The Golden Gandhi Statue From America

by Subimal Misra

  1969

  The Dagger

  Someone called out from behind: ‘Hooeey Sudas! Where’re you goin’, pal?’ He didn’t look back. The dead body still hung from the tree branch, feet bound, head downwards. Blood poured steadily from the nose and had dripped down and wet the place. He saw the wizened old bird sitting in its cage. It tested the iron mesh with its beak. Every once in a while, it fluttered its wings and screeched: ‘Sudas! Hooeey Sudas! Where’re you goin’, pal?’

  He had stolen the dagger from his friend’s house. It belonged to an earlier age. Sheathed in a purple muslin case, the dagger’s hilt was of ivory, shaped like a horse’s head. Every now and then, making sure no one was around, he felt its sharp edge. Jackals howled from the clearings between the trees and shrubs in the dark night. He heard his mother say, ‘Why do you look so worried, Sudas?’ Startled, he replied, ‘Where? Not at all!’ He ran, with the dagger concealed in his pocket. He ran through fields, banks, woods and forests, until he finally reached Kasim Miya’s stable. He stood panting. The cage swayed with the bird’s fluttering. It cried out: ‘Sudas! Hooeey Sudas! Where’re you goin’, pal?’

  Kasim Miya’s stable was deserted. The horse carriage trade did not quite exist any more. Stroking his grey-streaked beard, he said, ‘The city now wants motor cars, we’re done for, and with us this trade will come to an end… Do you know, young master, what a grand thing this double carriage used to be! It was a matter of honour for the babus. Fluttering the pleats of their dhotis, fragrant with attar, the babus and bibis used to go out for a spin… And now…’ Kasim Miya lamented and absent-mindedly stroked his beard. Strewn all around him were parts, relics and broken wheels of forsaken carriages. In one corner, like a lone symbol, a horse, blinkers over its eyes, chewed grass from the feeding bag hung on its neck. Every now and then, it stamped its hooves on the wooden floor, every once in a while, it neighed – Aayn-han-han-han! – as if to register its protest against something.

  Blood dripped from the body hanging on the tree and wet the place. As kids, some people used to kill tomcats like this. They’d tie a rope round its neck and hang it from a banana tree. It would cry and mewl all night as it tried to free itself. The cat would be dead the next morning. A group of them would go in the morning to see the dead cat. By mid-morning, thousands of big black ants would have trooped in and devoured its eyes. At night, fireflies could be seen glowing around the dead body.

  Sudas panted. Kasim Miya was saying something. ‘What’s happened to you, little master, why are you panting like this?’ Pressing his hand over his pocket, he replied, ‘No, nothing’s happened.’ He said, ‘Do you know, Kasim chacha, a wild animal has possessed me, and it’s restless. Right here’ – he pointed to the centre of his chest. He continued, ‘Beyond the road, on the creek-side, I saw a dark-skinned, lanky man roaming around, creeping on all fours. He was going around sniffing the dirty places at the creek-side.’ Kasim Miya replied, ‘What’s new about that, little master, the people on the other side have declared war. They say, we want to work and survive, we want to live with dignity.’

  The stable-bound horse, ribs protruding, eyes blinkered, stamped its hooves on the wooden floor. Every once in a while it neighed – Aayn-han-han-han! An eerie sound, as if it was protesting against something. The sound startled Sudas. He gripped the dagger concealed in his pocket.

  Sudas had no desire to steal the dagger. But as he stood amidst the old knives, daggers and swords laid out inside the room, somehow, something happened to him. His heart beating fast, he was about to run from there when he saw a huge buffalo head with the horns sticking out, and to his right, a complete tiger-skin with the face frozen in a snarl. Kasim Miya was an old man. He puffed at a bidi. Outside, the darkness thickened and, in that darkness, Kasim gazed on vacantly.

  He felt very uneasy in the semi-darkness. Absent-mindedly, haphazardly, he cleared woods and forests. He saw humans and dogs ferreting for food in the same garbage bin. The bird called out. It fluttered its wings and screeched, ‘What’ll you do with this dagger, Sudas? Return it! Return it!’ He didn’t know what he would do with it. He kept going, leaving behind all the people, settlements and trees. The weapon was held firmly in his pocket. Every once in a while, he took it out and examined it. He gazed at its purple muslin case, embroidered in red and green. He drew it out by its ivory hilt.

  With the horse’s eerie neigh – Aayn-han-han-han! – the silence of night was shattered. The dagger almost fell out of his hand. He said, ‘What will I do with this? I didn’t want things to turn out this way.’ He looked in all directions to see if anyone had caught him unawares, and then he hurriedly concealed it in his pocket.

  Two youths with serious faces emerged from somewhere and said, ‘What’ll you do with that, Sudas? Give it to us.’ He held it firmly in his grip. Grave-faced, they returned to the dark lakeside in the same way they had emerged from the darkness. Only the fireflies glowed dimly. Jackals howled from somewhere far away. Blood dripped steadily from the nose of that dead body hanging upside down from the tree. Big black ants gathered there.

  The long country road snaked past the creek in the dim moonlight. Every now and then, the muffled sound of someone crying floated by. And sometimes, the sound of someone laughing. As he went along the red-brick road in the twilit darkness, passing cyclists cried out, ‘Where are you headed, Sudas, in this darkness? Towards the desolate ruins of the fortress?’ Startled, Sudas said, ‘Nowhere. Nowhere at all.’

  Kasim Miya stroked his beard. His emaciated horse, blinkered, chewed away at the grass from its feeding bag. He said gravely, ‘The times are frightful, little master… be careful where you go. Don’t go near the lake after dark.’ ‘Why, what’s happened there?’ ‘Oh nothing at all.’ Kasim Miya seemed to be withholding something, as if he wasn’t bold enough to say it. He saw his bird fluttering its wings in the cage. It didn’t eat the grains given to it. He saw the old beggar woman sitting at the station with her hands laid out in the hope of alms. He saw the cunning jackal with the stolen hen swiftly slipping away from the light of the homestead into the brown darkness.

  As his throat was parched, he went towards the lake’s ghat for a drink of water. The moon rose in the east over the Radha-Govind temple. He saw the reflection of the moon in the lake. Gazing at it, he wondered whether he should throw the dagger away into the water… That would bring matters to a close, he wouldn’t be troubled any more. But he didn’t throw it away. He held on to it as if for dear life. That ancient, engraved dagger’s blade gleamed in the moonlight. He said, ‘I can’t just throw it away now!’ But soon enough, he began to wonder what he would do with it.

  At Romen Deb’s house, many daggers like this hung on the walls of the drawing room, including several larger than this one. There were so many kinds of guns and pistols too. Romen’s father, twirling his moustache explained, ‘All these are so old, have been used in war. History, full of history!’

  Standing beside the lake and looking at the moonlit water, he wondered why he took it. Why? Crickets chirped. The entire lakeside was redolent with the fragrance of mango and bel. The steps going down to the water were old and run-down. Tramping over dry leaves, he emerged from the lakeside.

  From its cage, his pet bird kept calling: ‘Hooeey Sudas! Where’re you goin’, pal? Hooeey Sudas!’ Mother asked, ‘Why are you so late, Sudas?’ ‘Just like that. I was sitting at the lakeside. Do you know, Ma, nowadays some people come there, a band of them, to hear the blue-throated cuckoo’s cry. They have dry blood on their hands, red and blue feathers on their head.’ ‘You’re full of trouble! Don’t be going there!’ ‘Why, Ma?’ After a pause, peering into his eyes, she said, ‘You appear a little strange today, Sudas.’ He replied, ‘That’s not surprising, Ma, for I saw humans and dogs ferreting for food from the same garbage bin.’ He then showed his mother the place wet with blood, where blood had been dripping endlessly through the nose of the dead body.

  The horse neighed in Kasim Miya’s stabl
e – Aayn-han-han-han! Kasim just sat in the darkness, swatting mosquitoes, puffing on a bidi once in a while. He said, ‘All those days are gone, young master. Won’t come back! Used to gallop – clip-clop! clip-clop! – with babu and bibi along the road to the old fort. The people walking on the road would step aside. Babu’s double-carriage! Stand aside! Stand aside! I’ll be gone, and with me everything will be over.’

  Sudas just couldn’t sleep at night. He heard someone whispering at the window, ‘What will you do with that, Sudas? Give it, give it to us!’ He had hidden it, buried it under the mango tree at the lakeside. He thought – now I’m at peace, no one will find it! In the middle of the night, he saw a few jackals digging up the place in search of the dead body. He ran out and, screaming, hurled stones to chase away the jackals. Their eyes like burning coals, the jackals hovered nearby. They didn’t go away.

  Sudas’s heart thumped. ‘I shouldn’t have taken it.’ His sleepless eyes scanned the sky and he ran his hand through his dishevelled hair as he roamed the lakeside all night, like a madman. He kept seeing the humans and dogs together, squabbling and eating bones and remains from the same garbage bin. He heard his mother’s voice from far away: ‘Don’t go there, Sudas, don’t go, Suuuudaaaas!’ His caged pet bird screeched: ‘Hooeey Sudas!’

  Ill at ease, Sudas said, ‘Do you know, Kasim chacha, I’ve stolen a dagger. And do you know, I don’t know what I’ll do with it!’ Then, absent-mindedly running his fingers through his hair, he said, ‘I didn’t really want to steal it, you know. Don’t know what happened all of a sudden … Do you know, in Romen Deb’s house, there are fabulous daggers, swords, guns, tiger skins, buffalo horns, just like in a museum…’ He felt an ache inside his chest. He turned blue in the face in agony. His muttered words were muffled by the sound of the horse’s neighing – Aayn-han-han-han! – coming from Kasim Miya’s stable. Just that one skinny horse in Kasim Miya’s stable. It silently champed on the grass from the feeding bag. Every now and then, it swished its tail, every once in a while, it stamped its hooves – thok! thok! – on the wooden floor, every now and then, it neighed – Aayn-han-han-han! – as if it wished to say something. Kasim Miya said, ‘It’s time, I’ll go, my horse will go too.’ He threw away the bidi, rose and stroked the ribs protruding on the horse’s flank. He said, ‘Be very careful, little master, terrible times now. Don’t stray from the road and go to the lakeside!’

  When the ache in his chest became more acute, Sudas stepped onto the road and walked distractedly. A cool breeze blew in the darkness of the night, bringing with it the gentle fragrance of mango and bel. Their eyes glowing like torches, a few jackals hovered around him. They had soaked in the blood dripping from that dead body and returned blood-crazed. He felt awful. Occasionally, he felt pleased. Every once in a while, he thought he hadn’t wanted all this to happen. Every now and then, he remembered those people who had come to hear the cuckoo’s cry. Stale blood staining their hands, they had come to hear a beautiful birdsong.

  The whole place was desolate. The moonlight lit up the ruins of the crumbling ancient fort and the undulating, once-regal, red-earth road. He was not afraid. He walked along, the dagger concealed in his pocket.

  Agitated, absent-minded, he trudged on. Every once in a while, he heard the faint cry of his mother: ‘O Sudas!’ He then tried to bring to mind the sight of humans and dogs fighting over food beside the same garbage bin. Every now and then, his pet bird fluttered its wings inside the cage. ‘Hooeey Sudas! Where’re you goin’, pal? Hooeey Sudas!’ He wondered where he would go to ease the pain inside him. Where could he go? Every once in a while, he remembered Romen’s father’s words: ‘Do you know, Sudas, all these knives and daggers, guns and pistols that you see displayed on the wall here have made history at one time. History, full of history!’

  In Kasim Miya’s stable, that solitary emaciated horse, eyes blinkered, occasionally stamped its hooves on the wooden floor and occasionally swished its tail to drive away flies. But nowadays, it neighed frequently – Aayn-han-hanhan! – as if to protest against something. Puffing on his bidi, Kasim Miya said, ‘Along with you all, our times are also coming to an end, little master! Be very careful! Don’t be going to the lakeside after dark!’

  After walking for a long time, Sudas eventually began to tire. He saw himself walking endlessly, caged by the moonlight. Ahead of him lay the ruins of the old fort. He advanced mechanically in that direction. Then he remembered the corpse. He felt a constant unbearable ache inside his chest. He decided he would get rid of the troublesome weapon in this desolate moonlight, in the ghostly precincts of this old fort, and leave. ‘After I leave, I shall join that band of people – those with dry blood staining their hands, who had come to hear the cuckoo’s call…’

  Tired, he sat down in the majestic ruins of the ancient fort. He recalled Romen’s father saying: ‘History, full of history!’ He recalled Kasim Miya’s lament: ‘It’ll all end with me, I’ll be dead, and this old horse of mine will be dead too!’ Tears streamed down from the blinkered eyes of the horse. Kasim stroked its bony side and comforted it.

  All the tears and blood came together and became one. Clouds shrouded the moon briefly. Darkness enveloped the stone walls of that ancient fort. Tearing his hair out with his two hands, Sudas screamed like a madman: ‘I didn’t want this! I didn’t want this!’ Feebly, he took out the dagger. As he was about to hurl it into the darkness of the fort, he saw countless hands on the stone walls of that ancient fort. Countless agitated hands had left their palm prints in syllables of blood.

  1971

  Fairy Girl

  As Sukhamoy entered his room after bathing in the sea, he saw Rani was dead. He had never imagined Rani dying like this. He was shocked. He went and called Rajat, Tamal and Dipen.

  Rajat, Tamal and Dipen too were shocked to find Rani dead. It was the middle of the night. The light of a candle fluttered frailly in the room. Gazing at it, Sukhamoy realized he was scared. He looked at the other faces one by one. In the dim light of the candle, the shadow of fear seemed to hover over each face.

  Sukhamoy wondered what they ought to do now. They had come with Rani to this small seaside town in the hope of a few days of pleasure. An incident like this should never have taken place. There was no need for Rani to die. Sukhamoy began to feel terribly angry with Rani. Just one thought came to their mind: they were simply not prepared for something like this. Together they began to think about what they ought to do now.

  Rani’s dead body lay in the room, covered by a white sheet. The four of them stood helplessly on four sides. As he stood there, it struck Sukhamoy that something must be done. Come morning, the matter would become public. There would be trouble. And none of them wanted to get embroiled in any kind of difficulty.

  Sukhamoy looked at everyone’s faces. He wanted to ask them what they should do now. But none of them could think of anything. Rani’s dead body lay in the middle of the room, covered by a white sheet. In the dim light, the shadows of the four fluttered on the walls.

  Suddenly, of those four standing people, Tamal seemed to make some movement. He had been a little more passionate about Rani than the others. Sukhamoy saw that Tamal’s lips were moving. To encourage Tamal, Sukhamoy asked, ‘Do you want to say something, Tamal?’

  Tamal lifted his face and looked at Sukhamoy. After that, his eyes scanned all the things in the room and then, like before, he became still.

  Once again, Sukhamoy looked at everyone’s faces, one by one. They had all turned stonily silent. Rani’s dead body lay in the middle of the room, covered by a white sheet. The flickering light of the candle fluttered all over the room.

  ‘You people, say something! You must say something!’ Sukhamoy’s voice seemed to agitate the other three bodies in the room. Everyone became a bit restless. But the agitation soon subsided and, finally, they were still again.

  Observing the situation, Sukhamoy was astonished. Something like this ought not to have happened. But not a squeak out of
them, and the night was about to end. They were bound to get into trouble once it was morning.

  Sukhamoy restlessly paced the room now. Something must be done. Something had to happen. He shouted out, ‘Have you all turned to stone or what? Say something, for heaven’s sake!’

  But no other voice, no other sound was heard in the room. Those three people remained silent as before. Between them lay Rani’s corpse, covered by a white sheet, visible in the dim light the candle cast over the room. It then struck Sukhamoy that it was the lure of Rani that had brought them here. Rani had been the only attraction for them. Seeing Rani dead, they had lost all interest in this place.

  Sukhamoy smiled wryly at the thought. He stared at everyone’s faces. All these dead faces could be awakened right now! They would stir up like living bodies just now to claim their individual rights!

  Sukhamoy went and stood beside the dead body. ‘I want to say a few things.’ He paused for a while. ‘We were the ones who brought Rani along. We had rights over Rani when she was alive. We fed her and clothed her. We used her when we needed to. Rani was our joint property…’ A soft buzz was now audible from the three people who stood there.