Exile

by Akhilesh

  She sighed every time she looked at her ears in the mirror. Her ears had been pierced when she had been tonsured as a child in Vindhyachal. Her mother had stuck neem twigs in the holes to prevent them from filling up, but now they were getting bigger and bigger. One day, she noticed dark spots under her eyes and grey hair on her head. And the day two of her teeth broke, she stopped looking at herself in the mirror. It was said that she had not looked at herself in a mirror for thirty years.

  She might not have seen her reflection, but how could she escape it while she had eyes! Her eyes saw that one day the skin on her arms, neck and ankles had gone slack. It grew so loose that a child could hold it in their fist. Unable to tolerate the decay of her body, she went into shock – she retired into darkness and loneliness. She made up the excuse of feeling acutely cold. Regardless of the season, she wore a full-sleeve garment or a shawl. She was always careful that her sari did not go above her ankles. She bathed with the lights off and slept in total darkness. Still, she would often start awake and cover her arms and ankles.

  However, with which veil could she conceal her face? Maybe the thought of her face did not torment her at all because she had not seen it for thirty years. But even if she had not seen it, she could feel it a little. When she slid her hands over her face while bathing, she felt as if her palm was skimming over cracks. As if it was passing over spongy worms. Similarly, she had not seen her own hair in the mirror for thirty years but when she used a comb, a few strands broke and caught in the teeth of the comb, revealing what her hair had turned into.

  The most troublesome issue was that she suspected her height had reduced although she did not really believe it. The human body grows but stops at one point – this much she knew. But that a human could shrink was incredible! However, what could she do about her shadow that she felt had shrunk by the width of her palm compared to her youth! She would console herself and think that it was nothing but the play of sun and shadows. But whenever her eyes fell on her shadow, she shivered. She had also heard that a person’s shadow became invisible at the moment of their death. She would wonder if a person’s shadow went on reducing and then finally vanished one day when they died. The apprehension that she was inching towards death worried her, but the illusion that maybe she had not really shrunk but that it was only her shadow that had shortened buoyed her. It was quite possible that in old age a person’s shadow broke free and did its own thing.

  As of now, the refusal to stand in front of the mirror for three decades had lent her an armour. It helped her observe the world and the human business with a seer’s cynicism. But all her poise collapsed when she saw herself in the mirror after thirty years. She was sitting on the rooftop, wetting her laiya in a cup of tea and nibbling, when an excruciating pain rose in her belly. She felt as if her stomach would burst, and cried out. The agony was intense. Unable to endure it, she fell down with a thud. Water was sprinkled on her face. She moaned. Shibbu rushed to the doctor’s. Awadh Narayan, her daughter-in-law and Kamana kept watch. They lifted and laid her on Shibbu and Kamana’s large, comfortable bed.

  She was brought to this room because it was closest to her point of collapse. Secondly, the bedstead and the mattress were better in this room. Thirdly, in spite of the power cut, it was comparatively cool. But they did not pay attention to the two facts because they did not consider them important. They were unaware that the bed in which Dadi had been made to lie down had a dressing table opposite it with a large mirror. Shibbu and Kamana used the mirror for two purposes. One, they used it to inspect their features; second, during sex, they observed their different styles and activities in it. Dadi lay inert in the bed before the mirror.

  The doctor gave her an injection and wrote a prescription. Her pain diminished and she fell asleep. After two hours, she woke up, and she was alone in the room. She felt better and sat up in bed and she was thunderstruck! At first, she was frightened to see a woman who was not a woman, but a copious network of nerves and wrinkles. When she calmed down, she realized that it was her own reflection, and then she wanted to scream but no sound came out of her mouth. God knows what she did, but when Kamana arrived into the room to charge her mobile phone, she did not find Dadi on the bed, but cowering in a corner of the room. She had blindfolded herself with one of Kamana’s dupattas. It was from this day that Dadi’s health was on the brink. However, she usually recuperated quickly.

  14

  PANACEA

  ‘Do you remember the Patang Wala Hata opposite Kankali tents in Golaghat?’ When Suryakant nodded, Ma said, ‘Manas Nagar Colony has been constructed behind it. House number sixteen is your Chacha’s.’

  Ma gave the directions so that the son would get it right. Another possibility was that mother’s memory had accessed Manas Nagar Colony through Kankaliyon Ka Dera and the Patang Wala Hata across. It is true that after a particular age we attain and process new things, places and relations – new information – only through the familiar ones.

  When Suryakant lived here, the Kankali Dera was located ahead of the bus stand, where local inhabitation ended. It is not known how the name Kankali came to be attributed to the nomadic tribes here. Perhaps they were called ‘kangal’ because of their penniless state, but then the word changed to ‘kankali’ for phonetic convenience. Or maybe it was because their bodies were bereft of flesh, and their rib cages were prominently visible, as in a skeleton or ‘kankali’. Whatever the case, they used to go around the city, stay for a few days and then move on. In the meanwhile, they performed acrobatics, put up bear shows, traded ‘sanda’ oil to treat impotency, sang and danced.

  Suryakant had not forgotten that the townspeople harboured certain ideas regarding the Kankalis. For example, they did not have an institution like the family; any man and any woman could have a physical relationship; they ate dog’s meat; they reconnoitred localities during the day and became thieves at night; they stayed in a town for a few days, committed crimes and ran away. It was because of the last two opinions that the police showered lathis on them whenever an incident took place in town.

  However, the Golaghat Kankalis had taken to a different lifestyle and had settled down. In the old days, whenever Chacha and the nephew passed by the road, their eyes were automatically drawn to them. They manufactured colourful bamboo objects, abandoning their traditional profession of performing for a crowd. They made dolchis, dauris, hand fans, mauni, jhabes and other objects like these. Suryakant had purchased a hand fan many times from them. Chacha had acquired a bow for Suryakant from Golaghat, but he never learnt the art of archery. He would pull the string and shoot but the arrow would plop down at his feet. The nephew had learnt several new words after watching Ram Lila, the meanings of which he did not know, as usual. When he pulled the bowstring, he would say he was pulling the quiver. However, he used to call a bow a bow.

  Suryakant was as terrible at flying kites as he was at archery, but Chacha was a maverick. He preferred to loot a severed kite than fly it. He would leap at the severed kite and hand it to Chacha. He would be there holding the spool of the string while Chacha worked hard to bring down other kites. Sometimes both of them went to the Patang Wala Hata, situated on a mound near the river, to fly kites. The river looked picturesque from there. Unlike now when rivers and roads are littered with polythene bags, the river still had plenty of water, neither was it filthy. The trousers worn by Chacha were also worn later by Suryakant, and when they were scuffed at the hip, Ma sewed a bag from them. Awadh Narayan used to come home with vegetables in this bag. Grocery, peanuts, samosas, etc., were supplied in paper bags. Often, shopkeepers wrapped red chilli, fenugreek, cumin, pepper in paper. The kite makers at Patangwala Hata also crafted paper bags.

  The boys from the town would throng the place to fly kites on Makar Sankranti. It was like a fair on the river bank. Hundreds of people could be seen taking dips in the river and then raising their heads out of water. On the knoll above, the boys painted the sky with their colourful kites.

  S
uryakant got out of the house with the intention of walking around town first and then going to visit Chacha. But he was bothered by the idea of coming across acquaintances at every step, eager to discover the reason for his long absence from town. To avoid this, he first decided not to go to town, but immediately rejected the thought and resolved to just face it, come what may! However, something unexpected happened – as soon as he stepped on the road outside, he was perplexed. He found it hard to decide which route to take. In which direction should he go? As a possible solution, he headed straight ahead.

  As he walked, he glanced on each side, eager to find out what changes had taken place during his absence. Sometimes he felt that this small town of his had changed a lot. At other times, he felt that there had been no change at all. When he watched closely, he saw that shops had mushroomed. Hawkers sold their wares in front of the shops, in carts or on footpaths. When he looked around carefully, he found that the town was painted with advertisements for mobile phones. These enormous advertisements grinned at the front and back of schools, courts, hospitals, post offices, the railway station, the bus stand, etc. If there was something that could challenge them, it was the aerated drinks. Neither of these appeared inferior and neither demonstrated the zest of victory or a sense of defeat or contest as if they were dancers from the same troupe. They pirouetted and waltzed together. He felt that the town had changed.

  Finally, he reached where the block office, the court and the school were located. They had not altered at all. The only difference was that it appeared that someone had coated them with dust and grime. A dated greyness gasped there. Oily boards, a few lawyers, a few munshis, a few employees and numerous anxious men could be seen in the block office, walking about in the manner he had seen here in his childhood.

  The scene was the same at the police station. From the road, one could see the SHO sitting on a chair under a peepul tree. A few criminals squatted in front of him, and a couple of policemen stood by. Confiscated trucks, buses and autos lay outside the police station. There were many more vehicles compared to the days of his youth, when there was only an assortment of two-wheelers and cars of different models. The atmosphere in the school too was just the same. It was he who had aged. It was interesting to see that the children still wore the same uniform that Chacha and he used to. He walked into the school and wandered around. The children were new and the teachers too – there were several older staff there but nobody recognized him.

  When he walked out of the gate, he felt he had stepped out of the din and bustle into a desolate world. There was a crowd where he stood, and yet somehow he was alone. He had an urge to sit down. Comrade Komal’s tea shop – where he read newspapers in the past and learnt new words the meanings of which he had not the foggiest idea – would be a good choice.

  Benches, ramshackle tables and an oven that glowed red because of Comrade Komal’s vigorous fanning, and where the water in the kettle boiled perpetually, were the hallmarks of his shop, but a property agent’s office now occupied its place. Suryakant met the agent and asked, ‘This used to be Comrade Komal’s shop?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘I want to know where Comrade is these days.’

  ‘With his maker above.’ The dealer waved his hands and said, ‘He passed away a few years ago.’

  Suryakant was shocked and asked, ‘Are you from his family?’

  The dealer glared at him. ‘Do I look like I’m from the Teli caste to you?’

  ‘I don’t understand!’

  ‘You’re wasting my time,’ he muttered. ‘Making a Saryuparin Brahmin a Teli!’

  Suryakant was not hurt by the agent’s muttering because he did not actually hear it. Comrade Komal occupied his thoughts. His ears picked up the sound of tea glasses tinkling. He could hear people arguing at Comrade’s shop, saying words like ‘capitalism’, ‘socialism’, ‘dictatorship’ and ‘imperialism’. He could see all the newspapers at Comrade’s shop at once and the very next moment, he felt that many of them were fluttering open in the wind. Printed letters wriggled out and flew like flies. Innumerable flies hovering in air. He covered his face with his palms, and felt it was not his face but a wooden block between his palms. He suddenly longed to see Chacha as soon as possible. It was not a difficult wish to fulfil – Chacha’s house, Golaghat, was not very far.

  Chacha lost his wits once again when he beheld Chachi during the jaimala ritual. She looked just like Balwant Kaur, and he lapsed back into his lamentations for his lost love. On the one hand, he was aggrieved by the loss of Balwant Kaur, and on the other, he was delighted he had discovered her again! He also felt he was getting married not to Chachi but to Balwant Kaur. Chachi read the love in his eyes and was filled with an intense sense of pride.

  Chacha did not stop here. When he was seated on the stage with Chachi, instead of looking at the hosts and the baratis, he kept turning to gaze at Chachi. Even during the minute-long power cut in the middle of the ceremony, Chachi sensed that Chacha’s eyes were glued to her face. He paid special attention to Chachi during dinner, and was oblivious to the food, his relatives joining him and even his nephew. Chachi took note of each action of his and was delighted. The rest of the wedding rituals were conducted after midnight but Chacha’s fascination remained constant. When the seven ambulations around the fire were completed, Chacha followed Chachi, but Chachi knew that it didn’t matter that he was looking at her back – he could only imagine her face. Similarly, in the game newly-weds play to grab cowries in a bucket full of water, Chacha tried to hold Chachi’s face in the water and not the cowry. Chachi’s face trembled and her eyelashes dipped, weighed down by God knows what mysterious sentiment!

  At the time of the bidai, when Chachi embraced members of her family and cried, their hearts were overwhelmed, and in an attempt to console her, they themselves broke down. Chacha made a silent promise, ‘My Balwant Kaur, I’ll give you every pleasure!’ Chacha fulfilled his promise – so well that everyone who knew them cited his example and said, ‘Every husband should be like him.’

  Chacha was head over heels in love with Chachi, and passionately fond of his children. As soon as Chachi wanted a bigger fridge, Chacha bought one during a festival exchange offer. Chacha, Chachi and the children would comb the market during those days, and the washing machine, the large-screen TV, the vacuum cleaner, the inverter, the double bed and a supple sofa set were acquired at different festivals. And in one of the bumper offers on Diwali, a car was acquired too.

  Chacha’s family was considered the pioneer of modernity and progress in their little community in Sultanpur, because at a time when sweets were bought only for guests or as gifts, packets of sweets came to Chacha’s house at least twice a month. Despite the fact that the surroundings in which he had grown up, only jalebi or imarati was enjoyed with one’s own money. Moreover, by the time his relatives rose to the level of samosa, tikki, golgappa, or at their fanciest, dosa or chola bhatura, Chachi had become an expert at making fancy dishes such as chow mien, Manchurian, fried rice, etc. Later, when she purchased a microwave oven with the offer of a free tea set during Dhanteras, newer recipes started garnishing the dining table.

  When the house was constructed at Manas Nagar Colony, Chachi paid particular attention to the interiors. From the paint to the curtains, furniture, bed sheets and the garden – Chachi’s stamp was everywhere. Her house was so exquisite that relatives brought their acquaintances to her for a visit. Chachi surprised such visitors by discussing the finer points of interior decoration with them. One of Chacha and Chachi’s habits astounded the entire town – his family began to drive to Lucknow in their car once every fortnight!

  They would jump in the car on a holiday and drive to Lucknow, where they spent the day, and after enjoying a film that had just released, they returned at night. The next day, Chachi would display her purchases to the neighbours. Chachi was the first female from her community to be trained at Gupta Motor Driving Training School and drive a car. She also had the
distinction of being the first woman from the town to see the Big Bazaar at the Saharaganj Mall in Lucknow. When she described the grandeur of the Saharaganj Mall and the wide assortment of things available at Big Bazaar, they were seized by an inferiority complex. Later, she selected four ladies for a tour of Lucknow, driving the car herself.

  While in Lucknow, Chacha often told Chachi and the children, ‘Suryakant also lives in Lucknow.’

  When he first mentioned this, the children inquired, ‘Who is Suryakant?’

  Chacha laughed and said, ‘He is my nephew, but you can consider him my brother.’ He added, ‘The poor fellow had to leave the house – how horribly cold that night was!’

  Chacha yearned to see Suryakant but was thwarted each time because he came to Lucknow on holidays, when Suryakant’s office was closed. He was wary of going to his house because he had heard that Gauri did not want to see even the dead faces of her in-laws.

  However, Chacha made up his mind one day and thought, I’ll go anyway – if Suryakant opens the door, it is fine. If his wife opens the door, I’ll come back at once. He dropped his family at the Saharaganj Mall and drove to Suryakant’s house and rang the doorbell. Gauri opened the door.

  Gauri felt that the man looked familiar. She folded her hands in a greeting and realized that it was Chacha. He looked a little differet because his hair had thinned. She said, ‘Hello Chachaji! Please come in.’

  Chacha was astonished at her politeness, and he walked in feeling surprised. ‘Suryakant is not at home?’ he asked.