The Painter of Signs

by R. K. Narayan

  The teacher said, ‘When it rains, the main hall of the temple is filled with people. A pundit comes in that season and reads the Ramayana for forty days, a full course, from the birth of Rama to his coronation — it takes forty days and then the Mahabharata takes longer; by the time it is concluded, we reach the end of the season. We give the pundit a room in the temple and look after him.’

  ‘Very well,’ argued Daisy. ‘At the end of the discourse men and women do go home, don’t they?’ To Raman it seemed that she was obsessed with the sexual activities of others. Probably she did not have a clean mind. She had a pornographer’s philosophy of life, perhaps. Otherwise why did her thoughts travel behind closed doors and revel in pictures of what people did when it was cold and damp outside?

  The teacher said, ‘And then that is the season when they clean up and store their grains, and attend to various things they could not do when they had to be out all day in other seasons. Please don’t judge us harshly. I keep my school open, and they also assemble on this pyol without time-limit. Of course, I agree that some control of population is necessary, but I feel its evil is exaggerated.’

  Daisy looked horrified on hearing it and declared, ‘What is the population of this village now?’

  ‘Seven hundred-odd,’ said the teacher promptly.

  Daisy said, ‘It was just six hundred last year this time ... and there is an increase of nearly twenty per cent. Has your food production increased twenty per cent? Have your accommodations increased twenty per cent? I know they haven’t. Your production has increased only three per cent in spite of various improved methods of cultivation. Have more houses been built between the last monsoon and now? I know that the number of houses has remained the same for decades ...’ The teacher looked crest-fallen; which was a sort of admission of her thesis. He felt relieved that she was not questioning him on the size of his family; but presently, when several boys and girls of assorted sizes kept dashing in and out of his house and he found Daisy eyeing them questioningly, he volunteered the explanation: ‘You see, they are children from the neighbouring houses, they have come to play with my children. I have only four ...’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said and added, ‘You had only three when I was here last!’

  What a lot of policing she was doing! Raman thought. She must really be mad! She will fight and shun people who bring up large families. Some madness must have got into her head quite early in life and stayed on there.

  She explained to the teacher, ‘Our quantum of population-increase every year is equal to the total population of a country like Peru, that’s fourteen million.’

  ‘What if!’ said the foolhardy teacher. ‘We have enough space in this country - still so many undeveloped areas.’

  She was very patient with this dialectician. She said quietly, ‘How many of the seven hundred-odd in this village will be prepared to move over to new areas when their homes become too congested?’

  Raman felt like asking, How is it your concern? If people like to live crowded, it’s their business. What a frightful bully you are turning out to be. Thank God, you are not a dictator.

  The teacher explained, ‘The families here are all stonemasons. They quarry stones and send them all over the country. Their business is to blast the mountain-side and cut and shape the stones. At the moment, they have an order to cut and dress three thousand tons of slabs and blocks for a temple in America. It’s quite a thriving business. Why will they move? They have to be where the mountain is. They cannot afford to leave its side.’

  She said, ‘Exactly. I am not suggesting that they uproot themselves, but if they want to stay comfortable, let them avoid creating an unmanageable crowd around themselves, that’s all. I am not prohibiting anything, but only suggesting that they avoid too many children.’

  She spoke on the same lines to the gathering which the teacher was able to muster under the banyan tree in the centre of the village. This had to be late in the evening next day, as she had to wait for the men and women to return from work, wash, and eat before coming out to listen to her. They had hung up a few lanterns from the branches of the tree. Men, women, and children squatted on the ground under the platform and eagerly looked up as if they were going to hear a Ramayana discourse. Helped by the teacher’s explanations, she spoke to them for nearly an hour, and concluded by hoping that their village would have no more than seven hundred at the same time next year. Some elders of the village asked, ‘God gives us children. How can we reject His gift?’ She did not contradict the thesis outright, but gently presented a scientific, rational point of view. But when the chiefman said, ‘There is an old shrine in a cave over there where barren women can go and pray and bear children. How would you explain it?’ Daisy simply answered, ‘You should ask the priest of that temple,’ and Raman admired the courage and subtlety of her reply.

  While others seemed to have taken this remark rather casually, or perhaps they were too innocent to follow its meaning, later, next day, the priest of the temple accosted them and challenged her comments. The shrine was a mile outside the village as one went down the slopes on the northern side. Raman had already gone round in search of a surface for writing. The blank outer wall of this shrine seemed suitable. It loomed over the only pathway and no one could miss it. On the morning after the lecture, he had taken Daisy to show her the place he had selected. The shrine was set in a grove of ancient trees, with a small dome and spire, greying with weather. They were going round it inspecting.

  Daisy was satisfied with this location, and cried ecstatically, ‘ This wall seems to have been built for our message!’ She turned to Raman and said, ‘You know, here we should also have a pictorial medium rather than just words. A father and a mother and just one bright and healthy child with the caption, “With just one, we will be happier.” ‘

  Raman could not help asking, ‘One? You have said two in other places. Why this reduction here?’

  ‘Oh, this village is different,’ she said. ‘With the monsoon and other things, the problems here are very peculiar. If I could have my way, I would be prepared to suggest no births in this village for the next five years. The caption to say, “Just the two of us shall remain happy forever without the nuisance of children,” but we cannot go so far.’ She laughed gravely at her own joke, checked herself halfway through it, and said, ‘We must be serious about it, no time to joke, no joking matter.’

  Raman felt happy at the effect he had produced. Why shouldn’t we also laugh a little while preventing births? Thank God, she is only concerned with births and not death. Otherwise she’ll be pestering Yama to take away more people each day, he reflected.

  Unnoticed by them, at this moment another person had joined their company. He silently followed Daisy and Raman and closely watched their talks and discussions. As they were studying the blank wall for its possibilities, the new addition to the company silently slid forward and addressed Daisy: ‘Why are you gazing on this wall?’ She was taken aback, and stepped away as if attacked personally. He said, ‘Every brick of this wall and every inch of it was built by me and belongs to me.’

  ‘Oh!’ was all that Daisy could say in answer.

  Raman said, ‘Don’t joke, is it true?’

  Someone in the crowd that had, unnoticed, gathered around, said, ‘Yes, it’s true. He dug the earth, made bricks and burnt them, and built this side-wall, little by little. He is more than a hundred years old.’

  The old man was pleased at this recognition. He had a loudspeaker voice and wore nothing more than a brown loin-cloth. ‘I built this temple and installed the Goddess of Plenty, long before anyone came here and built these houses. The Goddess came to me in a dream and commanded and I made it my mission in life. For a hundred miles around there is no temple like this. Barren women come and pray here for three days, and conceive within thirty days.’

  Daisy looked shocked. This was going to prove the antithesis of all her mission, defeat her entire business in life.

  R
aman’s sense of irony was touched: ‘We will have to look for another place quickly. Let’s leave.’

  Before they could decide on it, the old man said in a trumpeting voice: ‘Our shastras say that the more children in a home, the more blessed it becomes. Do you want to dispute it?’

  Daisy, not having prepared herself for facing such a challenge, blinked uncertainly. Raman came to her rescue and said, ‘No, no, how can anyone dispute the shastras?’

  ‘And yet this woman has been propagating sinful practices. I heard a report of what she said. Did she not refer to the priest of the temple? I am the priest. Has this woman anything to say now?’

  Daisy said, ‘I didn’t mean anything bad. I just said that they should ask you for an explanation of the miracle.’

  Raman said, ‘Don’t talk to him, let us go.’ But the old man said, ‘I know everything that goes on for a hundred miles around, though it’s a hundred years since I stepped outside my temple. I know what goes on everywhere and in everyone’s mind. I sent my subtle self to your meeting yesterday. I know all that you said. Be careful, you evil women, don’t tamper with God’s designs. He will strike you dead if you attempt that.’ He had a white flowing beard and looked like the messenger of disaster.

  Those in the crowd said, ‘He can see what goes on even in Delhi!’ Another person said, ‘He can talk to plants and mountains and birds and animals and they all obey him. He knows past, present, and future ...’ No one gave Daisy a chance to speak. The hermit himself said, ‘Would you like to know your future?’ looking searchingly at Daisy.

  ‘No,’ she said point-blank.

  Then he said, ‘I’ll tell you your past.’ Raman rather enjoyed her predicament - all along she had been the positive, leading figure in any group. It was good to see her on the defensive. The hermit suddenly said, ‘Mention a number ...’

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘From that number, I can read your past, where you come from and so forth.’ Raman felt that here was one chance of solving several mysteries, and awaited the outcome with interest. The hermit suddenly said, ‘Or mention a colour if you don’t know any number.’

  ‘No,’ she said once again, blushing.

  The hermit looked at her mischievously. Well, that jacket you are wearing, what colour is it?’

  She looked at herself and spurned to give an answer.

  Others murmured, ‘It’s blue, grey, brown.’

  ‘Each of you sees it in a different colour, but I can see it with the eyes of the lady. It’s yellow. And that’s enough for me. Yellow ... yellow ...’ He shut his eyes and murmured, ‘It’s the colour of a particular kind of bell flower — not generally known. It’s rare and special. So is your life. You ran away from home, without telling anyone, when you were twelve years old. Your father and mother searched for you, poor things! After months, traced you.’ He shut his eyes for a moment and said, ‘I see a seashore, waves, huts ...’

  Daisy looked somewhat shaken, turned to Raman, and said, ‘We will go now,’ and abruptly moved off. She remained silent a moment and added, ‘I don’t think that he’ll let us use his wall.’

  ‘That’s certain,’ Raman said. ‘He may add his own message to the barren women over ours. That may create confusion.’

  The crowd still followed. Someone kept saying, ‘He can talk to birds and animals; he is a yogi...’

  ‘He is one hundred years old...’

  ‘A hundred long ago, now must be more.’

  ‘See how strong he is!’

  ‘He built this temple with his own hands. He can go anywhere at will.’

  ‘I know all that,’ Daisy said, irritated. ‘It’s all been repeated,’ not liking the worshipful attitude of this public. She reached the teacher’s house and went in unceremoniously. Raman took his seat on the pyol. The crowd still hung around the steps of the house and overflowed into the street. The teacher had gone out to a market near by and come back laden with vegetables, fruits, and provisions. He was planning a feast for his guests before their departure next day. He was panting with the load on his back. His wife came outside and took charge of his shopping bag and went in. They had a brief discussion over the prices paid and his selections, in whispers.

  ‘The doctor is taking rest,’ the teacher’s wife announced.

  ‘Yes, we have been walking about since day-break,’ said Raman.

  The teacher looked at the crowd and said, ‘There is nothing more now. You may all go. As you have just heard, the doctor is resting.’ The crowd turned back and dispersed down the street.

  Raman mentioned, ‘We met that old man in the other temple.’

  The teacher said, ‘Oh, him! He is a yogi, not afraid of anyone in the world.’

  ‘Is he a real yogi?’ asked Raman.

  The teacher said, ‘We have learnt to leave him alone. It’s not safe to make an enemy of him. He can be helpful. He has all sorts of powers. Lives on nothing, says he. Nourishes himself from air. It is not good to argue with him. He is a quarrelsome man and commands powers.’

  ‘I selected his wall...’

  ‘Don’t go near it,’ said the teacher. ‘If you had told me ...’

  Raman said, ‘Don’t remind her of the incident. She is rather upset.’

  After lunch everybody retired for an hour’s siesta. With the sun beating down fiercely, the village withdrew into itself. Dogs lay curled up in the shade of trees or buildings, cattle lay down on the ground, chewing the cud, crows cawed from the branches of trees desultorily. The pulley over the village well ceased to creak. Raman sat on the pyol after lunch. Daisy had retired to her room until the evening. Her next engagement would be a talk to a gathering of women in the school-hall. The pyol was shady, and the teacher stretched himself across and invited Raman to do likewise. Raman sat up beside the teacher for a little while, and when he found him half-drowsy, said, ‘Well, I’ll have to select another spot. We have not much time left. If the lady asks, tell her I’m out and will be back soon. Let her rest.’

  He put his sandals on and stepped out of the house. Writing on the wall was impractical in this village as most of the houses were built closely packed and the end-walls were not suitably placed. The cave-temple outer wall was most desirable in every way, and if he could cajole the hermit to let it out for a rent, it would help. Otherwise they’d have to use the rockface on the northern side where one would have to go up a scaffolding to write. He had- taken the precaution of not mentioning that place to Daisy - otherwise she’d ask him to put up a scaffolding and climb it with a brush, like a house-painter. He felt indignant. He was straying away, drawn by this fair creature, from his legitimate normal activity - if he was to go up a scaffolding, that’d be the end of all his ideals and independence, he’d lose the respect of his fellow-men. No doubt he was being paid liberally, but that was not the main thing. He had always written his boards on the sands behind his house; after the present assignment, he must suggest some other device for wall messages. He’d write on wood or canvas and stick them up, but this kind of wall-writing, no, no. He went past the coconut grove, so full of shade that one would hardly remember the hot sun baking the streets of the village. He went along the path leading to the mountains, up an avenue of tamarind trees to the cave temple. He walked around it, only one wall, a sheer wall with a smooth face; the rest of it was ragged and covered with the dust of decades, and unapproachable through the thicket grown around it. He wished he had spent more time with the old crank, who had excited his curiosity. He could, perhaps, fill in a great deal of the blanks in his knowledge of Daisy’s life, and if he could be coaxed to rent his wall, it would save a lot of trouble, otherwise Daisy was sure to feel frustrated and fret about it. Moreover Raman was fascinated by the fantastic claims made by this superman, and the simple faith of the citizens of this place. As he stood there, ruminating, the hermit came out of his cave and glared at him. Raman made a low obeisance, folded his palms together to exhibit his friendliness and reverence for the old man. ‘So you are
back here!’ the old man cried. ‘The third time I see you here, take care ... take care!’

  ‘I mean no harm,’ Raman said meekly. ‘I just wanted to see you, that is all.’

  ‘What business have you here unless you wish to cure your wife’s barrenness?’

  ‘I am not married,’ Raman said.

  ‘Don’t I know it?’ the other cried. ‘Perhaps a mistress who wishes to remain barren and preach the same philosophy to the whole world ... He! He!’ he giggled viciously.

  ‘I wish to see this temple,’ Raman said unceremoniously.

  ‘Why?’ asked the man. ‘What is your business here?’

  Raman said, ‘Just to hear you discourse on life and other matters. You are like an ancient rishi, a rare person to meet. When one meets a great soul and hears his talk, one attains merit, so say the shastras!’

  This pleased the old man unexpectedly. His face relaxed; he said, vollow me. I can depend upon wild animals to listen to reason, but I am not so sure of influencing human beings.’ He led him around to the mouth of the cave, which had a low, circular entrance, and Raman had to stoop his way in while the old man wriggled in as if he were a snake entering its hole. ‘You see, sometimes an old tiger turned “maneater” comes around. He would wait behind a shrub and carry away the villagers. So many cowherds have disappeared and also woodcutters and stonemasons. The doors of all the homes are shut and nobody will come out when a “maneater” is on the prowl. Life comes to a standstill. The village becomes dead. At such times, I am the only human being to be seen outside. Once I found a tiger hiding himself in these thickets. He licked his tongue when he heard a human being approaching, but when he saw who it was, he knew he had lost the game. I addressed the Universal Soul directly: “O Soul, take that clumsy tiger body of yours off and don’t come and trouble the people any more,” and the tiger bolted away in shame. At another time I told the wild elephant who was ransacking the gardens and fields, “Hey, Gaja! Get away, otherwise I will bring down on you the chastisement of Gajendra, the Lord of all Elephants in the Heaven.” I can argue cobras out of my way. You must talk to them. They never talk back. But say something to a human being, he will argue.’