‘A virtuous son is Michael Babu! Our Parkinson Sahib did not choose him for adoption without reason,’ remarked Khushia Pahan. Soon after these deliberations, Michael Parkinson became the secretary of the Burial Board. That evening Tuinyan Ganjhu drank himself silly. Whatever the recent developments may have been, the fact remained that Mr Ruben Rafael had been denied his earthly right. Mr Rafael had worked for a big ice cream factory in Calcutta. He was a bachelor and remained so all his life. Even while working,
Mr Rafael had decided he would settle down in McCluskieganj after retirement. He had visited McCluskieganj on several occasions, for Mr E.J.A. Lawrence and Mr Lopez were known to him. They had both returned to McCluskieganj after retiring from their government jobs. That is why Mr Rafael shifted lock, stock and barrel immediately after retirement.
However, Mr Ruben Rafael had decided from day one that he would not own any property there. He preferred to stay as a paying guest with someone. After all, what was the sense of buying and building for just one person? As such, both the Lawrence and Lopez families had insisted that he stay with them. But in the beginning, Mr Rafael had stayed for quite a while as a paying guest with Mr Albert Mathews. However, one day, as a result of some disagreement, Mr Rafael left for Mrs Allen’s house. Since the death of her husband, she was all alone and it made sense to live with her as a paying guest.
Although Mr Rafael was a bachelor, his culinary habits and sartorial tastes were admirable. In Mrs Allen’s opinion, he was the best-dressed man in McCluskieganj. Never was there a single crease to be found on his clothes. The choice of colours too was impeccable and inspiring. Even when he lived with Mr Mathews, he visited Mrs Allen regularly. During these visits, they would remember their days in Calcutta. Long conversations transpired as a result. When Mr Rafael arrived as a paying guest at Mrs Allen’s, people generally remarked that this was more or less expected. It was but natural that Ruben Rafael should quarrel with Mr Mathews and leave for
Mrs Allen’s.
However, these jibes made little difference to the two; Mrs Allen dismissed them as mere gossip-mongering.
Mrs Allen was a very lively and generous being. Her husband Mr Johannes Allen was a well-known teacher of English literature in Calcutta University. She herself, at the time, was a well-known fashion designer in Calcutta, but after retirement her husband came straightaway to McCluskieganj where he had bought a plot of land and constructed a small cottage many years ago. As a result, once away from Calcutta, Mrs Allen’s designing business came to an end.
Remembering her work, Mrs Allen would say ‘innovative designing’! She had cuttings from newspapers praising her work: ‘A collection so romantic yet Indian and so strong that a new look has been born.’ Mr Allen had encouraged his wife considerably to undertake designing. He used to say, ‘Fashion designing too, in its own way, is a form of literature. Every clothing has a story within itself. When a piece of clothing tears, so many associations with it die out. Every thread of clothing has a memory.’ The fact was that Mrs Allen got pregnant very late and her husband got her interested in dress designing to distract her from getting depressed and melancholic. In those days, Mrs Allen obtained a formal training in dress designing. She conceived almost ten years after their marriage. The doctor informed that she was going to have twins; Mr Allen wittily observed that God was making up for their lost time. Jovial by temperament, Mrs Allen’s description of her double pregnancy would keep her companions laughing. ‘Kids are a totally different ball game,’ Mrs Allen would say. ‘With my small frame, I looked like an elephant.’ She believed her weight increased slowly and steadily after she gave birth to the twins. She would clap her belly and say even many years later that she still had two babies in her womb. She referred openly to her large belly as ‘harappa’. The sorrow behind her pretence of joy was known to few people. Both her sons, Tony and Monty were doctors and lived in Australia. They rarely visited her. Their personal lives, their professional commitments, claimed all their time. Mr Allen had his work to occupy him, but
Mrs Allen, like most mothers, spent all her time thinking of her two sons. If Tony and Monty sent her a card, the whole of McCluskieganj would resound with the news, so quick was Mrs Allen to share her good fortune. But after Mr Allen fell sick, the boys never made any inquiries. All through his illness, Mrs Allen had to borrow money from Mr D’Costa so that her husband could be treated. Yet Mr Allen ultimately succumbed to cancer. On hearing of their father’s death, Tony and Monty did visit McCluskieganj and asked their mother to sell her house and return to Australia with them. But Mrs Allen was not ready. ‘Leave me here with the memories of your father. Wherever you may choose to live in the world, for me you will always be in my womb. ’ She had tried to laugh it off, but her voice choked with emotion. After this her only contact with her sons was through letters and cards. They had been the best of friends, Mr and Mrs Allen. After her husband’s death,
Mrs Allen had become very lonely. As a result when she made Mr Rafael her paying guest, the McCluskieganj people gossiped about their friendship.
Some wondered how the thin Mr Rafael managed the rather large and unwieldy Mrs Allen. Though of short stature, Mrs Allen’s shoulders were exceptionally broad, and with age, she grew more rotund with an expanding waistline. And what with her white hair, Mrs Allen looked a sight! According to Khushia Pahan, she was a ‘Makuni Haathi’ .* She for her part made fun of herself and said, ‘Man, can an elephant ever be thin?’ The village called Tuinyan Ganjhu her sidekick. Despite her impecunious condition, she would always give him some money. When Mr Rafael started to live with her, Tuinyan Ganjhu, who always referred to Mr Rafael as ‘Rifle Sahib’, was very pleased and observed that Allen Mem became at once happy when Rifle Sahib started to live with her.
Sometimes when Mr D’Costa met Tuinyan on the road, he would teasingly ask, ‘How is your Rifle Sahib managing his Jumbo Queen?’ or say, ‘Rifle Sahib has effortlessly inherited a large dairy farm whose name is Mrs Allen.’
Mohammad Latif used to get wild when he heard these comments, but eschewing his anger, all he would say was that those useless people of McCluskieganj could never recognize a pure soul like Mr Rafael.
One incident that Latif could never forget was when once he was away in Ajmer Sharif, his eldest son Altaf had fallen seriously ill, quite suddenly. No diagnosis could be arrived at, even at the Mander Hospital in Khalari. The doctor came and said, ‘If anyone can treat Altaf, it is Dr Mukhopadhyay of Patna. ’ Latif’s wife broke down. ‘Who would take her son to Patna for treatment?’ Mr Rafael had risen to the occasion offering to take Latif’s son to the famous doctor. He immediately brought a taxi from Khalari and hastily departed for Patna. When Latif returned from Ajmer Sharif, the boy and Mr Rafael were still away. Next day as Latif was preparing to leave for Patna, Mr Rafael returned with Altaf. ‘Take possession of your treasure and safeguard him. He is absolutely all right now. ’ ‘Uncle, you must have spent a lot of money! How much did you spend? I’ll return it soon!’ said Latif with some trepidation. ‘So much!’ replied Mr Rafael spreading both his arms wide apart. Later when Latif insisted on paying back, Mr Rafael said to him, ‘Come on, man, I’m old. I’ll keep falling ill and you will keep getting me treated. Then I shall not ask: how much you have spent.’ Mr Rafael’s voice had choked somewhat.
Often Mr Rafael would walk up to Latif’s verandah and shout, ‘Ask your wife to treat me to some special tea made with jaggery.’ Sometimes, he would even come visiting with
Mrs Allen. Then Mr Rafael would say, ‘Mrs Allen too will have your wife’s special jaggery chai.’
Mr Rafael and Mrs Allen were very happy to be together. Yet, one night when Mrs Allen suddenly died of a massive heart attack in her sleep, Mr Rafael’s whole life underwent a sea change. Even if the house had been there for Mr Rafael to live in, he would have found it difficult to stay there, because during Mr Allen’s protracted illness, Mrs Allen had freely borrowed money from Mr D’Costa for his treatment. In e
xchange,
Mrs Allen had willed her house to Mr D’Costa, which he would get after her demise. And that is what happened.
After her death, when Mrs Allen’s sons came to
McCluskieganj, Mr D’Costa offered an option: ‘If you so wish you can take back the house papers. I only want you to return what I lent your mother with interest. I wouldn’t want you to wipe off the memory of your family from this place.’ Monty answered, ‘Mummy has made our work easy by writing the house off to you; what will we do with a house here.’
Mr D’Costa’s very generous offer to the Allen boys became a subject of much appreciation in the local circle. But Gibson had something else to say: ‘D’Costa’s drama is known to only a few, including myself. He knew that Mrs Allen’s sons would never want to keep the house. Mrs Allen had willed the house to him because she knew that her sons would never return.’
Mr D’Costa, however, did not put any pressure on
Mr Rafael to leave, as he planned to convert the place into a guest house, which Mr Rafael could manage for him.
Mr D’Costa knew that he would never find a person as honest as Mr Rafael who had neither family compulsions nor need for leave or any such thing whatsoever. Where would he find such a man! But Mr Rafael wanted to leave Mrs Allen’s house as quickly as possible because for him she was palpably present everywhere.
In the quiet of the night, Rubin Rafael would wake up and walk around feeling his beloved’s presence everywhere. Her things still lay all over the place: her spectacles, her clothes, her shoes, her stick …! He always thought that she would suddenly appear and, clapping him on his back, say, ‘Oh, man! Why are you sleepless?’ That is why Mr Rafael said, ‘I can’t stay here, D’Costa. I’ll leave your house soon.’ But where was he to go? Mr Rafael was in a quandary. To look for a new place and set it up afresh felt like too much trouble. Perceiving his turmoil and dilemma, Mohammad Latif said, ‘Uncle, we all feel that it is time you came and lived with us.’ Altaf also lovingly added, ‘Yes, Dadu, you must come and live with us.’ In his distress, this invitation shone like a ray of hope. Mr Rafael’s eyes moistened with emotion. From that day, till he breathed his last, Mr Rafael became a permanent member of Mohammad Latif’s home. With perfect ease Mr Rafael settled in with this rather poor Muslim family of McCluskieganj, making their simple mud-tiled cottage his own. Some people even joked and referred to him as Mohammad Rubin Rafael. Latif’s entire family dedicated itself to Mr Rafael’s service. The meaner inhabitants of McCluskieganj rumoured that he had stashed away a lot of money, which is why Latif took such great care of him. Mr Rafael treated Altaf like his own grandson and oversaw his upbringing and education closely. Not merely this, he had personally gone to Ranchi to select a bride for Altaf.
Mr Rafael had smiled and said, ‘Altaf is a grown-up man now, when will he get married?’ The fact was that Mohammad Moshafiullah had come to McCluskieganj and proposed his daughter Nazneen’s hand for Altaf, and Mohammad Latif had asked Moshafiullah to go and approach Mr Rafael with the proposal. Anything to do with Altaf’s marriage must have Uncle Rafael’s stamp of approval. Moshafiullah found this strange, thinking that Latif was probably trying to put him off, such was the apprehension lurking in the minds of fathers of girls in India. Nevertheless, he took his proposal to Mr Rafael who although non-committal at first, was convinced in favour of the suit when told that Nazneen was indeed an exceptionally beautiful girl. He went off to Ranchi to see her, and when he saw her, he was convinced of her suitability for Altaf.
Things thus got settled and when Mr Rafael gave his word to Nazneen’s father, there was nothing left for Latif to say. But Mr Rafael passed away suddenly even before the marriage could take place. Moshafiullah was quite distressed fearing Latif might go back on the promise, but Latif solemnized Nazneen’s marriage with Altaf, saying Uncle’s promise had to be kept. When Altaf was leaving with his barat, there was an emotional scene. As his mother kissed him, he said, ‘I wish Dadu was here today.’ He remembered Mr Rafael’s smiling face when he had returned after seeing the girl. ‘I have selected a piece of the moon for your bride. Just wait and see how I’ll dance at your nikah.’ But he passed away before the event. He rarely fell sick. Some years ago, when he had an attack of gallstone pain, Mohammad Latif had taken him to Ranchi for a surgery. Latif’s whole family had milled round Mr Rafael and brought him back fully restored. But this time when Mr Rafael got very sick, he told Latif, ‘This time you won’t be able to bring me around, man.’ Latif was taken aback to hear a hopeful and confident man like Rafael speak thus. He immediately took Mr Rafael to the government hospital in Mander; There was no hospital of any worth in McCluskieganj. The rumour of his illness spread through the village like wildfire. Tuinyan Ganjhu said in distress, ‘Mr Rifle is on gas.’ What he meant was that Mr Rafael was on oxygen. ‘It seems that the time for the packet to be dispatched is near.’ To be admitted into the Mander government hospital meant that the illness was severe, because small medical issues were addressed locally at Khalari. Mander government hospital alone was equipped to take care of serious illnesses. But Mr Rafael passed away within two days of hospitalization towards the end of August. However, when the time for Mr Rafael’s burial arrived, the secretary of the Burial Board, Mr Tom Hanks, threw up his hands in despair and said that he had resigned from the board. ‘Let whosoever do as he wishes, I will not sign for Mr Rafael’s burial in the
McCluskieganj cemetery. You can take all the papers and files of the board, because I no longer hold any responsibility.’ Khushia Pahan, sipping tea at Majid’s Karni Tea Stall said angrily, ‘Boiled yam-faced Tom is now the snot of the English people. He is making such a fuss, I feel like slapping the shit out of him.’ Majid too sounded angry: ‘Just wearing suit, boot and tie will not do, Khushia Uncle. My Karni Aunty was a lady, but no one could get away with bullshit before her. These sahibs here are just coloured photos.’
With Tom’s negative attitude, no one dared question him, nor bring the body to McCluskieganj. The Anglo-Indians tried to tell Tom that this was not a time for jesting. Mr Rafael was an old member of the All India Anglo-Indian Society and had contributed in building the graveyard boundary walls. But all these arguments failed to convince Tom Hanks.
Tom Hanks had nothing personal against Mr Rafael. The fact was that he had a grudge against the Anglo-Indian MLA representative in the Bihar Legislative Assembly, Hector Angus Brown. The latter had not spent any money from his allotted fund on road repairs. North of McCluskieganj station, the road and culvert leading to Tom’s house was in a state of disrepair. Time and again, he had requested the Anglo-Indian bigwigs to have it fixed, but to no avail. That is what had hurt Tom and soon after he had resigned from the secretaryship of the Burial Board. At the time, people thought that Tom was threatening in a fit of anger. Mr Mendez had spoken patronizingly to Tom: ‘Stop behaving like a child. Keep your resignation, man! We will get your road repaired from Mr Brown’s fund the next time. I guarantee it.’ When Tom cooled down after this assurance, it was thought that the chapter had been closed once and for all. But Tom turned Mr Rafael’s burial into his moment of reckoning.
The Anglo-Indian people of McCluskieganj had selected Tom as the secretary of the Burial Board because he appeared to be both serious and responsible. For years now, Tom had carried out his duties effectively. But when the road to his house had been progressively neglected, whereas those leading to the houses of the other members were well maintained, Tom felt insulted. Everyone now agreed that Tom’s anger was justified, but that he should have chosen such a moment for kicking up a fuss appeared somewhat shocking to them.
One of the elderly ladies of the village, Dorothy Peace Bonner, said in despondent surprise: ‘Did he have to take a revenge for the neglect of his road on Mr Rafael? His soul will never forgive Tom.’
Tuinyan Ganjhu told the residents of Ganjhu tola with sadness: ‘Tom is a wretched person; what can he say in his defence? These Anglo-Indians pretend solidarity, but ess
entially their relationship is that of a snake and a frog—predator and prey.’ Since Tom refused to budge, Mohammad Latif, Mr Mendez, Mr Gibson and Mr Miller spoke to the missionaries in Mander. Close to the PWD water tank, lay the old Mander Christian Cemetery. That’s where they buried Mr Rafael. The rituals following the burial were solemnized by Latif.
The only surviving relative of Mr Ruben Rafael was his niece Asma, who lived in New Zealand. Asma’s father, who was late Mr Rafael’s brother, used to live in England and had long predeceased him. So did his sister who lived in Australia. Mr Miller, in consultation with the other members of his community, obtained Asma’s address from Latif and sent off a letter informing her of her uncle’s demise, on receiving which Asma arrived in McCluskieganj a month later. She spent a week in Latif’s house, collecting some of her uncle’s memorabilia that included photographs, diaries and so on. Exceptionally fair, with blonde hair and large eyes, Asma was visiting
McCluskieganj for the first time in her life. Some of the inhabitants of the village were curious about how, being an Anglo-Indian, her name came to be Asma? Later, through Latif, they came to know that although she had a Christian name earlier, she had changed it after marrying a Muslim man and converting to Islam. Khushia Pahan nodded his head wisely and said, ‘I knew it was not for nothing that one changes one’s name.’
McCluskieganj Page 2