by Satyajit Ray
He said as much to Tripura Babu, who suddenly became agitated. Sitting cross-legged on the bench, he leant forward excitedly. ‘Listen, Surapati,’ he said, ‘if you knew what real magic was, you wouldn’t chase what is fake. Magic is not just a sleight of hand, although even that requires years of careful practice. There is so much more to it! Hypnotism! Just think of it—you can control a person completely simply by looking at him. Then there is clairvoyance, telepathy and thought- reading. You can step into someone else’s thoughts if you so wish. You can tell what a person is thinking just by feeling his pulse. If you can master this art, you need not even touch a person. All you need to do is just stare at him for a minute and you can read his thoughts. This is the greatest magic of all. Equipment and gadgets have no place in this. What is required is dedication, diligence and intense concentration.’
Tripura Babu stopped for breath. Then he slid closer to Surapati and went on, ‘I wanted to teach you all this. But you couldn’t wait. A fraud from abroad turned your head. You left the right path and went astray, only to make a fast buck in a world of pomp and show.’
Surapati remained silent. He could not deny any of this. Tripura Babu seemed to relent a little. He laid a hand on Surapati’s shoulder and continued in a milder tone, ‘I have come today only to make a request. You may have guessed by now that my financial condition is not a sound one. I know a lot of tricks, but I haven’t yet learnt the trick of making money. I know the only reason for this is my lack of ambition. Today I am almost desperate, Surapati. I do not have the strength any more to try to make my own living. All I am sure of is that you will help me, even if it means making a sacrifice. Do this for me, Surapati, and I promise not to bother you any more.’
Surapati was puzzled. What kind of help did the man want?
Tripura Babu went on, ‘What I am going to tell you now may strike you as impertinent. But there is no other way. You see, it is not just money that I want. I have got a strange desire in my old age. I want to perform on a stage before a large audience. I want to show them the best trick I know. This may be the first and the last time, but I cannot put the thought out of my mind.’
A cold hand clutched at Surapati’s heart. Tripura Babu finally came to the point. ‘You are going to perform in Lucknow, aren’t you? Suppose you fell ill at the last moment? You cannot, obviously, disappoint your audience. Suppose someone else took your place . . .?’
Surapati felt completely taken aback. What on earth was he saying? He really must be desperate, or he wouldn’t come up with such a bizarre proposal.
His eyes fixed on Surapati, Tripura Babu said, ‘All you need to do is tell people you cannot perform due to an unavoidable reason, but that your place would be taken by your guru. Would people be very sorry and heartbroken? I don’t think so. I do believe they’d enjoy my show. But even so, I propose you take half of the proceeds of the first evening. I would be quite happy with the rest. After that you can go your own way. I will never disturb you again. But you must give me this opportunity, Surapati—just this once!’
‘Impossible!’ Surapati grew angry. ‘What you’re suggesting is quite impossible. You don’t know what you’re saying. This is the first time I’m going to perform outside Bengal. Can’t you see how much this show in Lucknow means to me? Do you really expect me to begin my new career with a lie? How could you even think of it?’
Tripura Babu gave him a cool, level look. Then his voice cut across the railway carriage, rising clearly above all the noise: ‘Are you still interested in that old trick with the coin and ring?’
Surapati started. But the look in Tripura Babu’s eyes did not change.
‘Why?’ Surapati asked.
Tripura Babu smiled faintly, ‘If you accept my proposal, I will teach you the trick. If you don’t . . .’
His voice was drowned at this moment in the loud whistle of a Howrah- bound train that passed theirs. Its flashing lights caught the strange brilliance in his eyes.
‘And if I don’t?’ Surapati asked softly once the noise had died down.
‘You will regret it. There is something you ought to know. If I happen to be present among the audience, I do have the power to cause a magician—any magician—a lot of embarrassment. I can even make him completely helpless.’
Tripura Babu took out a pack of cards from his pocket. ‘Let’s see how good you are. Can you take this knave from the back and bring it forward to rest on this three of clubs, in just one movement of your hand?’
This was one of the first things Surapati had learnt. At the age of sixteen it had taken him only seven days to master this one.
And today?
Surapati took the pack of cards and realized that his fingers were beginning to feel numb. Then the numbness spread to his wrist, his elbow and, finally, the whole arm became paralysed. In a daze, Surapati looked at Tripura Babu. His mouth was twisted in a queer smile and his eyes stared straight into Surapati’s. The look in them was almost inhuman. Little beads of perspiration broke out on Surapati’s forehead. His whole body began to tremble.
‘Do you now believe in my power?’
The pack of cards fell from Surapati’s hand. Tripura Babu picked it up neatly and said, ‘Would you now agree to my proposal?’
Surapati began to feel a little better. The numbness was passing. ‘Will you really teach me that old trick?’ he asked wearily.
Tripura Babu raised a finger, ‘Your guru, Mr Tripuracharan Mallik, shall perform in your place in Lucknow because of your sudden illness. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘You will give me half of your earnings that evening. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Well, then . . .’
Surapati fished out a fifty-paise coin from his pocket and took off his coral ring. Wordlessly, he handed them over to Tripura Babu.
When the train stopped at Burdwan, Anil appeared with a cup of tea and found his boss fast asleep.
‘Sir!’ said Anil after a few seconds of hesitation. Surapati woke instantly.
‘Who . . . what is it?’
‘Your tea, sir. Sorry I disturbed you.’
‘But . . .?’ Surapati looked around wildly.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Tripura Babu? Where is he?’
‘Tripura Babu?’ Anil sounded perplexed.
‘Oh, no, no. He was run over, wasn’t he? Way back in ’51. But where is my ring?’
‘Which one, sir? The one with the coral is on your finger!’
‘Yes, yes, of course. And . . .’
Surapati put his hand in his pocket and took out a coin. Anil noticed that his employer’s hands were trembling visibly. ‘Anil,’ Surapati called, ‘come in quickly. Shut the windows. OK. Now watch this.’
Surapati placed the ring at one end of the bench and the coin at the other. ‘Help me God!’ he prayed silently and turned a deep hypnotic stare fully on the coin, just as he had been taught a few minutes ago. The coin began rolling towards the ring and then both coin and ring rolled back to Surapati like a couple of obedient children.
Anil would have dropped the cup on the floor he was carrying if Surapati had not stretched out a hand miraculously at the last moment and caught it in mid-air.
Surapati began his show in Lucknow by paying tribute to Tripuracharan Mallik, his guru, who was no more.
The last item he presented that evening was introduced as true Indian magic. The trick of the coin and the ring.
Translated by Gopa Majumdar
First published in Bengali in 1963
Shibu and the Monster
‘Hey—Shibu! Come here!’
Shibu was often hailed thus by Phatik-da on his way to school. Phatik- da alias Loony Phatik.
He lived in a small house with a tin roof, just off the main crossing, where an old, rusted steamroller had been lying for the last ten years. Phatik-da tinkered with God knew how many different things throughout the day. All Shibu knew was that he was very poor and that pe
ople said he went mad because he worked far too hard when he was a student. However, some of Phatik-da’s remarks made Shibu think that few people had his intelligence.
But it was indeed true that most of what he said sounded perfectly crazy.
‘I say—did you notice the moon last night? The left side seemed sort of extended, as though it had grown a horn!’ Or, ‘All the crows seem to have caught a cold. Haven’t you heard the odd way in which they’re cawing?’
Shibu was mostly amused when he heard Phatik-da talk like this, but at times he did get annoyed. Getting involved in a totally meaningless and irrelevant conversation was a waste of time. So he did not always stop for a chat. ‘Not today, Phatik-da, I shall come tomorrow,’ he would say and skip along to school.
He did not really want to stop today, but Phatik-da seemed more insistent than usual.
‘You may come to harm if you do not listen to what I have to say.’
Shibu had heard that insane people, unlike normal people, could sometimes make accurate predictions. He certainly did not want to come to harm. So, feeling a little nervous, he began walking towards Phatik- da’s house.
Phatik-da was pouring coconut water into a hookah. ‘Have you noticed Janardan Babu?’ he said.
Janardan Babu was the new maths teacher in Shibu’s school. He had arrived about ten days ago.
‘I see him every day,’ said Shibu. ‘Why—I have maths in the very first period today!’
Phatik-da clicked his tongue in annoyance, ‘Tch, tch. Seeing and observing are two different things, do you understand? Look, can you tell me how many little holes your belt has got? And how many buttons are there on your shirt? Try telling me without looking!’
Shibu failed to come up with the correct answers. Phatik-da said, ‘See what I mean? You’ve obviously never noticed these things, although the shirt and the belt you’re wearing are your own. Similarly, you have never noticed Janardan Babu.’
‘What should I have noticed? Anything in particular?’ Phatik-da began smoking his hookah. ‘Yes, say, his teeth. Have you noticed them?’
‘Teeth?’
‘Yes, teeth.’
‘How could I have noticed them? He doesn’t ever smile!’ This was true. Janardan Babu was not exactly cantankerous, but no other teacher was as grave and sombre as him.
Phatik-da said, ‘All right. Try to notice his teeth if he does smile. And then come and tell me what you’ve seen.’
A strange thing happened that day. Janardan Babu laughed in Shibu’s class. It happened when, referring to some geometrical designs, Janardan Babu asked what had four arms. ‘Gods, sir,’ Shankar cried, ‘the gods in heaven have four arms!’ At this Janardan Babu began chuckling noisily. Shibu’s eyes went straight to his teeth.
Phatik-da was crushing some object with a heavy stone crusher when Shibu reached his house that evening. He looked at Shibu and said, ‘If this medicine I’m making has the desired effect, I’ll be able to change colours like a chameleon.’
Shibu said, ‘Phatik-da, I’ve seen them.’
‘What?’
‘Teeth.’
‘Oh. What did they look like?’
‘They were all right, except that they were stained with paan and two of them were longer than the others.’
‘Which two?’
‘By the side. About here.’ Shibu pointed to the sides of his mouth. ‘I see. Do you know what those teeth are called?’
‘What?’
‘Canine teeth. Like dogs have.’
‘Oh.’
‘Have you ever seen any other man with such large canine teeth?’
‘Perhaps not.’
‘Who has such teeth?’
‘Dogs?’
‘Idiot! Why just dogs? All carnivorous animals have large canine teeth. They use them to tear through the flesh and bones of their prey. Especially the wild animals.’
‘I see.’
‘And who else has them?’
Shibu began racking his brains. Who else? Who had teeth anyway, except men and animals?
Phatik-da dropped a walnut and a pinch of pepper into the mixture he was making and said, ‘You don’t know, do you? Why, monsters have such teeth!’
Monsters? What had monsters to do with Janardan Babu? And why talk of monsters today? They were present only in fairy tales. They had large, strong teeth and their backs were bent . . .
Shibu started.
Janardan Babu’s back was definitely not straight. He stooped. Someone had mentioned that this was so because he had lumbago.
Large teeth, bent backs . . . what else did monsters have? Red eyes.
Shibu had not had the chance to notice Janardan Babu’s eyes for he always wore glasses that seemed to be tinted. It was impossible to tell whether the eyes behind those were red or purple or green.
Shibu was good at maths. LCM, HCF, Algebra, Arithmetic—he sailed through them all. At least, he used to, until a few days ago. During the time of his old maths teacher, Pearicharan Babu, Shibu had often got full marks. But he now began to have problems, although he did try to pull himself together by constantly telling himself, ‘It just cannot be. A man cannot be a monster. Not in these modern times. Janardan Babu is not a monster. He is a man.’
He was repeating these words silently in class when a disastrous thing happened.
Janardan Babu was writing something on the blackboard. Suddenly he turned around, took off his glasses and began polishing them absent- mindedly with one end of the cotton shawl he was wearing. He raised his eyes after a while and they looked straight into Shibu’s. Shibu went cold with fear. The whites of Janardan Babu’s eyes were not white at all. Both eyes were red. As red as a tomato. After this, Shibu got as many as three sums wrong.
Shibu seldom went home straight after school. He would first go to the grounds owned by the Mitters and play with the mimosa plants. After gently tapping each one to sleep, he would go to Saraldeeghi—the large, deep pond. There he would try playing ducks and drakes with broken pieces of earthenware. If he could make a piece skip on the water more than seven times, he would break the record Haren had set. On the other side of Saraldeeghi was a brick kiln. Hundreds of bricks stood in huge piles. Shibu usually spent about ten minutes here, doing gymnastics, and then went diagonally across the field to reach his house.
Today, the mimosa plants seemed lifeless. Why? Had someone come walking here and stepped on them? But who could it be? Not many people came here.
Shibu did not feel like staying there any longer. There was something strange in the air. A kind of premonition. It seemed to be getting dark already. And did the crows always make such a racket—or had something frightened them today?
Shibu took himself to Saraldeeghi. But, as soon as he had put his books down by the side of the pond, he changed his mind about staying. Today was not the day for playing ducks and drakes. In fact, today was not the day for staying out at all. He must get back home quickly. Or else . . . something awful might happen.
A huge fish raised its head from the water and then disappeared again with a loud splash.
Shibu picked up his books. It was very dark under the peepal tree that stood at a distance. He could see the bats hanging from it. Soon it would be time for them to start flying. Phatik-da had offered to explain to him one day why bats’ brains did not haemorrhage despite their hanging upside down all the time.
Shibu began walking towards his house.
He saw Janardan Babu near the brick kiln.
There was a mulberry tree about twenty yards from where the bricks lay. A couple of lambs were playing near it and Janardan Babu was watching them intently. He carried a book and an umbrella in his hand. Shibu held his breath and quickly hid behind a pile of bricks. He removed the top two in the pile and peered through the gap.
He noticed Janardan Babu raise his right hand and wipe his mouth with the back of it.
Clearly, the sight of the lambs had made his mouth water, or he would not have made such a gesture.
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Then, suddenly, Janardan Babu dropped the book and the umbrella and, crouching low, picked up one of the lambs. Shibu could hear the lamb bleat loudly. He also heard Janardan Babu laugh. That was enough.
Shibu wanted to see no more. He slipped away but, in his haste to climb over the next pile of bricks, tripped and fell flat on the ground.
‘Who’s there?’
Shibu was going to pick himself up somehow when he found Janardan Babu coming towards him, having put the lamb back on the grass.
‘Who is it? Shibram? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?’ Shibu could not speak. His mouth had gone dry. But he certainly wanted to ask Janardan Babu what he was doing there. Why did he carry a lamb in his arms? Why was his mouth watering?
Janardan Babu stretched out a hand. ‘Here, I’ll help you up.’
But Shibu managed to get to his feet without help.
‘You live nearby, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is that red house yours?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I see.’
‘Let me go, sir.’
‘Goodness—is that blood?’
Shibu looked at his legs. His knee was slightly grazed and a few drops of blood was oozing from the wound. Janardan Babu was staring at the blood, his glasses glistening.
‘Let me go, sir.’
Shibu picked up his books.
‘Listen, Shibram.’
Janardan Babu laid a hand on Shibu’s back. Shibu could hear his heart beat loudly—like a drum.
‘I am glad I found you alone. There is something I wanted to ask you. Are you finding it difficult to follow the maths lessons? Why did you get all those simple sums wrong? If you have any problem, you can come to my house after school. I will give you special coaching. It’s so easy to get full marks in maths. Will you come?’
Shibu had to step back to shake off Janardan Babu’s hand from his back. ‘No, sir,’ he gulped, ‘I’ll manage on my own. I’ll be all right tomorrow.’