Tamas

by Bhisham Sahni

  Nathu moved forward on his unsteady legs. The lane became more dark as he went farther; but he had his eyes on the receding figure of Murad Ali. He followed him. ‘The huzoor has to be told that the job was done.’

  He felt as though he had overtaken Murad Ali. That part of the lane was lonely, and it had seemed to him that Murad Ali had slowed his pace.

  ‘I forgot to tell you, huzoor, that the job was duly done! The thing was despatched on time! The fellow with the pushcart had duly arrived!’

  Nathu saw that Murad Ali had stopped, and with his cane lifted, was looking at him.

  Soon enough Murad Ali would move towards him, but why was he holding up his cane? And why didn’t he speak? At one end of the dark lane, they stood staring at each other.

  ‘The work was done, huzoor!’ Nathu said again. ‘The stuff was sent off to the right place!’

  Hardly had he uttered these words when it seemed to him that Murad Ali had again turned round and moved away, taking long strides. At the dark end of the lane, there was a slope and Murad Ali was going up the slope.

  Nathu looked up. Murad Ali had moved farther away. He was now going up the slope which led towards the Shivala. He again looked like an apparition to Nathu, going farther and farther away, and yet not vanishing from sight!

  When she opened the door and saw Nathu standing on the threshold, Nathu’s wife felt so relieved that tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I have been on tenterhooks waiting for you’.

  She went in and sat down on the cot, crying. ‘I was so anxious, my heart was sinking. I kept wondering where you could have gone? I was so miserable.’

  Wiping her tears with a corner of her sari she looked at him and suddenly smiled.

  ‘You are looking like a clown, a garland hanging from one ear. Whom have you been visiting?’

  Nathu went in and without uttering a word sat down on the cot.

  ‘Oh, you have been drinking. But then, why aren’t you laughing and singing as you always do when you come home drunk?’

  Nathu’s wife was a woman blessed with infinite patience. Even when Nathu, in a fit of rage, abused her, she would not answer back. She would only say: ‘Go on, say whatever is on your mind, you will feel lighter that way.’ Or, she would stand quietly on one side and putting her finger to her lips say, ‘Enough, enough, don’t say anything more otherwise you will regret your outburst later on.’ Now, you can drive a pin into a person’s flesh, but what is the point in driving it into a lump of clay? Seeing her cool temperament, Nathu too would keep his temper under control. In the neighbouring row of huts, no fewer than twenty chamar families lived, and she was on good terms with all of them, sharing their joys and sorrows. A God-fearing woman, she was content with whatever little she had. There is a quality of character which some people possess, an inner balance which strikes an equation with any situation, and does not make any demands on life that are beyond their reach. Such people are always cheerful and are like flowers that have blossomed fully.

  Nathu had still not uttered a word.

  ‘Why don’t you say something? You have been away for so long. I felt a like a fish out of water.’

  Nathu lifted his eyes and looked at her. Something welled up within him. He shook his head. ‘To hell with Murad Ali and his pig,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I am safely back home.’

  ‘Did the people in the colony enquire after me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, they did. Once or twice.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘I said that you had gone out on some work and would be back shortly.’

  ‘Did they ask about me many times?’

  ‘No. Don’t people go to work? In the evening, the woman next door asked about you. I said you had gone to skin a horse.’

  A faint smile appeared on Nathu’s lips.

  ‘But where were you? Where did you go?’

  ‘I shall tell you some other time.’ Nathu’s wife looked at him. There had never been an occasion in the past when he had hidden anything from her. But it was better to remain silent.

  ‘I won’t insist. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to… Would you like to eat something? I shall make chapatis for you. You can have them with a glass of tea. Good, hot chapatis.’ And she got down from the cot. Impelled by some inner urge, Nathu pulled her back and made her sit by his side.

  ‘No, no, just sit here.’

  And she sat down.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  Nathu’s wife noticed that he was behaving oddly.

  ‘Don’t lie,’ he said. ‘Tell me the truth. Have you had your meal?’

  She again looked up at him and said, laughing: ‘I cooked the meal all right, but I couldn’t eat anything.’

  ‘Did you eat in the morning?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘You are lying again. Tell the truth. Did you eat?’

  She looked at her husband and laughed.

  ‘No, I didn’t. I was waiting for you. How could I eat?’

  ‘What if I had not come home even tonight?’

  ‘You had to come. I knew you would come.’

  A vague uneasiness still troubled him. It was this uneasiness which had impelled him to wander about the streets the whole day long and later to get drunk at the wine-shop. Even as he sat by his wife, it was gnawing at his heart. Suddenly he thought he heard something. It seemed to him that Murad Ali was standing outside, the point of his cane-stick resting on the door. Nathu’s heart missed a beat. He tried to reassure himself, ‘But Murad Ali might not have recognized me. He would have spoken to me otherwise. He just went away. He must have taken me for some drunken lout who was bothering him. After all it was Murad Ali who had put the five-rupee note in my hand.’

  ‘I knew there was something bothering you. That’s why I was so worried.’

  Nathu turned to look at her. Her anxious eyes were staring at his face.

  ‘People said there was some trouble brewing in the town. Someone had killed a pig and thrown it outside, a mosque. That also made me nervous. I said to myself “If some trouble broke out, where shall I look for you? How shall I find you?”’

  Nathu was taken aback.

  ‘Which pig? What sort of pig?’

  ‘Don’t you know what a pig is?’ His wife laughed. She was relieved that Nathu had come back. She only wished that they would just keep sitting and chatting with each other.

  ‘What colour was the pig? Black or white?’ Nathu asked. He was all ears to hear his wife’s answer.

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  ‘Did you see it?’

  ‘Shall I go to see a pig? What have I to do with it?’

  ‘Has anyone in our colony seen it?’

  ‘What are you saying? Will people from the colony go to see a dead pig? They were only repeating what they had heard.’

  The night was deepening. Voices from the neighbouring tenements had virtually ceased.

  ‘Where would you like to sleep? Out in the open or inside?’ she asked, looking sideways at her husband.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘How can I be sure about you? When we are sleeping outside, you sometimes lift me and carry me inside. I thought I might as well ask you beforehand. If you have any shady intentions we may as well stay indoors, even though it is rather stuffy inside.’ Saying so she sat down and began untying her hair. ‘You have not told me whether you would like to eat something. Shall I make you some tea? Why are you so glum? I felt so lonely when you were not here.’

  Listening to his wife talk a wave of emotion, at once painful and ecstatic, welled up within him and he put his arms round her and his eager lips sought her cheeks, her lips, her hair, her eyes hungrily, over and over again. His frenzy increased with every passing moment and he felt as though every pore of his body was melting into her-warm flesh and her excited breathing.

  ‘I cried three times during the day. Standing in the veranda I waited for you for hours and hour
s and then came into the room to cry. I thought you would never come back.’

  His craving for mental peace would take him to her lips, then to her breasts, from one part of her body to another, seeking solace and comfort.

  Just then dogs began to bark fiercely in the yard outside, and muffled noises were heard from far away. Nathu was oblivious of everything. A little while later however, his wife noticed something on the wall of their room, near the ceiling. It was a trembling glow of light on the wall opposite the ventilator. From far away, muffled sounds continued to come.

  ‘What is that?’ said his wife pointing towards the wall. ‘What light is that on the wall? Looks like a fire has broken out somewhere. Just listen.’

  Nathu looked up and a low moan escaped his lips. The dogs were barking even more fiercely than before; the distant noises had become louder too, their echoes filling the atmosphere like the sound of approaching armies. The unsteady glow of light too had become brighter and looked more like the reflection of flames.

  ‘Fire has broken out somewhere,’ Nathu cried out and sat up.

  Just then, as though floating over the muffled, indistinct sounds, came the ringing of an alarm bell. For both of them it was an unfamiliar sound. Normally, they used to hear the chimes of a tower-clock in the Sheikh’s garden during the night. After winding up her kitchen work for the day, when both of them would be preparing to retire for the night, the tower-clock would strike the hour and Nathu’s wife would invariably count the number of chimes. They would be ten, sometimes even eleven. But this was not the sound of the Sheikh’s tower-clock. The bell was ringing insistently and continuously. Its sound would get lost in the midst of increasing noises, but after some time, it would again be heard in all its clarity above other sounds.

  The noises from far away were getting louder and louder. Now voices began to be heard inside the colony too. Neighbours were getting up and coming out of their tenements.

  ‘The Grain Market is on fire!’ someone shouted. Soon enough, from far away, was heard a voice, loud and clear: ‘Allah-o-Akbar!’

  Nathu trembled in every limb of his body. With wide open eyes he stared at the ceiling, as though struck with paralysis.

  ‘Let’s go out and find out,’ whispered his wife, ‘I feel so frightened. Let’s ask our people.’

  But Nathu, stone-stiff, continued sitting on the cot, holding on to her.

  A little while later, a unison of voice rose over all other sounds: ‘Har… Har… Har… Mahadev!’ The last word of the slogan was shouted loud and long.

  In the midst of the increasing noises and the incessant ringing of the alarm-bell, the slogans began to be heard more and more loudly and frequently. It seemed as though celebrations of some big festival had begun!

  Nathu’s wife could not restrain herself any longer. Extricating herself from Nathu’s arms she got up, opened the door and went out. Nathu was still looking at the ceiling with wide-open eyes.

  This confused mixture of sounds, like notes from a cracked musical instrument, had begun to strike against the walls of Richard’s distant bungalow too. Now and then, another sound, that of an alarm bell too would come floating in the air. Richard was fast asleep, but the sound had woken up Liza. At first, on hearing it she mistook it for the soft tinkle of the little bell that hung in their living room and chimed softly with every gust of air. But on waking up fully she realized that the sound was different. Sometimes it would be lost among other sounds, and then suddenly it would again come floating through the distant caverns of darkness. Liza’s eyes were heavy with sleep. The sound seemed to her as though it was the alarm bell of some ship, lost in a storm, desperately trying to find its way.

  She sat up on her elbows and looked at Richard. Richard was snoring softly. Richard had only to put his head on the pillow and he would be fast asleep. Such was his remarkable nature, unattached, untroubled by what was going on around him.

  It was oppressively dark in the room for Liza. At the gate outside, the loud pattering of the watchman’s heavy boots could be heard.

  ‘What sound is that, Richard?’ said Liza, nestling close to Richard.

  ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘What sound is that?’

  ‘There’s nothing. Go to sleep,’ and Richard turned his side.

  ‘Some sort of bell is ringing somewhere, Richard. It sounds like a church bell.’

  Richard woke up. He raised himself on his elbows and listened attentively.

  ‘A church bell has a deeper sound. This is more like the sound of a Hindu temple.’

  ‘Why is it ringing at this time of the night, Richard? Is there some Hindu festival today? The sound makes one feel as though there was a storm on the sea and some ship was sounding the alarm bell.’

  Richard remained silent.

  The confused din from the side of the city grew louder. Now and then a voice would be heard above the din, as though someone was calling someone, but it would again sink into that din. Just then, another voice was heard, loud and clear, as though wafting on the waves of darkness.

  ‘Allah-o-Akbar!’

  Every muscle in Richard’s body became taut. But soon enough, he relaxed also.

  ‘What sound is that? What does it mean?’

  ‘It means God is great!’ said Richard.

  ‘Why is this being raised at this time? Is it some religious occasion?’

  Richard laughed. ‘It is not a religious occasion, dear Liza, a riot has broken out in the city between the Hindus and the Muslims.’

  ‘What? A riot while you are present in the town?’

  Richard felt that Liza, who was fairly well-informed, was purposely putting such an embarrassing question to him.

  ‘We do not interfere in their religious matters. You know that well enough, don’t you?’

  For a fleeting moment Liza felt as though she was in the midst of a thick jungle and that the sounds she heard were coming from its depths.

  ‘Why don’t you stop it, Richard? I am frightened.’ Richard was again silent. His mind was at work again, as to what should be his role in the new situation and how best he should implement the policy of the government.

  Liza put her arm round Richard’s neck.

  ‘They may be fighting among themselves but it puts your life in danger too, Richard,’ she said and a surge of sympathy rose in her heart for Richard. Richard was so frail and sensitive, and was surrounded by such ferocious people. It is not easy to rule over such subjects.

  Now and then, the sound of the alarm-bell would be heard.

  ‘But Richard, it is such a horrid thing that these people should fight among themselves.’

  Richard laughed.

  ‘Will it be less horrid if they stopped fighting among themselves and joined hands to attack me, to shed my blood?’ Richard said and turning his side, began stroking Liza’s hair. ‘How would you feel if at this moment, slogans were raised in front of our house and people stood with axes and lances ready to attack me?’

  Liza shuddered and snuggled close to Richard, trying to look at his face in the dark. It seemed to her that human values were of little consequence, that it was only values that related to governance that mattered. Meanwhile Richard had again sat up. ‘There is trouble in the city, Liza. You go to sleep. I have to make some enquiries.’ Just then, the telephone bell rang.

  9

  ‘It is such a disorderly family, one can never find anything even if one rummages the whole house for it,’ grumbled Lala Lakshmi Narain standing in front of his cupboard. He was looking for a small woodchopper that he had put in the lower drawer of his cupboard under a pile of clothes. In the city, a riot had already broken out. He had come out of his room twice to ask his wife if she had seen it lying anywhere, and each time his wife had given two answers to his single question

  ‘How should I know where the woodchopper is? I don’t have to cut twigs with it to clean my teeth. Nor do I need your tiny woodchopper to cut firewood for the kitchen. Why do you ask me about
it again and again, good sir?’

  ‘Is it a crime to ask about it? If I can’t find the woodchopper whom should I ask, if not you?’

  ‘My good man, don’t get panicky. Have faith in God and sit quietly. How many people will you be able to protect with that tiny woodchopper?’

  The woodchopper was truly a small one. Its yellow wooden handle was painted with green and red creepers and flowers. Lalaji had once taken his children to a fair and there the woodchopper had caught his fancy. Thereafter, whenever he went for his morning walks, he took along, instead of his walking stick, the woodchopper since it came in handy for cutting twigs from keekar trees. With the result, within a short time, quite a pile of twigs had gathered in the house. His own need did not go beyond one small piece from a twig every day. Now if a whole branch is cut and while walking home, the person keeps filing it, he automatically gets a few twigs out of a single branch. Whenever his wife wanted to throw them into the garbage can, he would get annoyed.

  ‘Who throws away fresh twigs from the tree?’

  ‘Fresh or stale, they are of no use to anyone. What’s the use of storing them?’

  ‘You can use them for cleaning your teeth.’

  ‘My teeth are no longer strong. It is thanks to your twigs that they have become shaky. Earlier they used to be as strong as steel.’ Saying that she would carry them towards the staircase where the garbage tin stood.

  ‘At least you could wait till they dried and withered.’

  The woodchopper could not be traced. With the woodchopper near at hand, Lalaji felt a sense of security, with it missing, he felt exposed to all kinds of dangers. Apart from the woodchopper, there was nothing in the house which could serve as a weapon apart from a few sticks used to hold up the mosquito nets and some kitchen knives. As for oil and charcoal, there was one small bottle of linseed oil and a tiny quantity of charcoal barely sufficient for the needs of the kitchen. Despite the vanaprasthi’s behest, he had not been able to procure more. Besides, he was inwardly convinced that the government would not allow a riot to break out, and even if it did, his family would not be immediately affected by it.