“They’ll cut votes from the Congress.”
“We need sixteen thousand.”
“If they were to cut three, four thousand...”
The schoolmaster’s words rustled beneath the din of the city, and Rishi remembered late meetings in a dark room in Khaireni Tar, lectures on Bolshevism in this voice at once forceful and hushed. He remembered a distant blue moon, crickets rapping at night and the schoolmaster’s steps pattering behind him.
The schoolmaster looked up several times during that evening, but his eyes always swept past Rishi, who puzzled at his own taut spine, at his disappointment in not being recognized. When he finished eating, he left feeling empty. It was raining outside. The city flickered behind a sheen of reflected halogen. It didn’t look real. Rishi submitted to the nostalgia welling up inside him. He was a boy caressed by the warm rains of the hills. He was running barefoot with pebbles grinding into his toes. Swallows flitted above. Marigolds grew thick along the path. He came to a hillside. He was stumbling on rock steps, his pants were torn. Steep slopes. He was sliding home.
*
The next evening, Rishi walked up to the schoolmaster and introduced himself. Almost as soon as the schcolmaster’s eyes steadied in recognition, another man joined them. Before turning away, the schoolmaster said to Rishi, ‘I thought it was you.’ He slid aside to make place for him on the bench, then turned to the other man. They seemed to be resuming a conversation they were holding earlier, about the Minister of Agriculture.
Rishi settled into his seat. The bench was warm with the schoolmaster’s heat. Even though the conversation had nothing to do with him, he felt included in it by the way the schoolmaster sat, their shoulders touching. There was allowance in that contact. The older man’s voice vibrated against Rishi’s arm. The Minister of Agriculture was to be watched, the schoolmaster was saying. Who came from and went to his house: it could be useful to know.
The other man glanced uncomfortably at Rishi.
“We can talk freely,” the schoolmaster assured him. “This comrade is my former student. He was with us during the protests. He was – weren’t you? – one of those jailed during the democracy movement.”
“I was.”
Rishi settled in and listened to the two of them plotting for scandal. The woman who ran the diner brought three plates of food and they ate in silence. Afterwards, when the other man left, the schoolmaster turned to Rishi, casually. He didn’t inquire about Rishi’s present life but asked instead after his parents, as though he didn’t know that Rishi hadn’t been back to his village or even to Khaireni Tar in all these years. Rishi responded to his queries as best he could: “They’re probably in good health.”
TRAP
Maya Thakuri
Maya Thakuri was born in 1938 in Assam, India. She is the author of four short story collections: Najureko Jodhi, Gamalako Phool, Sanghu Tarepachhi, and Maya Thakurika Kathaharu. She teaches in Pokhara, in west Nepal.
That day, too, Bam Bahadur left home early in the morning. With Bhagate by his side, he was looking for a goat to purchase.
The price of goats was increasing day by day, but Bam Bahadur didn’t care; no matter what price he had to pay, it was always Vijay Bahadur who footed the bill. Bam Bahadur was content in knowing that, in the eyes of his neighbors, his wealth appeared to increase with the price of goats.
This Vijay Bahadur was an astonishing man. He’d come to the village four or five times already this year, and each time he’d slaughtered a goat and feasted all of Bam Bahadur’s companions on large quantities of meat and liquor. The drinking and gambling went on all night during these feasts, held at Bam Bahadur’s house. Naturally, the villagers praised Vijay Bahadur, saying, “No matter how hard you look, you can’t find a man as generous as Bam Bahadur’s nephew. Vijay Bahadur has so much money! He spends as he pleases, but never runs out.”
Before meeting Vijay Bahadur, Bam Bahadur had had an utterly shabby life. His house had needed a new roof, but he could hardly even afford the morning and evening meals for his wife and three children. To pay off his gambling debts, he had sold his wife’s nose ring and her earrings. He’d fallen so low that he’d even sold off the family’s few pots and pans to support his vices.
Bam Bahadur had worked nearly nineteen years for the Indian army. By the time he’d retired and returned to his village, he appeared to have left all his youthfulness and vigor in that foreign land. He blindly threw himself into drinking and gambling. It was only thanks to the industriousness of his wife, Him Maya, that they made ends meet.
Once a year, Bam Bahadur traveled to the town of Gorakhpur, India, to collect his pension. But by the time he had returned, his pockets would already be empty. With tears streaming from her eyes, Him Maya would plead with her husband, “Drinking and gambling have never helped anyone improve his lot. Stop these vile habits.” Bam Bahadur paid no attention. Before long, he had even managed to gamble away the fields that he’d taken over from his brother.
Everyone knew about Bam Bahadur’s older brother, Hum Bahadur. When he was a young man, Hum Bahadur had run off with the wife of another villager, Santa Bir. Years passed, but Hum Bahadur never came back; nor did anyone hear again of Santa Bir’s wife, who had taken with her all her jewelry and gold coins. Apparently, Santa Bir wandered for quite some time with a khukuri knife tucked into his waistband, saying, “If I find them, I won’t let them get away; I’ll slit their throats.” But even though he hungered mightily for revenge, Santa Bir entered death’s mouth before he could satisfy his hunger.
*
A year ago, Bam Bahadur went to Gorakhpur to collect his pension. Two or three other villagers who were also pensioners went with him. Those villagers returned before the winter month of Magh was over, but there was no sign of Bam Bahadur. When Him Maya asked the other villagers about her husband, they said, “We didn’t see him after he got his pension. We don’t know where he went.”
A few days later, Him Maya was working in the fields. All manner of worries were playing with her heart when her eleven-year-old daughter, Kamali, came running to her, shouting, “Aamai, Aamai, Ba’s come home! There’s someone with Ba. There’s also a porter.”
“Eh, is that so?” Him Maya followed her daughter home.
As soon as he saw his wife, Bam Bahadur said, “Here, look. I’ve returned with our nephew. Poor thing – he was living abroad like an orphan, thinking he had no living relatives.” Bam Bahadur turned to the young man. Pointing to Him Maya, he said, “This is your aunt.” Then, pointing at the three wide-eyed children, he said, “And these are your cousin-brother and your cousin-sisters.” Gesturing once again toward the young man, he said, “This is Vijay Bahadur, the son of my older brother, Hum Bahadur.”
Vijay Bahadur bowed to Him Maya.
Then Bam Bahadur opened his bags and placed in Him Maya’s hands all the clothes he’d brought for her and the children. “Our nephew bought all of this,” he said. “He wouldn’t listen when I told him it wasn’t needed.”
When the other villagers heard that the son of Hum Bahadur had come, they crowded into Bam Bahadur’s front yard. Offering everyone cigarettes, Bam Bahadur said, “What can one do? It seems my brother earned a lot of money after leaving this village. At the end of his life, he talked of returning home, but what can people do when faced with death? My brother and his wife passed away within a year of each other. Afterwards, Hum Bahadur’s only son lived a lonely existence, despite his wealth. My brother had told him the names of his father and grandfathers and the name of his village, but my nephew gave up hope, thinking that the village and his relatives were too far away. After all, he’d never been to this village in the hills. Thankfully, we were fated to meet. Otherwise...!”
Taking a drag from his cigarette, Chandra Bir asked, “So, how did uncle and nephew come together? Where did you meet the boy?”
“After getting my pension,” Bam Bahadur said, “I was wandering through the bazaar to buy the children some clothes. Because it was so hot, I wen
t into a hotel and bought a glass of curd to drink. This young man was also there, sipping curd. For some reason, as soon as our eyes met, I immediately recalled my brother Hum Bahadur. I couldn’t stop myself; I went right up to the young man and asked him his father’s name and surname. He said, ‘My father’s name was Hum Bahadur. I’m the grandson of so-and-so, and this is the name of my father’s home in the hills.’ And then I responded, with great pride, ‘I am your father’s younger brother, Bam Bahadur!”’
Vijay Bahadur was an attractive youth of about twenty-five or twenty-six, quite plump and healthy. Within a few days of arriving in the village, he had established warm relations with the villagers, who said among themselves, “Bam Bahadur’s nephew seems quite nice. He doesn’t act big no matter how many rupees he’s got. Now that’s what people should be like!”
One day, Bam Bahadur extended an invitation to his neighbors Chandra Bir, Bhagate, Lal Bahadur, and Ritte, saying, “Tomorrow my nephew’s offering a goat in the shrine. All of you must attend the feast.”
The next day, Chandra Bir chewed heartily on goat’s meat, swallowed, and asked, “So, I hear that your nephew hasn’t married yet. Is he really single?”
Bam Bahadur refilled Chandra Bir’s glass. “What can one do? Once the father and mother had passed away, who was there to look for a girl for the son? Now that he’s with us, I’m thinking of looking around here for a girl for him to marry – the kind of girl who’d serve her husband’s home well. All of you must also give the matter some thought.”
Chandra Bir emptied his glass. “So, would your nephew agree to marry a girl born and bred in a village like this?”
Bam Bahadur placed a stitched-leaf plate filled with fried meat in front of Chandra Bir and replied, “Well, now, what can I say? The day before yesterday my nephew went to the spring to bathe. There he saw your daughter Jamuni. Since then, he’s been after me, saying, ‘Uncle, I’m going to marry that girl.’ Now you’ve seen the boy for yourself. Since he’s my nephew, my home is his home. If it’s the case that one day or another you’ll send your daughter away in marriage, you might as well marry her to my nephew.”
Chandra Bir reached for the fried meat. “You’ve spoken well, but I just married off my eldest daughter last year. Right now I don’t even have a broken coin for another daughter’s wedding. So how could I dare –”
Bam Bahadur laughed. “No, you needn’t worry about that. We’re neighbors after all. I’ll get my nephew to pay the bride’s expenses as well as his own. All you have to do is say yes.”
Jamuni and Vijay Bahadur were married a week later.
Shortly afterward, Vijay Bahadur left the village with Jamuni by his side. Jamuni’s friends said, “Jamuni’s the luckiest girl. She got herself a good, rich husband.” Chandra Bir and his wife were giddy with joy at having gotten a son-in-law like Vijay Bahadur.
*
Not even two months had passed when news of their daughter’s untimely death came, shaking the hearts of Chandra Bir and his wife. The villagers said, “What a pity! They say Jamuni had a high fever for over a week. Poor thing! How ruthlessly death snatches away even those who enjoy the luxury of dressing well and dining lavishly.”
It wasn’t long before Vijay Bahadur came back to the village. In a melancholy voice he said to Chandra Bir, “What can be done, Father-in-law? My fortunes seem to be cursed. I spent money like water, but in the end couldn’t save your daughter.”
Wiping tears from his own eyes, Chandra Bir consoled Vijay Bahadur. “Nothing can be done now, Son-in-law. She was fated to have only so many days in her life. No matter how much we cry and shout, she’s not coming back.”
One evening, Bam Bahadur placed liquor and chicken meat in front of Bhagate and Lal Bahadur. “My heart is torn apart when I see my nephew’s face. He seems to have forgotten how to sleep, how to eat. He’ll go mad if he keeps this up. I’ve told him so many times that living and dying are in the hands of the gods, that he mustn’t neglect his health by grieving day and night. If only he’d listen to my words! You must advise me what to do.”
Bhagate gulped his drink. “In my opinion, it would be right to get the boy married again, because the first wife’s memory will fade away only after another marriage. Isn’t that so, brother Lal Bahadur?”
Bam Bahadur added meat to Lal Bahadur’s plate. “I too have had this thought. But who’d offer a girl so soon? The villagers might talk, saying it hasn’t been two months since his wife’s death and yet he’s already marrying a second time.”
Lal Bahadur put on a grave expression. “Eh, given a chance to talk, people will say anything. Should one heed such talk? One should heed one’s own mind. Bhagate spoke well you should arrange a second marriage for your nephew.”
Bam Bahadur refilled Lal Bahadur’s glass. “Then why go elsewhere to find a girl? You must marry your older daughter, Laxmi, to my nephew.” He added, “My nephew probably wouldn’t agree to a showy wedding since his wife just died, but it will still be necessary to slaughter a goat for a feast.”
Lal Bahadur said, “Nothing of the sort should be done at this time. If he’s going to marry my daughter, it should be done with utmost discretion.”
After Vijay Bahadur quietly married Laxmi and took her away with him, Bam Bahadur said to Chandra Bir and the other villagers, “My nephew refused to agree to a second marriage, but I insisted. I said, ‘If you don’t marry again, you will have to sever your relations with me.’ So, he finally agreed.”
About three months after marrying Laxmi, Vijay Bahadur returned to the village and, bearing gifts, went to see his wife’s parents. Lal Bahadur said to him, “You might have also brought our daughter with you, Son-in-law.”
“I’d wanted to bring Laxmi along, but the doctor said it wouldn’t be good for her to walk uphill and down while her body’s heavy with child,” Vijay Bahadur replied. “I’ll bring her when her body’s light again.”
Laxmi’s mother asked, “When will you go back to your wife, Son-in-law?”
“I just came to fulfill a promise I’d made to the deity in gratitude for answering my prayers,” Vijay Bahadur said. “I’ll offer a goat at the shrine tomorrow, we’ll all feast, and I’ll leave the day after.” Looking at Laxmi’s younger sister, Saraswati, he added, “Oh, yes. Your daughter asked me to inquire whether her younger sister would agree to come along. If you send Saraswati with me, she can return with her sister the next time Laxmi visits.”
Saraswati and her aunt’s daughter, Maina, both departed with Vijay Bahadur.
*
It was soon after this that Vijay Bahadur unexpectedly arrived late one evening at Bam Bahadur’s house. Surprised, Bam Bahadur said, “Oho, not even fifteen days have passed and you’ve come back?”
Vijay Bahadur took several hundred rupees from his pocket and placed them in Bam Bahadur’s hands. “I had to come, Uncle. Do go and find a good goat for me early tomorrow morning.”
Bam Bahadur laughed. “It looks like you’re in quite a hurry to leave.”
It was the next morning that Bam Bahadur and Bhagate went to the neighboring village to look for a goat. After they’d spent the whole day looking for just the right one and were leading it back, Bhagate said, “You must ask your nephew if it’s possible to find any kind of small job out there where he lives. I’m suffering greatly staying here. With three children and a wife to support, how can I live off my meager fields?”
Bam Bahadur muttered something to himself, then replied, “I was just thinking the same thing: you should go back with my nephew and take your entire family. Your wife can open a shop and earn a little money. Even if it’s just a little, it will be better than what you would earn here. Your children will be able to go to school. You’ll also find work. You could ask one of your neighbors to look after your house and fields while you’re gone, then come back home after earning as much as you need.” He paused a moment and then added, “If you like, I’ll talk to my nephew today. If everything is agreeable, you could go with
him right away, along with your wife and children.”
Bhagate was thrilled. “If you can arrange that, I’ll sing your praises till the day I die!”
To himself, Bam Bahadur thought, What fools I’ve made of these villagers! l’ve introduced as my nephew a man I don’t even know. Who knows who he might be? And that greedy con artist acts as if he really were my nephew. Is Vijay Bahadur even his name? He’s managed to gobble up the tastiest fruits of this village and now he’s after the leftovers. Sometimes I worry that someone might find out – but he acts as cool as ever. He does everything slowly and methodically, keeping his wits about him. The greedy bastard says, “You mustn’t eat quickly when the food is hot or you’ll die of indigestion; you must proceed calmly and use your brain.” If he hadn’t used that cunning brain of his, where would he be getting all his money? My fortunes have turned around since he’s entered my life. Money is the most important thing in this world, it seems. What can’t be done provided you have enough money? Yes, and now if I can send Bhagate and his wife and two daughters away with him...
As he walked along the trail, Bam Bahadur recalled the first day he’d met Vijay Bahadur, about a year ago in Gorakhpur. After picking up his pension and heading home, Bam Bahadur had spent three days in a hotel in the border town of Butwal. By the fourth day, he had spent all his money. With empty pockets, he’d slumped against the big bridge of Butwal when a young man in his twenties approached and started talking to him.
Bam Bahadur was impressed by the youth’s speech and manners. After introducing himself as Vijay Bahadur, he invited Bam Bahadur to a tavern and bought him meat and liquor. After chatting for a long time, Vijay Bahadur proposed his scheme to Bam Bahadur. “If you agree to what I say, we can rake in the money. Understand?”
Five days later, Bam Bahadur returned to his village with his “long-lost nephew.”
Bhagate, walking silently all this while with the goat in tow, suddenly turned to Bam Bahadur. “Your nephew will stay two or three days longer, won’t he?”
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