Ramya's Treasure

by Pratap Reddy

  Ramya stopped doing her homework, and her grades began to plummet. Only Mummy, in spite of her sacred aloofness, remarked aloud about Ramya’s undue preoccupation with her newfound pet. Amma, though she disapproved of Ramya devoting so much time to her pet, was reluctant to chide her, as she was staying as a mere guest. Daddy, blissfully oblivious to what was happening, was content to see Ramya happy.

  One afternoon, Ramya’s teacher sent home a handwritten note addressed to Daddy about her poor performance and lack of attention in class. For Daddy it was a bolt from the blue; he was horrified to read the terse missive. Nevertheless, he was stung into action. He instructed Amma to take more control of Ramya’s leisure time. Though Amma was well-versed in the art of putting undisciplined children to rights, it took her a few weeks of threats and entreaty to bring back the perennially indulged child into the groove.

  The entire household, except for Mummy, had been mesmerized by the antics of the puppy in the first few weeks, and doted on him, not at all put off by the name Barghest that Ramya had bestowed on the hapless animal, after poring over many a formidable book, all gifts from Atom Auntie. The servants never questioned Ramya’s choice of name — pet dogs were always given outlandish names, especially English ones, a carryover from the British Raj. To their ears a Norse name sounded as familiar or unfamiliar as Lassie or Goldie.

  Only Mummy asked: “Ramya, what kind of a name is Barghest? Has your Atom Auntie got something to do with it?”

  The question felt like a rapier thrust. Mummy’s sharp tone and uncomplimentary reference to her beloved Atom Auntie made Ramya bawl; she felt both chastised and belittled.

  “Why do you talk to a small child like that?” Amma said, bustling into the living room. “Don’t cry, Ramya. Your Mummy was only joking.”

  By and by, Barghest stopped being the beloved cynosure in spite of his beguiling ways. This happened because Amma and the servants noted with increasing alarm his progressively growing appetite. When Barghest was brought home, he was a wee little thing, and they’d somehow assumed that he’d remain his small self, and if he did grow at all, he’d do so in modestly incremental steps.

  But a purebred Doberman pinscher was no lap dog. His appetite was enormous, his growth explosive. As weeks passed, Barghest grew and grew, and the intake of food was in step with his size. Within four months he was as big as a full-grown cocker spaniel, with an appetite to match.

  The servants resented the extra work of another mouth to feed. When shopping they had to buy and carry more groceries than usual; the cook had to cook more than was customary; and worst of all, Barghest not having been potty-trained properly, dirtied the house indiscriminately, and the servants were constantly being summoned to clean up after him. Daddy appeased the servants to a certain extent by hiking their salaries, but not everything was as easy as that.

  Amma likened Barghest’s growth spurt to that of the mythical fish in the story of Manu, the first man on earth, after whom mankind was named. One day Manu, the son of Brahma the creator, went early in the morning at a sacred hour to the bank of a holy river to offer prayers. When he was performing his ablutions, a tiny fish swam into the vessel he was using. The chit of a fish spoke to Manu in human tongue, and commanded him to take it home and look after it. If he obeyed the fish, the fish in turn would come to Manu’s aid in the near future when a cataclysm would befall the earth.

  Manu did as he was enjoined and took the fingerling home and housed it in a small jar. Like Barghest, the fish grew, but even more exponentially. Every few days, Manu had to exchange the fish’s temporary home for another larger container. This went on until the fish, according to Amma, grew the size of a Leyland lorry.

  “Amma!” Ramya said, well versed in the subject of mythology thanks to Atom Auntie. “There were no trucks in those days.”

  “Don’t interrupt elders. I know there were no lorries then, but I used it as an example, so that you got an idea of the size of the fish. Anyway, the fish was transferred to a pond.”

  Soon even the pond proved insufficient. “Because he had grown as big as a …” Amma faltered.

  “A jumbo jet,” Ramya suggested.

  “Whatever,” Amma said. When it was at last released into the ocean, the fish, who was none other than Lord Vishnu in his piscine avatar, told Manu: “Soon there will be a great deluge. Build a large ship so that you can take in as many species of plants and animals as you can.” Within a short span of time, the skies curdled over, and incessant rain poured down, day after day, until almost all of the earth was covered with an endless sheet of water.

  The fish having grown more gargantuan than ever showed up as promised, and steered Manu to safety, with one end of the celestial serpent Shesha tied to the prow of the ship, and the other to a horn on its head.

  “What kind of fish has a horn on its head, Amma?” Ramya asked. But she liked the notion of the ship being towed by the fish to a safe haven. She could picture her beloved Barghest on a leash, leading her out of a Minoan maze, if ever she found herself in such a predicament, and deliver her back into the bosom of her family.

  When Ramya celebrated Barghest’s first birthday, the pup had grown into a handsome specimen. A shiny coat clothed his muscles, which rippled as he walked. He weighed forty pounds and was as many inches tall. Ramya observed Barghest’s birthday with all the traditional pomp and circumstance one associates with an anniversary party for humans: streamers and balloons, caps and whistles, ice cream and coke. The baker of Golconda Bakery was up to his old tricks again, and made a cake in the shape of a bone (a short stubby femur with lime green icing) on a candyfloss-pink plate and “Barghest” written in Mediterranean blue.

  Though Ramya made a point of telling her invitees to bring their pet dogs, if they had any, it was a good thing that only two other dogs showed up. Saroja, who gave the beautiful collar with the medallion, brought Manikyam, smelling of Lifebuoy, having been hosed down for the occasion, and a girl of Ramya’s age named Maunika brought a snow-white pom called Toughie, a small cowardly beast that snarled ferociously all the while but turned tail if anyone, man or beast, challenged it. Throughout the evening the three dog owners had to hold on to their dogs tightly lest they start a canine affray. Nevertheless, the party was a huge success.

  As to Saroja, the mistress of Manikyam, she got married a few months later in an arranged manner to a young man of her caste. Though he was scrawny and bespectacled, his horoscope matched hers to a T. While unprepossessing to behold, he had a steady job in the government and had good prospects — which was what mattered, at least to Saroja’s parents. Daddy and Ramya attended the wedding held in a marriage hall on the Lower Tank Bund Road, near the Hussainsagar Lake, giving the young couple an acrylic lemon set as a wedding gift.

  After all the festivities were over, and having spent the connubial night on a bed bespattered with rose petals (supplied by good old Arifuddin), it was time for Saroja to move out of her parents’ home for good. When the time of the day was most auspicious by the Hindu almanac, the newly-wed couple got into a car that a rich relative had loaned for the occasion. Saroja, along with all her possessions stuffed into three or four suitcases, was going to be borne away to her in-laws’ house once and for all. Tearful relatives and friends besieged the car, and the atmosphere was surcharged with heart-breaking emotion. Though Saroja would continue to live in the same city, on the opposite end, on the other side of the gigantic Hussain Sagar Lake, she would now belong to another family, assuming another last name. Even her gotra, an ancient tribal identity, would be changed to her husband’s.

  Unnoticed by anyone, except Ramya who was peering through the grille-work gate, Manikyam was loitering at the periphery of the throng, looking sad and confused. Just before stepping into the car, Saroja sought out Manikyam, and bent down and patted his head with aching affection. When all the goodbyes were said, the car started to move, the driver honking vigorously to make people step out of the way. The car crawled away, raising a cloud of
dust, and the crowd melted away in silence.

  After that day, no one saw Manikyam in the neighbourhood again. It was noticed and remarked by some, but nobody paid much heed. He never again turned up at Saroja’s parents’ house at the appointed time seeking handouts. This puzzled the family a little, but nobody was bothered enough to investigate.

  A few weeks later, the people in the neighbourhood were surprised to learn that Manikyam was staying in Saroja’s new home. He’d followed the car, nose to the ground, picking up the trail even after losing sight of the vehicle, crossing so many intersections, some with traffic lights, some without, slinking past an unmanned railway gate, running the gauntlet of stray dogs hell-bent on protecting their territorial rights, cantering without pausing for breath, and his thirsty tongue hanging out, along roads brimming with buses, lorries, cars, auto rickshaws, motorcycles, scooters, cycles, cycle-rickshaws, bullock carts and pedestrians, a distance of twelve kilometres, before turning up, exhausted but deliriously happy, in front of Saroja’s in-laws’ house. A truly incredible journey!

  Ramya could picture Manikyam emitting his trademark bark, full of confidence and love.

  A disoriented Saroja must have done a double take and burst out the front door, with the thought — could it be … surely not! The curved tail and the tan-coloured patch on the back would’ve given no room for doubt. After getting her husband’s permission and, being a wise young woman, her mother-in-law’s too, a jubilant Saroja brought a small bowl of milk and a plate of Parle glucose biscuits for Manikyam. Her husband was so moved by the dog’s love and loyalty, he allowed Saroja to keep Manikyam in the house. He couldn’t have given a better wedding present to his new wife.

  Saroja’s parents had indeed chosen a good match for their daughter.

  While Manikyam’s devotion to his mistress was acquiring aspects of an urban legend, events in Ramya’s house were panning out a little differently. As months passed, Barghest became too unwieldy an animal for Ramya or the maids to handle on their own. So the responsibility fell on the strong and able shoulders of Sailoo. Unable to get the pronunciation exactly right, but being privy to a few English words, he began to call the dog Bar Guess.

  “Bar Guess — stick!” Or: “Bar Guess — ball!” he would shout, emulating but not mimicking Ramya. The dog would race away, chasing the object that was tossed.

  Ramya began to notice, with growing disquiet, a change come over Barghest. Subtle and hardly discernible at first, later it became too obvious to ignore. Barghest’s adoration, which had once been almost idolatrous in its fervour, was being replaced by an attitude of indulgence, or worse still, condescension. He remained friendly — even gentle, rubbing his velvety neck against her legs, in an affectionate, proprietorial way. But the love-filled gaze of the soulful black-and-brown eyes was completely gone. Barghest eyes lit up only for Sailoo, responding readily to the corrupted name of Bar Guess. Now and then Barghest would even show impatience if there was any delay in taking him out. Anyway, it was Sailoo who was taking him for a run most of the time, Ramya being preoccupied with homework or preparation for exams.

  A year later Sailoo left. Daddy got him a good job at a factory owned by one of his patients. Sailoo needed to earn enough money to marry and start a family. By continuing to work as a servant boy he couldn’t have done that.

  Once again managing the big heavy dog, whose footfalls might have been those of an approaching baby elephant, fell to the lot of women, women who were either old (Amma), incapacitated (Mummy), puny (most of the servants) or young (Ramya). Most of the time, Barghest was on good behaviour but occasionally he showed signs of bad temper — it always had to do with being taken out. At the appointed time, he’d bark nonstop and pull at the leash in an unholy haste to be let out. But once he was taken out, he’d try to run ahead and drag the maid who was walking him so forcefully that, unable to keep pace, she’d set him free. A delighted Barghest would bound away, to hobnob with the she-dogs sunbathing near the garbage bin at the end of the lane. When it was time to return home, it needed threats and blows with a stick before the lead could be tied around his neck. He had to be forcibly hauled back home.

  One day Ramya took Barghest out for a walk. He was now a huge dog and came up to her waist, as he trotted beside her like a well-trained stallion. But when he caught the scent of his female acquaintances, he tried to peel away. Ramya held on to the leash even more firmly, unaware that the maids had made it a habit to unchain him on his walks. Barghest pulled at the lead, and when Ramya didn’t let go, he began to tug more violently, and then increased his pace to a gallop. A surprised and frightened Ramya had to sprint after Barghest, her hand clutching the leash and her feet flying over the uneven ground. It began to get more and more difficult to stay in step with Barghest who was hurtling at full tilt, barking with annoyance and impatience.

  Then Ramya tripped and fell, and was dragged a few feet by Barghest, until she let go of the leash. When she got up, feeling angry and stupid, Barghest had loped away out of sight. She wanted to follow in his wake, but realized that her dress was torn and smeared with dust. Besides, she felt her hands and legs singe with pain; she had barked her knees and grazed her forearms. Involuntarily, she began to cry, not so much with physical pain, but out of a feeling of abandonment.

  A maid had to be sent to recover Barghest. Amma dressed Ramya’s wounds as best she could with cotton and strips of plaster cut from a big roll. When Daddy returned home in the night, he gave Ramya a tetanus injection. A chastened Barghest spent the night tied to a tree in the yard.

  The next day, the maids had other gory stories to tell about Barghest: how routinely he chased young children, alarmed cyclists into falling off their bicycles, constantly fought with strays over she-dogs, so on and so forth.

  Daddy called Sailoo at his workplace and spoke to him. Sailoo turned up that evening to take Barghest away.

  “He’ll make a good guard dog at the factory,” Sailoo said.

  When Ramya bent down and ruffled the fur on his head, Barghest looked kindly at her, his eyes full of compassion, and gave her a generous lick. It was almost like old times, but both knew that the time had come.

  Sailoo finished his cup of tea, and the bun he was dunking into it. Wiping his hands on the seat of his pants, Sailoo said his goodbyes and took a firm grip on Barghest’s collar, saying: “Come, Bar Guess. Let’s go.”

  The silver medallion with Barghest’s name on it came loose and fell to the ground. Sailoo and Barghest walked away in perfect amity, as if they were inseparable friends. There was no need for a leash to bind them together. Ramya stood at the gate with moist eyes, tears gathering in them like storm clouds, while Barghest receded into the distance. He didn’t so much as give a backward glance as dusk enfolded him.

  8

  BFF

  RAMYA PLUCKS OUT a lipstick from the sandalwood chest. It has a chocolate-brown plastic cap and a golden metallic base which has begun to blacken. A large L with prominent serifs, and ringed with two curved sprigs of laurel, is engraved on the top of the cap. Lakmé was the catchy name the manufacturer chose for a new range of locally developed cosmetics. The company had found a business opportunity when the government cracked down on imports. There was a serious balance-of-payments issue, and the country no longer wanted to splurge its scant stash of U.S. Dollars and Pounds Sterling on bagatelles like rouge and mascara.

  Ramya learned much later that the original Lakmé was a star-crossed Indian — Indian as from India — lass in one of Bizet’s French operas. Abandonment is a universal theme, spanning cultures and continents.

  She tries to unscrew the cap. It resists a little before yielding squeakily to reveal a stick of dark purple. The lipstick looks dry and slightly off-colour. Like a cheap crayon. Ramya has never touched her lips with it, and with good reason; the tumulus shape is almost pristine, save for a light bruise on the top.

  She never used purple. To carry off such a colour with her complexion in India you had to be fo
rward, or “fast,” as some people would say. Ramya, who would describe herself as dull and demure, preferred more modest shades — a deep maroon or pale pink, something that didn’t clash too much with her nutmeg complexion. In those days, wearing lipstick was considered very unorthodox; so much so that when Ramya applied colour to her mouth, her relatives’ eyebrows went up. The fact that they themselves applied kaatika, an age-old form of mascara to their lashes, and thickened their brows with a black eyebrow pencil was conveniently glossed over. Eye makeup was traditional; lipsticks were modern, even Western, and by implication, decadent.

  Maunika, Ramya’s so-called best friend, had given the lipstick as a parting gift on the day a loyal Ramya organized a small farewell treat at an ice cream parlour in Abid’s, the main drag of Hyderabad. Ramya remembers the day so well. It was the end of April, the annual exams were just over, and though it was spring, the weather was warm as toast.

  Picking up the lipstick, Ramya rises from the dining table and shuffles to the mirror above the console table in the hallway. She stands in front of the gilt-framed mirror, holding the desiccated lipstick she received over three decades ago, and wonders: “How would purple look on me now?” Her skin has grown a shade lighter living in the northern latitudes where the sun is an infrequent visitor. Her hand holding the exposed lipstick stays poised like a bird in flight as she is distracted by her reflection in the mirror.

  Her hair is unkempt, and here and there, a surge of grey is threatening to rise and overwhelm her shoulderlong tresses. Her complexion is sallow, and her chapped lips pine for the soothing application of a balm rather than lip-colour. When she makes eye contact with herself in the glass, lacklustre irises stare back at her.