senior, but remarkably wiry and alert, with his greenish eyes and hook nose and greed for ceremonial fees.

  He asked Sriram, ‘Have you two rupees in coins?’

  While Sriram fumbled for an answer, the ever watchful Kanni descended on him wrathfully, ‘Why do you ask that? Haven’t we agreed on a lump sum for everything?’

  The priest who was squatting beside the body turned and said, ‘Whoever said the lump sum included this? This can never go into that. This is a separate account. Our elders have decreed that the Dear Departed should have two silver coins on his or her chest from the hand of the nearest and dearest. It is said to smooth out the passage of the soul into further regions. I am only repeating what the shastras say. Our ancestors knew what was best for us, I am merely a mouthpiece.’

  ‘And what happens to the coins?’ asked the Fund-Office Manager. The priest pretended to ignore the question, but Kanni said, ‘It goes the way of other coins, that is into a priest’s money-box.’

  ‘Yes, it does. Do you expect the soul to carry the silver with it? You must view it all in the proper light, you must take only its philosophical meaning. We carry nothing from this earth,’ said the priest and quoted a Sanskrit verse. He suddenly looked across at the other part of the ground where the rich men were conducting their ceremonies. ‘See there. They are devoted and very correct. They are not omitting a single rite.’

  ‘We are not omitting anything either,’ said Kanni angrily.

  His tone cowed the priest, who mumbled, ‘Don’t think I am after money: I only do things in order to satisfy a great soul known to me for several decades now.’ He looked up at Sriram and said, ‘Now go and bathe quickly. Nothing can begin until after that.’ He paused and added, ‘You will find a barber there. You will have to shave off your moustache and the top of your head. Otherwise it would be very irregular. The shastras say …’

  ‘I will not shave my moustache nor my head,’ said Sriram emphatically.

  ‘All right,’ said the priest. ‘It is my duty to suggest what the shastras say, and it is left to you to follow it or modify it in any manner. Of course modern life makes it difficult to follow all the rules, and people have to adjust themselves. There are even people who like to perform their funerals with European hats on, nowadays. What can one do about them? “It is wisdom to accept what has come to pass,” say the shastras, and we bow our heads to that injunction.’

  Sriram presently returned from his bathe in the river, dripping wet with his hair sticking on his head and his clothes stuck to his body. They had now laid the corpse on the pyre. The pyre beyond was already aflame and the party was leaving the ground. ‘They are very business-like,’ said the priest. He seemed to admire everything they did. Sriram felt piqued, and Kanni said, ‘Don’t go on talking unnecessarily.’

  The rites before the lighting of the pyre started. The old lady lay stretched out on the cowdung fuel. The priest placed a small vessel in Sriram’s hand and asked him to pour the milk in it over the lips of the dead. Sriram poured the milk, chanted some mantras, and finally dropped the fire over Granny’s heart, which was actually below a layer of fuel. The fire smouldered and crackled. ‘Now it is all over with her,’ Sriram said.

  The Fund-Office Manager suddenly cried, ‘See there, see there.’ He was excited. They looked where he pointed. The big toe on the left foot of the lady was seen to move. ‘Pull off the fire, pull off the fire …’ Someone thrust his hand in and snatched off the burning piece. The old lady’s sari was already burning at one end. Sriram flung a pail of water on it and put it out. Now with the fire out, they stood around and watched. The toe was wagging.

  ‘She is not dead, take her out,’ cried Sriram.

  ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing, you can’t do that,’ the priest cried. People seemed to have suddenly lost all common sense.

  ‘You want us to burn Granny alive, do you? Get out of our way, priest,’ cried Sriram. He kicked away the pile of fuel, lifted the body and placed it down again on the ground. ‘I knew something was wrong. I knew Granny wouldn’t die,’ said Sriram. He sprinkled water on her face, forced some milk down her throat, and fanned her face. The priest stood aside with a doleful expression. Kanni seemed too stunned to speak. The shop assistant was running in circles announcing the glad tidings and collecting a crowd.

  The Fund-Office Manager cried, ‘Let us not waste time. I will fetch the doctor.’ He started running towards the city.

  Kanni cried, ‘Oh, what doctors, these days! They don’t even know whether someone is alive or dead! If we had failed to notice in time … oh, what doctors.’

  Under their nursing, the movement in the toe gradually spread. All the toes showed signs of revival, then her leg, then her arms. The old lady seemed to be coming back to life, inch by inch. Her eyes were still shut. Sriram murmured, ‘Granny, Granny, open your eyes. I am here.’ At this moment all politics were forgotten, all disputes and wars, Britain, even Bharati. ‘Get up Granny, you are all right.’ Now her heart began to throb, her breathing returned, ever so faintly. Sriram let out a cry of tremendous relief. He called the shop assistant, ‘My granny will not die, she is not dead. God bless her.’ He dragged Kanni by his hand and said, ‘Kanni, Granny is alive.’ He nursed his granny with one hand and put the other around Kanni’s shoulder and sobbed. His face was wet with tears.

  Kanni patted his back and said, ‘Don’t, don’t. Be brave. You must not break down. She may open her eyes and she must see a happy face.’

  The rattle of an old car was heard far off. Everyone cried, ‘Doctor’s car.’ Presently a little car with a flapping hood was struggling over the sand and pebbles at the Nallappa’s Grove crossing, and on through the rough sandy track leading to the southern door of the crematorium. The doctor was a puny man wearing an enormous white overall, with a straggling crop of hair resembling Einstein’s; a small man above whom everyone seemed to tower. He jumped out of his car, followed by the Fund-Office Manager. ‘Is this true, is this true?’ cried the doctor running forward. He stopped suddenly and said, ‘Someone go and fetch that bag from the car.’ Presently he knelt above the old lady, took her wrist in his hand, pulled out his watch, held his fingers under her nostrils, and smiled at Kanni. ‘Yes, she is not dead.’

  ‘Oh, Doctor, can’t you even say whether a person is dead or alive?’ asked Kanni.

  ‘Why go into all that now? Let us be happy that she is back from the other world.’ The doctor brooded. This was the first situation of the kind in his experience. Previously he had known only one-way traffic. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘How is she, Doctor?’ asked Kanni.

  ‘Her pulse is good. She is all right. She will need some rest and recuperation.’ He took several things out of his bag. He sterilized a syringe needle, picked up a phial, and injected Granny’s forea
rm. She twitched at the touch of the needle and groaned slightly. The doctor looked at her with approbation. ‘Well, freaks like this just happen. We can’t say why or how. Last night she was practically dead. I don’t know. This is enough to make one believe in the soul, Karma, and all that.’ He stood looking at her and biting his lips. ‘I read about a similar thing in a medical journal years ago but never thought it would come within my view.’

  Granny was reviving little by little. Her breathing was becoming normal. The doctor said, ‘It is not right to keep her here when she becomes fully conscious. She must be moved. Why not take her back home? Take her in my car.’

  The priest interrupted, ‘How can you suggest such a thing? No one who has been carried here can ever step into the town bounds again. Don’t you know that it will … it will …’

  ‘What will happen?’

  ‘Happen! The whole town will be wiped out by fire or plague. It is very inauspicious. Do anything you like, but she can’t come back into the town.’

  This point of view gathered a lot of support. The news spread to the town. People began to throng into the cremation ground. Everyone who came said, ‘This is a big problem. What are you going to do with her?’

  In deference to this view she had to be carried to one of the small abandoned buildings on the river-bank, which had once been used as a toll-gate station, and since the river was between her and the town, she was out of bounds. She was kept at the Toll Office, and nursed by the doctor. Her world hummed round her, Kanni, the Fund-Office Manager, Sriram, the old hook-nosed priest, and the two mournful women who had kept vigil. They nursed and fed the old lady as she lay on a bed in the old building. The doctor’s little car drove up half a dozen times a day and Kanni practically abandoned his shop in order to conduct the operations. A vast concourse began to arrive in order to witness the miracle. Some close relatives of Granny who had not seen her for years came and cried, ‘Oh, sister, how good to see you. No one sent word to us that you were dead.’