‘I had a feeling I would find you here,’ he said happily, resisting a strong impulse to reach out and hold her hand.
‘Hi there!’ she said, genuinely surprised, then looked away. The policemen who had blocked vehicular traffic on the road urged the queue to move on: ‘Chalo, chalo, chalo.’ About twenty worshippers, Karuna among them, sped across the road to the temple.
Vijay’s spirits plummeted as abruptly as they had risen. She hadn’t even bothered to wave goodbye, or ask him to wait while she made her offering and returned. Or even suggest that he come with her—it was not the kind of thing he would normally do, but he would have gone if she had asked. He waited for close to an hour to catch her as she came out. Worshippers in the queue kept moving in batches of ten or twenty into the temple and came out with their faces beaming. There was no sign of the one Vijay was looking for. It reminded him of her disappearance in the mosque. She had found another side door.
It was already past his drink hour, a ritual he was very particular about. But today he did not go back home. He looked for her car. The police had ordered all cars to be parked on the road to make room for the crowd of worshippers. The queue seemed unending, as more people kept coming to join it. Vijay walked distractedly through the crowds.
He did not find Karuna’s car, so he hung about a paanwala’s kiosk, unable to decide what he should do next. His mood had soured. He felt like picking a fight. The paanwala was waxing eloquent about the miracle of the gods to a group of young men in saffron kurtas who were waiting their turn to be served.
‘Lalaji, your gods are moody,’ Vijay said to the paanwala, ‘I have a stone Ganpati outside my flat. I put a cupful of milk to his tusk and his trunk but he did not drink a drop.’
‘You have to have faith for miracles to happen,’ said one of the young men. ‘Faith can move mountains. Lord Krishna held up a hill on his little finger to save his village from a cloudburst. Hanuman uprooted a mountain to get the Sanjeevini herb. So what is unusual about the gods showing their pleasure by accepting offerings of milk from people of all castes, from the highest to the lowest—even mlechhas? It is indeed a chamatkar.’ He looked pleased with his oration.
‘This is what makes India great,’ added another man. Then he quoted the Urdu poet Iqbal’s lines: ‘Greek, Egyptian and Roman rulers have all been wiped off the face of the earth; there must be some reason that India still shines in all its pristine glory.’
Vijay felt his temper rise. ‘Greece, Egypt and Rome continue to flourish as they ever did in the past; only India remains buried under the debris of ignorance and superstition. Stone and metal imbibing milk is the latest example of our continuing backwardness. This trickery is the best our gods can do!’ he proclaimed in a loud voice.
‘Stop this bakwas!’ barked the young man with the caste mark on his forehead. ‘If you want to buk-buk, do it elsewhere, not so close to our temple. Are you a Mussalman?’
Soon the argument had become a shouting match. Vijay yelled, ‘You are a bunch of chootiyas, you make India a laughing stock of the world!’
The young man grabbed Vijay by his shirt collar and shouted, ‘Saale, you dare call us chootiyas! I’ll split your arse right here!’
The paanwala jumped down from his seat and separated the two. ‘Babuji, don’t create a hangama in front of my shop,’ he pleaded with Vijay. ‘Please go home. Here, take your packet of cigarettes. It is a gift from me. May God be kind to you and teach you to overcome your anger.’
Vijay felt humiliated. The boys were almost half his age. He had made an ass of himself by losing his temper.
Vijay had many pet hates, with religious superstition, astrology, horoscopy, numerology and other such methods of forecasting the future topping the list. But mostly he lived peacefully enough with the fools of his world. Even donkeys, he believed, had a right to have their opinions and bray about them. So he was surprised by his outburst at the paanwala’s, especially since it had degenerated into physical violence, which he abhorred. He could not understand what had come over him.
He also wondered at Karuna. It seemed strange to him that an otherwise educated, Westernized woman who smoked and drank openly and was seemingly free of religious bias would go about pouring milk over marble and bronze statues, expecting them to drink it up. Perhaps she was doing it for a lark. There was a news item in the papers about two girls who had offered whiskey to Ganpati. There was an uproar and the girls had to beg forgiveness. It was the kind of thing Karuna would do.
After the episode of Ganpati drinking milk and the altercation at the paanwala’s, Vijay stayed away from Khan Market for a few days. When he went back, he resolved to walk around the market without stopping outside or entering any shop. He wanted to avoid every place where he might lose his temper with the devout and end up embarrassing himself. He even found a different paanwala for his cigarettes and paan.
On the fourth evening after he ended his short exile, as he was walking past the less-frequented part of Khan Market occupied by a bank which closed its doors to customers, Vijay heard somebody call out, ‘Jai ho!’ He turned around and saw a bearded man with long shoulder-length hair carrying a brass plate with flowers, kumkum powder and a tiny silver oil lamp.
‘Something for Shani devta,’ the man demanded, thrusting the plate forward. Vijay realized it was Saturday and the exalted beggar was asking for alms to appease Saturn. There were many others of his ilk around railway stations and bus stands and at road crossings, making money from the gullible. Vijay was not one of the gullible. But what the man said next before Vijay could brush him aside made him pause.
‘You have someone on your mind, a young lady may be. So what is the problem? She is not responding, hain? I will give you something to win her affections. Close your fist.’
Almost despite himself Vijay clenched his fist and extended his arm.
‘Now open your hand,’ the man said. Vijay did so. There was a big black ring in the middle of his palm. ‘See: it is rahu, the evil planet. I can abolish him. Give me a little dakshina, say ten rupees, and I will give you foolproof advice on how to gain your heart’s desire.’ After a short pause during which the fellow transfixed Vijay with his kohl-lined sparkling eyes, he continued, ‘Janaab, I know you do not belive in jyotish or palm-reading. But I can read your face like an open book. Why not try out my predictions and formula for gaining what your heart seeks? Ten rupees won’t make you poor nor me rich.’
Without pondering over the matter Vijay took out a ten-rupee note and put it in the man’s brass tray.
‘Let’s sit down somewhere where we are not disturbed by people,’ suggested the Shani-man. The only secluded place they could find was a narrow passage between the public lavatory and the market boundary wall. It was malodorous but unfrequented. The man put his tray on the wall, the ten-rupee note in his pocket and asked Vijay to hold out his right hand.
Everyone enjoys being the object of attention. So did Vijay, even when the bearded Shani-man’s gentle prodding and squeezing of his palm, as he examined every line, thumb and finger, assumed erotic overtones.
‘There are two marriages in your life,’ pronounced the sage.
‘I had better get started soon. I haven’t a wife yet and I’m not young anymore,’ Vijay said.
‘A man is never too old for marriage and sex,’ the sage assured Vijay, then continued, ‘I see a large home, double-storeyed and with many motorcars.’
‘That’s nice to know. I live in a one-room flat and ride a motorcycle,’ Vijay lied.
Undeterred, the man went on. ‘There is money, lots of money, name and fame.’
Vijay snubbed him again: ‘I could do with both. My bank balance is very low and my name is not known beyond my block of flats and this little market.’
‘There is also phoren travel soon,’ the man went on.
‘When? Both the American Embassy and the British High Commission turned down my visa applications. Forget about name, fame, money and foreign travel. Can you te
ll me anything about my present problem?’
‘Date and place of birth,’ demanded the soothsayer as he pulled a pencil and small notebook out of his pocket. Vijay told him. He drew several lines, parallel and horizontal. He counted on his fingers and inserted figures in the squares and triangles he had made. Then he shut his eyes and pronounced, ‘Her name begins with K.’
Vijay was taken aback. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s all written in your stars. She pretends indifference but she loves you. I will now give you a magic formula to make her hungry for you and you hungry for her.’ The man paused and looked meaningfully at Vijay.
‘I already am hungry for her,’ Vijay said impatiently.
‘But you must be hungrier, then she too will pant for you without shame. I can guarantee it. For that I charge fifty rupees. If my formula fails, I’ll give your money back with fifty from my own pocket. I’ll give you my card, with my name and address. If the formula fails, you send me the card by post and I’ll come and return the money.’ He fished out a grimy visiting card. It had the letter Om on top with a figure of Ganpati beneath and then his name: Natha Singh, World-famous Master of Science of Jyotish, Astrologer, Numerologist, Specialist in Love Potions.
Now that he had let himself in for the hocus-pocus, Vijay said to himself: What the hell, let’s go the whole hog. The fellow got the girl’s initial right. He may just get her to take more interest in me.
‘Okay, here’s another fifty rupees, and if it does not work I’ll get the police after you. Okay?’
‘Okay, janaab, okay. Hundred times okay. My formula is foolproof.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘All you have to do, janaab, is pluck two hairs from your jhaant and two from her jhaant, mix them up, swallow one pair yourself and give her the other pair to drink up with a cup of tea. Both of you will be on fire. Guaranteed.’
Vijay was speechless. He looked at the Shani-man disbelievingly.
‘You doubt my formula?’ the man challenged him. He patted his crotch and declared, ‘Don’t underestimate the power of the jhaant. It is the strongest aphrodisiac known to man.’
Blood rushed to Vijay’s head but he kept his cool. He did not want to create another scene. ‘What kind of love formula is this?’ he snapped. ‘If I could get close enough to pluck her pubic hair, I need no help from you. How do I get her to bare her privates before me, anyway?’
‘You can do that if you try,’ said the Shani-man as he picked up his brass plate and walked away.
Vijay realized it had cost him sixty rupees to learn that he was as big a chootiya as all those people offering milk to the idol of Ganpati. He weaved his way through the closely parked cars to make his way home and walked straight into Hakim Tara Chand.
‘You should be careful of charlatans like that man, Lall Sahib,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘He is not really a sadhu, just a thug who exploits people’s weaknesses.’
He had obviously seen Vijay talking to the Shani-man and handing him money. Vijay’s ears went red. He felt as if he had exposed himself in public. His humiliation was complete.
Vijay pondered over the events of the past few days and felt very depressed. He described his mood in his diary: ‘Pissed off with the world’ and then added, ‘Pissed off with myself.’ Khan Market had lost its raunaq; he avoided going there for another few days. But the itch to have it out with Karuna got the better of him. Did she know what she was doing to him?
After a week, one Saturday evening, he was back in the market hoping to run into her. He went around her usual haunts, the bookstores, the grocer’s and the butcher’s. She was not there. Ultimately he went to The Book Shop to get his magazines and ask the proprietress if Karuna had been around. He broached the subject very casually. ‘That lady who bought Durrell from you, has she been around lately?’
‘You mean Karuna Chaudhury? Yes, she came in one evening to settle her account. She said her husband had been transferred to some other city—she did not say where.’
Vijay was lost for words. He took his magazines and slowly walked back to his apartment. He sensed he might never see her again. And the name Chaudhury yielded no clue. Chaudhurys could be found across the country, from Punjab to Assam, down to the Southern states, and they could be Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, even Christians. The search would be as futile as that of Majnu sifting the sands of the desert to find his Laila. And that was what he felt like—a lovesick Majnu. Which made him an old fool: he was fifty-four. He tried to console himself—that it was an infatuation that would fade away in time. There would be other women. Or there would not.
It was still too early for his sundowner. Nevertheless, he poured himself a stiff one and switched on his TV to divert his mind to things other than a woman who had slipped out of his hands; a woman he should have left well alone. He pressed the buttons of the remote control and tried one channel after another. Nothing held his attention for more than a few seconds. Suddenly the lights went out and the entire complex of apartments was plunged in gloom. The sun had set but through the twilight he could see the outlines of the mulberry tree, already beginning to lose much of its foliage. The sudden darkness prompted a pair of spotted owlets perched on its branches to break into their pointless racket, chitter-chitter chatter-chatter.
*
Most residents of the apartment complex slept late the next morning. It was a Sunday. There were only two old ladies out in the lawn when Vijay returned from his walk in Lodhi Gardens. They saw him drive in and park Annie in her old spot under the mulberry tree.
acknowledgements
I wish to express my gratitude to Ravi Singh and Diya Kar Hazra for making my stories more readable than they were.
Paradise and Other Stories Page 15