The Golden Gandhi Statue From America

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The Golden Gandhi Statue From America Page 9

by Subimal Misra


  Rajiv shifted about from time to time. He said, ‘Terrible mosquitoes! Don’t allow one to even sleep.’ He clapped his hands and killed mosquitoes, there was the sound of that. He said, ‘Got them!’ From the darkness, Rabin asked, ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Rajiv replied, ‘Of course! I never miss.’ Rabin said, ‘Sanjay da, please give me the matchbox, I want to see the blood smears on Rajiv’s hands.’ ‘It’s not mosquito blood.’ ‘Then whose?’ ‘Your blood and mine. The mosquitoes sucked that.’ ‘Yes, that’s true, that’s our blood!’ Sanjay said, ‘You think too much.’ Rabin replied, ‘Yes, I’m terribly at fault.’

  No one said anything after this. The four sat in the darkness. They thought. The mosquitoes multiplied in the darkness. The sound of mosquitoes flying. The sound of sitting in silence. Nripen placed his hand over his heart. ‘As soon as it’s dark, there are mosquitoes. And the mosquitoes are hell.’ Nripen asked, ‘How can you sleep in this situation?’ ‘Why, isn’t darkness suitable for sleeping?’ retorted Rajiv. Once again, there was silence. Nripen couldn’t sit still. ‘What time is it now, Sanjay da?’

  ‘Whatever it is, we have to wait here, just like this.’ All of a sudden, Rabin said from the darkness, ‘When the man fell flat on his face, I felt like taking a handful of blood from his chest and looking at it, examining it. What’s human blood like? How does it smell?’ ‘Then you’d die, you’d be caught for sure,’ said Rajiv. Sanjay and Nripen didn’t say anything. Silence for a while. The sound of heartbeats. The sound of mosquitoes. The sound of darkness. They could discern a kind of sound of the darkness too. And listening to that sound, they tired. Must say something. Their very existence now depended on the sound of speech.

  After a while, they heard something that seemed to be flying all around them. A bat. The sound reverberated through the room. Rajiv exclaimed, ‘Mosquitoes here and bats there! I’d kill the whole lot of them if I could!’ Nripen asked, ‘What would you gain by killing them? Bats have no blood in their bodies.’ Rabin asked enthusiastically, ‘Is that correct, Sanjay da? Don’t bats have blood in their bodies?’ Sanjay’s voice revealed annoyance. ‘I don’t know.’ Again, everyone became silent. Just the sound of the bat flying, just the sound of each one’s breathing. And within that, after a while, everyone heard Rabin saying in that dreamy voice, ‘But I know bats have blood. Because no creature survives without blood, it can’t.’ A jackal howled again. Rajiv squashed mosquitoes.

  There was a muffled sound. A flash. Sanjay lit a match and lit a cigarette. Rabin’s eyes were restless. Sanjay started thinking. And continued to think. It was definitely two or three at night now. He, the one who was supposed to arrive, had not come yet. He wondered what should be done about Rabin now. Gazing at the red flame of the cigarette, it struck him that Rabin needed some consolation. He took out another cigarette from the pack, thought for a while and then began: ‘Rabin, would you like to smoke another cigarette?’ Rabin initially mumbled a refusal and then said, ‘Yes, give it to me.’ Sanjay delicately held a light to the cigarette at Rabin’s mouth. ‘Puff gently, it’s not bad even if it tastes bitter.’ Rabin began to inhale. Sanjay looked at him in the darkness. Then he began, like a soliloquy: ‘However free of blame we are individually, it won’t do to think of a few people separately. Just think about it, and what’s the conclusion about the whole world that you arrive at?’ Sanjay paused in mid-flow, he saw Rabin puffing deeply, twice, on his cigarette. He decided to continue speaking purposefully, but before he could say anything, Rabin said, ‘Do you know that song, Sanjay da, a wonderful melody the song has – “Bid me farewell once, Ma, I take your leave”. What’s the next line, Sanjay da?’ Sanjay possibly felt annoyed at being interrupted. He said, ‘I don’t exactly know.’ ‘“Laughing, I’ll wear the noose, people of India shall see” – I think that’s the line. Tell me, Sanjay da, the way people viewed Khudiram at that time, do people today view us in the same way?’ Sanjay was getting irritated. He began puffing deeply on his cigarette. Rabin had thrown away his cigarette. The bat was flying around. If one strained one’s ears, one could hear the sound of darkness too.

  The desolation was exasperating, it was unsettling. Everyone understood that within, everyone felt it. But there was nowhere to go. Nothing to be done. He was coming, one had only to wait for him. All night long. All the while. Perhaps forever. Rabin sang softly in the darkness: ‘Laughing, I’ll wear the noose, people of the world shall see…’ Then he changed it to ‘… people of India…’ Rajiv was restless again. ‘How can you sing in this darkness, Rabin?’ ‘But you’re sleeping quite well.’ ‘Where am I sleeping! Mosquitoes…’ ‘And bats,’ added Rabin. Then he continued in that dreamy tone, ‘If these mosquitoes and bats unite and surround us, we can’t escape. They’ll suck our blood and finish us off.’ ‘You said it, mosquitoes and bats are frightful creatures in this darkness! They can easily suck the blood out of all of us.’ No one said anything. Sanjay’s cigarette was finished, he had thrown it away. Rabin didn’t sing any more. He sat with his head tucked between his knees. He gazed… The boy tore off each page of his poetry notebook and floated it on the water. There were little waves in the water, the pages swirled, dishevelled, floated far away. The boy let out a deep sigh at that moment. Nripen shuffled again. From the darkness, a voice said, ‘It won’t be dark much longer, Sanjay da.’ Sanjay did not say anything. Not eliciting any enthusiasm or response, Nripen became quiet. Once again, stillness filled the room. Only the sound of mosquitoes, the sound of the bat, the sound of darkness. Those sounds resonated in their hearts. Waiting. The waiting tolled bells in each breast. Sitting, waiting, the four men listened to that desolate bell’s toll. Hearing, they sank into themselves. Sanjay thought, I’ll have to keep sitting like this. I cannot violate the party’s instructions. I have to wait even if it’s forever. Can’t afford to lose patience. He lit another cigarette. He tried to count how many were left. How long would they last? Sanjay lit a match. The matchstick emitted a sound in the depths of the darkness, it radiated a glow and then, once again, there was darkness. Waiting. Darkness. Outside, jackals howled again. The sound of a wild bird fluttering its wings. Nripen wondered how long this waiting would continue, how much longer they would have to sit like this. Sitting together like this in stillness was utterly pointless. It would surely be dawn shortly. Birds’ calls soon. If one went outside, perhaps skylight would be visible in the east. A cool breeze. Perhaps the man we’re waiting for won’t come now. Though he is supposed to. Otherwise there is no point in waiting so long, mindlessly. Nripen put his hand on his chest once, he touched his face once, he made an attempt to sit in the room with his head hunched. This wait was most unsettling, most exhausting, most monotonous. After thinking for a while, Nripen was unable to think any more. He asked, ‘Sanjay da, shall I go outside for a while?’ ‘That’s not very safe for us,’ Sanjay replied. Rajiv again swatted mosquitoes. He thought, perhaps my hands are red with the blood of mosquitoes. In the darkness, the mosquitoes’ blood would appear black. Bringing his hands to his nose, he tried to smell the mosquitoes, smell blood. They said the blood wasn’t of the mosquitoes, but ours. Rajiv thought, the smell of blood that I get, it could also be the blood from our own bodies. Rajiv became irritated, ‘Damn! It’s meaningless to wait like this until eternity.’ The whole night has gone by, the man hasn’t come. Yet we’re still waiting. Rajiv continued to think. Would have been better to have slept instead. But could one at all sleep with the torment of the mosquitoes? Sitting like that, with his head tucked between his drawn-up knees, Rabin sees the boy killing birds with a catapult. In search of birds, catapult in hand, the boy goes to the riverside. An ache emanated from Rabin’s head and slowly spread through his body. He pressed his head between his two hands. Before entering the party, who was it who had said, ‘You’ll have to bear a lot of hardship – can you?’ ‘The one who can give up writing poetry can do anything!’ Before shooting, Rabin had observed the man’s face – exactly like his uncle. He hadn’t been caught by anyone, he
had fulfilled his mission safely and come away. Everyone in the party had complimented him. His uncle used to sit for prayers. There were plenty of pictures of gods and goddesses in his room. Durga’s picture, Kali’s picture, Shiva’s picture. On one side of the door, a huge picture of hell. Different kinds of punishments for different kinds of sins – for stepping out of purdah, for foeticide, for cow slaughter, for killing men. Rabin tried to recall the images. Only darkness. The sound of the mosquitoes, the sound of the bat. The sound of darkness, penetrating the heart. Waiting, waiting eternally. He would come. Rabin had to accompany him. Perhaps there were bird calls outside. Everything felt discomforting. His head throbbed.

  Sanjay lit a cigarette. For a moment, there was a flash of light on Sanjay’s face, on his cupped hands. ‘Sanjay da, please give me another cigarette.’ Sanjay gave it to him. Rabin lit his cigarette from Sanjay’s. Everything was unsettling now. This waiting, this blood, this darkness. As if there was no end to it. Rabin pressed his head with one hand. There was no relief. He looked at the cigarette’s flame. This little point of light within the whole darkness. It had never struck Rabin earlier that there was such a similarity between blood and the colour of fire. With his right hand, he cupped his fist over the burning cigarette’s head. Was his hand scalded? But he couldn’t feel anything. At that moment, Rabin became desperate for a tiny bit of light. It was vital for him to see whether the palm of his hand was burnt black, or was red with blood.

  1970

  Brothers Whitty and Shitty

  Whitty and Shitty were brothers. They had no one they could call their own, except for a distant aunt. One day, even that aunt drove them away for not having studied and for going astray. In sorrow, Whitty and Shitty came and sat on the stump of the lightning-charred date tree. Lighting and puffing on a bidi that had earlier been extinguished after two puffs and tucked behind the ear, they decided: ‘Can’t go on like this, got to advance in life any which way.’ But what should one do in order to advance? After all, advancing in life was not a trivial matter!

  Sexy kingdom!

  Conclaves cackling!

  The people all a-hush-hushing!

  King and queen, elephant and horse –

  All veils and deceptions!

  Scion of the willing, minister’s son,

  All friends in league!

  Yet the people of this land did not get one square meal a day. It was difficult to get even a job washing soiled cups and dishes in hotels and restaurants, paying fifteen rupees a month. Apparently, many young fellows were sitting idle even after graduating in high-falutin’ things like engineery. College graduates went around scalping cinema tickets. The boy who had achieved merit in the matriculation examination – hardly a couple of days later, he went around shouting in the middle of the marketplace, flag in hand: ‘In this education system, the more one studies the bigger the idiot he becomes!’ When this was the state of affairs, surely you couldn’t advance simply by saying you wanted to advance.

  Sitting on the stump of the date tree, legs crossed, puffing on a bidi, they wondered how to advance in life. Elder brother Whitty had always been a bit short of brains. He said, ‘Come on, Shitty, let’s get into trade.’ Younger brother Shitty was quite cunning and clever. He said, ‘Business? Where will you get the cash, pal? The capital will vanish and we’ll sink by the day. Come on, let’s raid rail wagons instead. Shibbu and company did just that and became millionaires.’ Whitty wondered, with my ticklish hands and feet, will I be able to steal? But greed prevailed. Finally he decided – whatever has to happen will happen. Let’s raid the wagons first! Must advance in life. That’s absolutely vital.

  A still night. Holding their breath, Whitty and Shitty crept along in the darkness, with utmost caution, to raid rail wagons. They saw a goods train standing on the tracks. It was night-end, fog all around, no one in sight in the vicinity. A long dagger in Whitty’s hand. A hammer in Shitty’s. Two sacks on the pair’s shoulders. Shitty whispered, ‘Come, let’s strike this one.’ He held Whitty’s hand and moved ahead. Whitty’s heart began to beat even faster. Life may end, but greed doesn’t! After all, have to advance in life. Warily, cautiously, creeping ahead, they climbed onto the wagon. One pressed the dagger down forcefully on the hinge. The other began striking it with the hammer. Whitty was almost breathless with fear, joy and excitement. If they could break the wagon just now, they’d become rich! Wouldn’t have to wander around searching for jobs in hotels and restaurants, paying a salary of fifteen rupees, washing soiled cups and dishes. Everyone would fawn over him, ‘Why, it’s Mr Whitty! Come, do come! Please sit down, have a cup of tea, a cigarette…’

  While all this was being imagined, a man suddenly emerged out of somewhere, a Gandhi cap on his head, and grabbed their hands:

  Who’s trying to be a man, sonny?

  Raid the king’s estate, do you?

  Let’s see the neck on those shoulders, honey!

  Now that’s what you call fate! Wanted to become rich – and see what happened! The first day of setting out to make a living – and got caught! Whitty’s face was quivering with fear. Slanting his cap, the man said softly in his deep voice, ‘Wagon-breaking is a crime! You’re antisocials! I’ll hand you over to the police right now!’ Hearing him, Whitty and Shitty became wide-eyed. Oh dear, what was to become of them now! Who would rescue them from this danger, who would give them courage, who would help! They poured their lives into entreaties to the gods. ‘Oh Ma Kali! Oh Baba Tarakeshwar! We’ll make you an offering of a pair of goats – just rescue us from this calamity, oh God!’ They pleaded without restraint, tears streaming from their eyes. Perhaps, this made the gods merciful. In his soft voice, the man warned them: ‘Sonny boys, don’t run and flee, dear! Or else you’ll be killed. Our fellows are just an arm’s length away.’ Whitty and Shitty had broken down completely. They dropped down to the pleats of the man’s dhoti brushing the ground: ‘Have mercy this time! Don’t kill us, merciful father! Here, I twist my ear, I pull my nose, I’ll never do this again as long as I live!’

  It was as if the man was dying to be merciful. He removed the cap on his head and took it in his left hand. He smiled from the corner of his eye. Then he said, ‘All right, we’ll see about that. It’s bloody cold! Come on, let’s have some tea.’

  So the man was not going to hand them over to the police! Whitty and Shitty simply melted. Oh, what magnanimity! What a great soul! Like grateful dogs, Whitty and Shitty began walking behind him. They went and sat down in a dark, shanty-like teashop. With the edge of the pleats of his dhoti, the shopkeeper wiped the dust off the bamboo bench for their benefactor. He greeted him unctuously: ‘Ram Ram, Sethji, I’m honoured to ask you to sit.’ The man ordered tea. Taking out a pack of expensive cigarettes from his pocket, he lit one for himself. Gave them too. Then sipping tea from the clay cup, he began narrating the real story. He took out a paan box from his pocket, put a leaf into his mouth, plucked out the stem, put some lime on it and put it back in his mouth, and then, slowly, gradually, began asking them about everything. ‘Tell me honestly, sonny boys, why did you come to raid rail wagons?’ By now Whitty and Shitty had melted with love and devotion. The person who could give them over to the police and have them sent to jail, why, here he was behaving so nicely with them! They babbled out, ‘Swear to you, father! Today was the first time! Here, I twist my ear and nose, this will never happen again as long as I live!’ Wiping his glasses on the folds of his dhoti, the man said, ‘It’s obvious that today was your first time. Nobody comes to raid wagons like this, at night, like thieves. Those who raid simply come during the day. They raid in broad daylight. And right in front of everyone. But why did you pick wagons, of all things?’

  The light of dawn. In that light, the four gemstones on four of the man’s fingers sparkled. Gazing at them in fascination, Whitty blurted out, ‘Just to advance in life, sir! We didn’t have any bad intention.’ Hearing that they had set out like this to break wagons in order to advance in life, the man
burst out laughing – Ha ha ha ha! After a round of laughter, he became serious. He said, ‘Has anyone ever advanced in life like this, my friend? Can anyone advance in life this way?’ Whitty and Shitty had begun to think that the man was God incarnate. But how else could they advance in life in these times of great deprivation? They pleaded with the man to tell them. The man removed the cap from his head and, as he folded it and put it in his pocket, he said, ‘I can tell you the way. Accept it or not, that’s up to you.’ Then, clearing his throat with a cough, he said, ‘It’s precisely by things like breaking wagons that you should advance in life. But not like this. In daylight. Not like thieves. Bravely.’ Hearing him, Whitty and Shitty were paralysed with fear.

  Build a shanty and try to live in peace,

  But even here comes the king’s sneeze!

  Went to break wagons once, and what happened? Got caught and almost got sent to jail! If any calamity occurs again… Almost as if he could read their minds, the man said, ‘Don’t fear! There’s no danger. The policemen won’t come. I’ll explain all that.’

 

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