This city of Hong Kong was spread over 404 square miles and was at one time a part of the province of Canton. It was referred to as the southern gate of China. But after the Opium Wars, Great Britain rested it from the Chinese. Later they obtained a lease for ninety-nine years; that period was expiring in 1997. If communism continued its sway over Hong Kong’s politics and the economic practice of free-market trade was discontinued, that would spell disaster for the businessman in Hong Kong.
Dennis would try to cheer his friends with a story of his days in McCluskieganj. This is how it went: ‘When I lived in
McCluskieganj, there being no colleges, I had to go to Ranchi daily. It was a distance of about 65 kilometres. There I had a very dear friend who lived with his parents in a rented house. My friend said, that the house in which they lived had been sold several times over. At first it used to belong to a Muslim gentleman who sold it to a Christian, who later sold it to a Punjabi. Yet, my friend and his family continued to occupy the ground floor of that two-storey house irrespective of who became the owner. Not one of the owners asked them to vacate. Yes, they would raise the rent each time but that was all.’ Dennis’s friend, wide-eyed with wonder, said, ‘So what do you mean, man? Are you suggesting that whoever maybe ruling Hong Kong, we will never be disturbed?’ Dennis replied, ‘Exactly’, to which Francis who was a textile merchant said, ‘Yes, life itself is becoming transferable’. It was then that Victor spoke up, ‘Didn’t you read Deng Xiaoping’s statement where he said that Hong Kong’s capitalist economy would continue for the next fifty years, even after the takeover. In fact, he has assured of pumping in more funds for Hong Kong’s progress. That is all that matters to us businessmen.’ But Dennis was not too sure, ‘You never know with the communists, they are so mercurial. There is no surety when they will change their stand. That is why the communist nations are fast hurtling down.’
That was when Francis said, ‘Be careful of what you say. Don’t talk against the regime. You will have to pay very dearly. Remember what happened in 1989, when the youth and the general public of China had protested against the dictatorial ways of the government? They were just squashed and beaten down like beasts.’ But Dennis cut in, ‘Look how they have already thwarted British policy plans. When Britain suggested they build a beautiful airport and port, how fiercely they responded. For any move on their part to construct anything new in Hong Kong they would have to take prior permission. Had Britain constructed the airport and port, would they have carried it away in 1997. Then Francis said, ‘I must tell you that the feelings we have been expressing are not ours only. Many of the Chinese settled here have a similar opinion. You know Mr Chang who is my neighbour?’ Dennis said, ‘Yes, I know him. He is a very hard-working man and has obtained his present status with great difficulty.’ Then Francis said, ‘Mr Chang is scared that his business may just collapse after the handing over.’
Dennis sighed and said, ‘I do miss my village in India at this point,’ to which Francis replied, ‘Victor and I have never seen a village. You at least have a place in India, if the worst happens you can always go back. What about us? Where do we go? Why, I wish you could take us along with you to McCluskieganj.’ And Dennis remembered some lines from a poem learned in school, ‘Peace is flowing like a river, let it flow through me. Joy is flowing like a river, flowing out to you and me … let the mighty joy of God flow out through me.’ On one side the roaring sea, on the other side a quiet, gently flowing Chatti river, thought Dennis. Even its remembrance gave peace to Dennis, in the midst of the recent tumult. While he and Liza were still in McCluskieganj, it was always a welcome break to go and sit next to the river. But Victor had interrupted his thoughts with, ‘Have you read Chan Ho’s new book called Hong Kong 1997? It deals with the kind of life that we will live after 1997. It is a commentary on the terror-struck, doubtful existence that we may have to lead here after that dreaded year.’ Both Dennis and Francis became silent. Dennis thought what a mistake it had been to sell his house in McCluskieganj. It was a mistake he committed in full awareness. Yet again Dennis thought that although he had sold his house, McCluskieganj would always remain with him. And Robin, Dennis had noticed that he never expressed his apprehension regarding the handing over of Hong Kong. The boy was fully immersed in the work of the press. It had become his passion since the completion of his college. He would pore over manuscripts till late night.
One day Liza had remarked, ‘Robin, you must learn to leave your work in your workplace, don’t bring it home.’ Robin had smiled and Dennis had said, ‘If you want your son to be less committed to his work, you must tie the noose around his neck,’ and feigning ignorance, Liza had asked, ‘What noose?’ Dennis said, ‘Don’t play the innocent, you know what I mean—get him married—of course. In any case, he is old enough to get married.’ To this Robin reacted, ‘Papa, not yet. Just wait another year or two. I want to write a novel. I have edited so many best-sellers in the last few years that I want to try my hand at writing. I am not being presumptuous, but I do think that I too will be able to produce a good novel. Just give me a chance.’ His mother quipped, ‘My dear boy, if one goes by your point of view a writer will never get married!’ To which Robin laughingly answered, ‘Mummy, I don’t agree with you. There are several renowned novelists who have married as many as four times! Moreover, I have not become a writer yet. Let me have at least one novel to my credit and I promise that I shall marry. Did you not read recently of the author who worked for seven long years to produce his novel? His publisher paid him three crores. It is he who said, “First make your career, get sufficient money and then think of marrying.” That is what I will do too.’
Dennis said, ‘Why are you so concerned about money? This business of mine is yours.’ ‘I know, Papa, but one must prepare one’s own ground to stand on. Of course, I will need your support to start, but afterwards … Didn’t Grandpa support us to get to Hong Kong? But once here, you worked your way up, didn’t you? Every individual must struggle on his own, to find himself and subsequently his self-esteem and self-confidence,’ said Robin. Finding himself cornered, Dennis smiled and said, ‘Okay, okay. So what support do you want from me?’ Robin answered, ‘I have told you earlier that my first novel will be on McCluskieganj. All I want is that you make the necessary arrangements for me to go there. I will work there for two or three months.’
Dennis agreed saying, ‘Yes, you are right. This is an opportune moment to go to our village. Considering the mounting tension in Hong Kong, you may very well be able to see things retrospectively, and with a calm objectivity. But what about the press? For the last few years, you have made things so much easier for me by doing everything yourself. How will I manage it without you?’ Robin thought a minute and then replied, ‘But Papa, that’s always the case. Didn’t Grandpa have to manage on his own when you came away? Moreover, I will be gone for just a short while.’ Dennis became very despondent. His son was right. How much his father must have had to struggle when he came away to Hong Kong. With no wife or support, and so lonely too. How sad that he was all alone when he died. He immediately decided to arrange for Robin’s departure.
All items of necessity were packed for Robin. Not even sewing needles, buttons and thread were missed out. Small as these things were, Liza felt that they were very essential. Robin laughed at her, ‘Mummy I don’t even know how to thread a needle!’ And Dennis joined in to say, ‘Exactly why I had suggested a companion for you.’ This friendly banter continued for a while, then Dennis added, ‘I have made all arrangements for your stay at the guest house called Queen’s Cottage. It belongs to my friend Phil Collins Miller. You will be looked after very well there. They have an excellent cook and steward.’ Liza said tearfully, ‘Take care of your health. I am already getting nervous; you are so careless.’ Dennis couldn’t help saying, ‘Look, Liza. He is a six-foot-tall man, not a babe in the woods. And by the way, Robin, you are going in the end of May. May and June are the hottest months there. But between Octob
er and March, the weather is just wonderful. McCluskieganj has frequent power outages, so the guest house doesn’t have electricity most of the time. And the question of having air conditioners does not arise. Still you will find it quite pleasant. Don’t forget to meet all our acquaintances,
Mr Mendez, Alice Aunty, Miss Bonner and all the others who will tell you all that you need to know about McCluskieganj, and yes, look up Kitty and also Bahadur, my childhood friends.’ ‘Papa, I remember all of them and all the stories that I have grown up with. I have noted all their addresses. Shall I tell you Mr Phil Collins Miller’s address? It is Queen’s Cottage,
McCluskieganj, Eastern Railway, District Ranchi, Bihar, Pincode 829208.’ ‘I am impressed, son. You have never seen the face of that village and yet you know so much.’ Robin laughed and said, ‘I have been reading a lot about rural life. A well-known sociologist has remarked, “Life in a city is comparable to a boiling kettle, whereas life in a village is like water in an earthen pitcher, still and peaceful.”’ Dennis also brought up the subject of how Robin would communicate with the local people since he did not know Hindi very well. To this, Robin said, ‘I have been learning Hindi for the last one year, so that issue too has been addressed.’
13
The Peacock’s Feet
McCluskieganj was agog since morning. Mr Douglas Gibson had donned the habit of an Anglican priest or rather the deacon and was sitting pretty at the Peacock Guest House ready to start the march up to the Anglican Church. To see him in his new avatar, people were rushing; even
Mr Miller, harassed though he was, he went nonetheless! With a mischievous twinkle, he said, ‘Oh my old Tabby. I wanted to salute you! God knows how many you will smite, even in this state.’ And Mr Gibson. Even he seemingly swelled up with all the attention! The colours of spring has touched him too, just as it had touched the nakedness of the trees, which were imperceptibly turning out new leaves; many of the gulmohars and amaltases had sprouted new foliage while some of the old seed pods presented themselves still sheathed in scabbard-like shells. The golden fields of wheat and maize were an expression of the proximity of nature and man, a prospect that had receded with urbanization elsewhere. And in the night, the fireflies! Did city dwellers have an insight into this simple staple of natural delights? Did they ever visualize the stages that the mangoes passed through before reaching their fancy tables? Could their olfactory nerves seize the smell that the glistening, coppery new leaves of the mango trees along with their flowers gave out? But if you asked the simple village folk, they would identify from their smell the different species of the fruit. And finally, after months of silence, the harbinger of spring, the cuckoo or the koel could be heard from far and near. Through such a scene, the road winded to the Anglican Church.
When Mr Gibson surveyed the effect of the newly stitched habit on his person, in the mirror of the Peacock Guest House dressing table, he was being watched by Parvati and her son. Parvati smirked and said, ‘All you need now is the mendicant’s small brass bucket and blanket!’ Little Babu too was somewhat confused by Nanu’s strange new apparel. ‘Why should Nanu be wearing it and will he always be wearing this from now on?’ Babu wondered, though he too was sharing Nanu’s sense of self-importance. And when the procession began to move, Babu too walked alongside. The throng was joined by Tuinyan Ganjhu as well, who started to sing, ‘Gently gently the music plays, Shivji is leading the way’, and he was not far from being correct.
Mr Gibson’s cavalcade was looking like Shivji’s wedding procession, all right. Khushia Pahan asked Mr Noel Gordon, ‘What is Deccan? I know of Padre’s and Father’s, but Deccan?’Jerry Pinto replied on behalf of Noel Gordon, ‘Deacon, meaning the doctor’s compounder.’ Khushia Pahan’s mouth fell open. ‘Compounder,’ he asked, ‘really, Mr Gibson sometimes becomes so idiotic! You mean, he will work as a compounder in his new white gown?’ Noel Gordon smiled and replied, ‘No, Khushia. You didn’t understand Jerry Pinto’s sarcasm. What he meant is that Mr Gibson will be second to the Church Father. In the Father’s absence, Mr Gibson will step in to officiate. Do you understand now?’ At this point,
Mr Mendez added his two-anna bit, ‘Deacon means half priest!’ To this, Mr Gibson could not control laughing out aloud. ‘I can only be a half priest, man! I can never attain full priesthood, even if I were to live seven lives.’ And Mr Mendez continued with his witticisms, ‘I will write to Bhabhi in Australia today itself that her husband has become at least half a priest!’
Mr Gibson, giggling like a child said, ‘Call her back and I will become a full priest, I assure you.’ Turning back, he looked at the procession. His eyes searched for Parvati, but she was nowhere to be seen. The vibrance of the Anglican Church was being felt after many years today. This church had been built by the British, some six or seven years before Independence.
McCluskieganj had an Anglo-Indian doctor by the name of
P.S. Biddle. It was he who had this church attached to the Anglican Church of Ranchi. However, some years after Independence, the then bishop of Ranchi, an Adivasi by the name of Rev. Taron got this church transferred to the Church of Northern India. This move had been strongly condemned by people like Noel Gordon, Mr Cameron and Mr Gibson, who reverted it to the Anglican Church of Ranchi. The result was a paucity of funds in the years that followed as a result of which the church deteriorated. Perhaps Bishop Taron had visualized that funding from the Church of Northern India would have ensured the upkeep of the church. It is difficult to say. Whatever the polemics, the fact was that Mr Gibson had become deacon so that in the absence of the official Father, Father Hembrom, which was often long, he could step in and manage the religious requirements of the lay people.
Sitting in Australia when Mrs Gibson was informed by Mr Mendez of her husband’s elevation, she wrote back a stinging letter to him, ‘After devouring seventy rats, the cat has gone on pilgrimage. You all are the pits, the extent to which your jokes stoop is ridiculous! You have actually given the old lecher the licence to hide girls inside his habit!’
Some months ago, when Mr Gibson had learnt from his youngest son Neil, that his wife had retired from her post of canteen-in-charge at the Edith Cohen Universitys, he had written her a sweet short note saying, ‘Dear Oldie, what are you doing in Australia? At least return to me now.’ And Mrs Gibson had immediately responded, ‘My dear Goldie, I will return immediately, but not to stay in McCluskieganj. I do not wish to go mad there. If this is acceptable, write and say so.’ But when Mr Gibson did not reply, his wife turned to Neil and with contempt said, ‘Your father will never leave
McCluskieganj because of that young woman!’
The old battle between husband and wife still continue. Every move of Mr Gibson’s was checkmated by his wife. By not attending Neil’s marriage, Mr Gibson had angered his wife. Neil, in fact, worked as an operations manager in a transport company and had married at his mother’s behest. Neil had suggested it would be great to have father come to the wedding. Before his mother could open her mouth, her second son Ronald seconded Neil and said, ‘Oof, what fun it would be if Papa came! ‘Hearing her two sons confer, Mrs Gibson said after some consideration, ‘Invite him by all means and see your father’s love for yourselves! Your brother Minto is now paying for his love for his father.’ Mrs Gibson had said all this to dissuade her sons, but secretly hoped that should her husband come, she would never let him return to McCluskieganj. ‘What would happen?’ she thought to herself. ‘The maximum would be letting Peacock Guest House slip out of their hands. So be it.’ She would write and ask Mr Mendez to sell it as quickly as possible. ‘Let the old decrepit come here once.’ Mrs Gibson had smiled to herself.
For a moment, Mr Gibson had entertained the idea of attending his youngest son’s wedding, but on second thoughts decided not to. Instead he wrote, ‘After your wedding, come to McCluskieganj for your honeymoon. Tell me soon so that I can arrange for a lavish reception for you. Fix the date quickly.’ This letter made Mrs Gibson see red. ‘Nei
l,’ she said, ‘there is no question of your going to McCluskieganj. Is there no other place in the world besides that rotten village?’ Initially she dashed off a short letter to her husband, ‘Right now you are celebrating your honeymoon, babymoon! How can Neil even think of going there? That you should be philandering even at this age and McCluskieganj people laughing behind your back, even though you yourself seem oblivious of it, is shameful. If you take my opinion, go to Kanke, it is not too far, and consult a good psychiatrist.’ Mr Gibson replied by the return post. ‘I met the Kanke doctor as per your advice. He suggested that more than medicines, I need your presence, so come to me. He suggested that I visit him with you, as soon as you come.’
Even at this age, the youthful banter between their parents kept Neil and Ronald highly entertained. One day Ronald remarked to his wife Hilary, ‘Do you think that when we reach this age, we too will be able to fight like youngsters.’
Ronald can’t forget the Munni episode. When his father had brought the elephant from Manatu, he had written to his wife, ‘Dear Oldie, you had buried my love for horses even while you were here. My love for horses however continues. Should I ever come into money again, I will probably go back to that love of mine. Right now, I have taken a fancy to elephants. I have bought an elephant from the Manatu estate. But I must tell you that there is no dearth of lovers of elephants. In the African state of Swaziland, the local king honoured his wife with the title of the “great she-elephant”. I too feel like honouring you with the same title. —With much love, your old mahout.’ Mrs Gibson returned this billet-doux with, ‘You sick and lame horse! The day for you to honour me, I hope it never comes!’
Yet, whenever her sons were in a playful mood, they would tease Mrs Gibson with, ‘Our Mummy, the great she-elephant! Papa’s remarkable title for Mummy!’ Then even Mrs Gibson would burst out laughing. Ronald worked in a shipping company as a surveyor. His work involved the management of the shipping lines and the booking of goods. He furtively wrote to his father and also sent him cards, but asked him not to write to his home address lest his mother come to know. One day inadvertently Ronald’s wife had mentioned some card that they had sent to Mr Gibson. Mrs Gibson lost no time picking up the clue. She flashed with rage. ‘Putting me aside, son and father are cooking a nice hash. Had I left you with that useless father of yours, you would have still been playing, gullee-danda in McCluskieganj.’
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