The Cursed Inheritance

by Sutapa Basu

  The nurse didn’t look very convinced and gave me a once-over. However, she unlocked the doors. Before she could change her mind, I barged in with Gonuda trailing.

  The nurse remarked, ‘I hope you know his condition, Miss…um…Sarkar.’

  10.

  ‘Condition?’ I swivelled around.

  ‘Well…after the last stroke, the left side is completely paralysed. He can hardly speak,’ the nurse explained. ‘I thought you knew.’

  I shook my head but followed her through, my heart sinking. Gonuda was closely following me. But there was no way I was going to let him pry. Holding up an imperious hand, I directed, ‘Please wait here, Gonuda.’ I can play this game, too, I sneered silently, passing through the curtained doorway.

  A large bed occupied most of the space in the room. Rest of it was taken up by a trolley stuffed with medical paraphilia along with an oxygen cylinder, an IV stand and a high-backed chair. It certainly was a patient’s room. Propped up against a heap of pillows was a man. Once, he may have been tall and broad but now the large frame was just skin and bones. Cheeks and mouth had fallen in and shorn hair exposed a bony skull. Only his eyes were alert. They locked on me, following my progress across the room.

  I reached his side of the bed and held out my hand. ‘Hello, Birendadu!’ I said, ‘I am Anahita, your elder brother’s granddaughter. How do you do?’

  The man did not speak though his eyes were steady on me.

  ‘You have to speak up,’ advised the nurse. ‘He can hardly hear. Speak with your mouth close to his ear.’

  I looked up. ‘Can you please leave us for a few minutes?’ The woman sniffed but left the room.

  I pulled up the chair. Putting my lips close to his ear, I repeated my words. A small smile played on thin lips and his eyes changed. He looked interested. Okay, Dadu, we are connecting.

  I bent down and asked, ‘Why did you leave home?’ At first, Birendranath simply looked at me. Then I observed his lips move. He was saying something, but I could hear nothing. Instead, his breathing had speeded up. Whatever he wanted to say was making him anxious. I looked around desperately. How could I hear what he wanted to say?

  A shadow fell on the door curtain. It was Gonuda on the other side…probably trying to gauge the situation…the snooper!

  Quickly, I crossed the room and closed the doors.

  Back to my problem…a receptive device would pick up even whispers…of course,my phone… Slipping it out, I clicked the recording button. Its super sensitive mic would record his inaudible voice and, if necessary, I could listen to it later. Once again, I uttered my question bringing the phone down to his mouth, nearly touching his lips. I murmured in his ear, ‘Tell me, Birendadu, tell me.’

  My ear was close to the phone. Through a lot of air whistling from a toothless mouth, I heard a word that sounded like, ‘crime’.

  Looking intently at his face, I spoke deliberately stressing each word. ‘A crime was committed?’ His head inclined imperceptibly. I was stumped. Now this is a new angle…crime? What crime? When? How do I get answers from a man who could hardly speak?

  I tried again. ‘Did you leave because of the crime?’ Again, a tiny nod. Okay! He had left because of a crime committed in the past.

  I glanced at the door, afraid that Gonuda would have his ear to it. He may hear my questions, but he wouldn’t know the replies. He was unable to see Birendadu’s nods! Once again, I bent towards the old man. A peculiar stench stung my nose…a blend of medicine, urine and decrepitude. Rather than raising my voice, I spoke slowly, stressing each word, ‘Who committed the crime? You?’ His head shook slightly.

  ‘Okay. Where was the crime committed?’ Again, the lips trembled. I brought the phone and my ear near them. With effort, he rasped, ‘Sarkar Bari.’

  This is painful, but answers are coming….

  ‘Who committed the crime, Birendadu?’ I repeated. ‘If it happened at Sarkar Bari, you should know…who is the criminal? Kedarnath Raha, the manager?’ His head shook…a little longer than before.

  ‘Please, Birendadu, please. Tell me. I have to know about the crime and the criminal. Only then can I do anything about it.’ But he did not respond. I was flummoxed. How to…

  For a moment, I wondered if these were senile delusions, but his eyes belied this thought. They were too focused to hallucinate. Bewildered, I nearly missed his trembling lips. This time, the broken sounds did not make sense. He was repeating a word over and over. O…ph…? O…at? O….o…th. OATH! No wonder, it seemed like nonsense…this word from another era.

  ‘Oath, Birendadu? Are you saying “oath”?’ Relief flooded his eyes and he nodded. ‘Oath? Oath for what?’ Again, I was perplexed…what is he talking about?

  Gradually, a few pieces fell in place.

  ‘You took an oath?’ A nod.

  ‘An oath to not speak about the crime?’ A nod.

  ‘Or about the criminal?’ A nod.

  Oh dear God! I could not help feeling vexed. ‘Birendadu, how will the criminal be caught, if you keep silent? You know about the crime. You know the criminal. You have to speak out!’

  The head shook slowly from side to side. He closed his eyes. I entreated him repeatedly. But when tears crept from the corners of his eyes, I stopped. As I stared at him, feeling utterly let down, his lips began to move. Quickly, I bent down bringing my phone close. Through the heavy breathing, I heard, ‘Sorry…sorry…Kona…Kona…sorry….’

  ‘Who…?’ I began but his head suddenly lolled to the side, slipping off the pillows. Harsh, loud breathing filled the room. My heart leaped in fear. ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ I called, running to open the door.

  She came in followed by Gonuda. Her patient’s condition made her rush to him. Checking his pulse, she accused me, ‘You have made him sick. Please go, Ma’am.’

  I pushed past Gonuda to the stairs. He caught up with me at the bottom and asked, ‘Did he tell you anything?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said briefly, striding to the cab. Throughout the journey back, I kept a grim face which must have discouraged him from asking more questions.

  Only when the cab was on the road near our lane, he tried again. ‘What did he say? Is he really Karta Babu’s brother?’

  ‘Yes,’ was all I proffered. I was not going to divulge any details to him. Crime? Criminal? These were serious issues. I needed to untangle them in my own head. Too much was happening, too fast. ‘Please request the driver to drop me at the McDonald’s near Sarkar Bari. Here is the fare and you can continue to your home.’ I dug out a handful of currency notes from my wallet and held them out to Gonuda. He shook his head, but I pushed them into his hand. ‘Please take it. Thank you for taking the trouble.’

  The cab stopped and I got off. As it swerved back into the traffic, Gonuda’s eyes stared nervously at me through the window. Must be worried his father will blast him for incompetency….

  The smell of fried cutlets greeted me as I pulled open the doors. My stomach growled. It was nearly four in the afternoon and I had not eaten since breakfast. Sitting at a corner table, I first plugged in my power bank to charge it.. Then I took a bite of the Maharaja Mac and a large swig of Coke, groaning pleasurably. Slowly, the double decker burger and fries filled the void inside me. A few more bites before my mind could focus on the bizarre events of the day.

  I began ticking off a mental list.

  Tick! Sarkar Bari contains a secret, possibly of a crime that occurred in the past. Birendadu knows about it and the identity of the criminal but won’t speak out.

  Tick! The Rahas are aware there is a secret in Sarkar Bari, but do they know what it is? They seem unaware of the past crime.

  Possible. Does that mean that the crime and Sarkar Bari’s secret are not one and the same?

  Possible. If the Rahas had found the secret from the stuff they stole from Dadu’s room, they would not be chasing me or spying on what I do.

  Tick! I can safely deduce that whatever the secret, it is still undiscovered.

&
nbsp; Now what is going to be my next move?

  Now that the mystery of Birendranath Sarkar has cleared up, I must think about the words on the blotter. Are they a clue to the Sarkar Bari secret or are they just nonsense…ramblings of an old man?

  The street lights switched on though the sun was still beaming its last rays through the shaded glass doors. The power bank had charged enough to last me a couple of days. I unplugged it and put it in my bag, picked up my dinner bag and slipped out.

  Before boarding the flight here, I had read and reread Dadu’s letter to Dad many times, especially the line with the ‘urgent matter’ bit. I had pointed it out to Robin, remarking on its mysterious implication. As he usually did about my intuitive ideas, my brother had teased me.

  Now my sixth sense was bearing out.

  11.

  Deep in thought, I missed the turning into the Sarkar Bari avenue. I found myself standing at the corner of the lane behind the mansion. I took the bend, inclined to get a closer look at the shantytown and its inmates. I approached it with some vague thought of offering my dinner bag to one of the kids. The first people to notice me was a card-playing group. I saw a few words pass between them. Throwing down the cards, they stood up. Every line of their bodies spelt hostility as they eyed me belligerently. My steps faltered. I realised coming here was a bad decision. It was inviting trouble and I felt utterly foolish of my half-baked ideas of helping out. I turned around and walked back. The skin at the back of my head crawled expecting a brick or stone to slam against it.

  Only when I was back in the surging humanity on the main street, did I breathe again. Walking against the stream of people towards the avenue, I suffered a few bumps and shoves. However, I was relieved to swing into the familiar leafy lane.

  Ambling calmly towards the mansion, my mind returned to the mystery of Sarkar Bari. I tried to think of answers to the queries rising from the obscure mist.

  Did only Dadu know the secret? Could this be the ‘urgent matter’ in his letter? What about the words on the blotter? Did they a point to the secret?

  What had the boy said? To go back to Dadu’s room… How much will that yield? I needed information about the crime that Birendadu was so agitated about…it could be linked to the secret.

  Who can tell me about the past? Who knew about it? Kedarnath Raha? No, no… Who else had been at Sarkar Bari for a long time? Lokkhi mashi? Would she know anything? Sometimes retainers quietly observe. No harm in trying….

  Uncertainties that had been pestering me, now hardened into a specific goal. I walked to Sarkar Bari purposefully.

  Freshening up, I had just settled on the sofa when Lokkhi mashi arrived with a tray of tea, cookies and a beaming face. ‘Don’t know if you had lunch,’ she said, ‘Maybe a good cup of hot tea will make up for it.’

  ‘Thank you, Lokkhi mashi. You look after me so much.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. You are Ashish Babu’s daughter. Hardly can I do anything for you. You don’t even eat the meals I cook; you are so busy.’

  She was so sweet and concerned even though she hardly knew me. And I had been too engrossed in my own affairs taking her efforts for granted. ‘Why don’t you sit down here?’ I patted the space on the sofa beside me.

  Her face broke into a smile. ‘Na, na,’ she said, crossing her legs and plonking on the floor before me. Untying a corner of her sari, she took out a small tin box. From it, she extracted a green cone and stuffed it into her mouth.

  ‘What’s that?’ It had looked like a leaf.

  ‘Pan…betel leaf. I am addicted to it,’ she said with a chuckle.

  ‘Mashi, do you have a family?’ I asked, trying to make small talk.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she nodded. ‘Mother and son.’

  ‘Oh! Do they live here?’

  ‘No, no. They live in the slum,’ she replied, pointing to the window from where muted sounds of the evening traffic rose. ‘Karta Babu was very strict about it. Only servants inside the house…not their relatives….’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘He was a rickshaw puller.’

  ‘Does he live in the slum, too?’

  ‘He used to…died last year…TB…all that country liquor…wasted his insides,’ she explained, shaking her head sagely.

  ‘But…TB…,’ I began and then faltered. How do I explain to her that drinking alcohol did not lead to tuberculosis?

  I felt sorry for her. ‘Do you miss your son?’

  ‘Bultu? No…he is turning into a good-for-nothing…like his father…runs with the slum boys…I keep scolding, but he listens to nothing.’

  ‘He must be listening to your stories with the other children.’ I tried to suggest that he was not a lost cause, yet.

  ‘Na, na. He doesn’t like my stories…says he is too old for them,’ she shrugged.

  ‘But the other children love your stories, don’t they? Their parents must be glad to send them.’

  ‘Na, Didi. These children don’t have parents,’ she corrected me.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I sat up.

  ‘Didi, these are children who work on the streets. They have no parents…no family,’ she explained.

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘On the pavements…on park benches…under flyovers…in hidden corners where the police won’t chase them ,’ she replied.

  ‘But that is terrible!’ I recalled that some of them could not have been older than eight or nine years old.

  ‘Yes, Didi. But that is life. They come from villages to the big city to escape hunger and poverty. But who will feed them here? They end up on the streets…begging, serving at tea stalls, thieving…,’ she shook her head.

  ‘Why doesn’t the government look after them?’

  ‘Government! They make laws to convict them… not look after them. The police use those laws to stuff them in jail.’

  ‘What a life!’ I was aghast.

  Lokkhi mashi shrugged. ‘They are not born bad, Didi. Hunger, beatings, no homes drive them to crime…nobody to care for them…to teach them right from wrong. I pity them but how can I help? I have no money. Long back, I began telling stories to a few children under the banyan tree behind the mansion. I thought it would be a break from their hard lives. Every day, more children came to hear my stories…the group grew big. They began calling me Golpo Didu….’

  I contemplated this simple woman. Here she was…striving to bring a little sunshine into grey, young lives that surpassed by long strides my silly efforts of giving them a McDonald’s bag meal. I was touched to the heart.

  ‘But you tell stories on the veranda of your room, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. That is now…with Karta Babu gone. He…did not like children coming into Sarkar Bari.’

  I was puzzled. ‘Why?’

  Lokkhi mashi glanced at me and dropped her eyes. I could not believe my grandfather was the proverbial ogre. What could he have against children? She is distorting some curbs he may have laid down, I surmised.

  ‘Come on, Lokkhi mashi, tell me. Why should Dadu object?’

  In a low voice, she muttered, ‘He used to say, “I will break their legs if I see any of the scum in here.”’ She glanced at me sharply. ‘They were afraid of him.’

  ‘Really?’ I gave a little laugh to lighten her sullen mood.

  Her face had turned glum. ‘Hmmm…your dadu…you did not know him…everyone revered him…but I knew who the real person was…I and Ginni Ma…,’ she brooded.

  ‘Thammu? What do you know?’

  ‘I came to this mansion when I was twelve years old, Didi. Ashish Babu, your father, was about be born. In this mansion, so much has happened…what I know…nobody else does….’

  ‘Really, Lokkhi mashi? Did you know that Dadu had a younger brother?’ I interrupted her.

  ‘Biren Babu?’

  ‘You knew him!’ What an idiot I was! I was traipsing all over the city, when all the information was right here under my nose! ‘I heard that he had left Sarkar Bari lo
ng back. Do you know why?’ I held my breath.

  She shot me a look before lowering her head and shaking it. That shrewd flash of her eyes combined with the vigorous denial convinced me…here was a tale worth delving into and she knew it all.

  ‘Didi,’ she declared scrambling up, ‘I must clean the lamps to light for the evening.’ I let her go. Prise it out slowly…patiently, I told myself. Turning screws on her would only dam the dribble.

  I went down to her evening story session. As the lamplight played on young faces lifted up to her, I searched, again but in vain. Later, I sat in the kitchen as Lokkhi mashi rolled out rotis to roast on the uunun. I munched the McDonald’s burger and noticed between shelves gleaming with pots, pans and squat wire netting cupboards, an incongruous microwave oven.

  ‘There!’ I pointed them out to the housekeeper. ‘You have electric ovens here. Why don’t use them?’

  ‘Didi, for one there is no electricity in the house,’ she declared, to which I nodded. ‘And I don’t like using these things…you never know when they will give you an electric shock. You know, it’s true that food cooked on a coal unnun is healthy…but you eat all this shop food…stale or toxic…who knows,’ she said, making a droll face.

  I laughed. ‘Lokkhi mashi, the food you cook is delicious. But I have to get used all the spices you add. Then I will stop eating shop food, I promise.’

  ‘All promises that you won’t keep…just like your father…,’ she smiled indulgently.

  ‘Dad? You loved Dad, didn’t you?’ I was reminded that here was a person who had known Dad as a boy…who could corroborate all the stories he had told me about Sarkar Bari.

  But even he had not told me about Birendadu…why?

  ‘Who could not love Ashish Babu? He was such a good-natured, happy boy. That was the reason when he went away, all the joy of this mansion vanished.’

  ‘What do you mean, Lokkhi mashi?’ I demanded.

  She looked at me. ‘Everything had been fine. Karta Babu, Ginni Ma and Biren Babu…the family was happy…especially with Ashish Babu growing up into a smart, stalwart young man. All the rooms in Sarkar Bari were occupied. So much hustle-bustle with relatives coming, going, staying. Festivals celebrated, pujas held, pickles and papadums made and so many children playing in the patio. Then Ashish Babu went to bidesh to complete his studies and…never came back. Everything began to break down. First, Ginni Ma fell ill. I cared for her day and night…so many doctors…so much medicine. But nothing helped…knowing her only son would not return had broken her heart. How can you cure that? She went away one winter dawn taking with her all the benediction of Sarkar Bari.’ Lokkhi mashi wiped the corners of her eyes with the sari.