by Akhilesh
Chacha always found it hard to read from the computer screen so he asked Suryakant, ‘Come on, read it out to me.’
But Suryakant was stubborn, ‘No, Chacha, you do it. Practise reading on a screen.’
‘How can I be sure that I shall be a human being in my next birth as well? If I don’t break free from the cycle of birth and death, I may reappear as a dog, a cat, a bear, a goat, a cow, a camel or an elephant. If computers develop at this frenetic pace, you can rest assured that it will soon be popular among animals too.’ Chacha scanned the words on the laptop screen and after finishing, he said, ‘First of all, you don’t make silly mistakes any more. Now, you use the correct words and know what they mean. Remember, I boxed your ears a few times because you used words without understanding them? Anyway, better late than never.’
‘Chacha, I didn’t ask you to examine my writing. I had hoped you would come up with an opinion.’
‘Fine, here it is. You have written: “Those who have been displaced from history can exact vengeance in this manner”, but I would have preferred to express it like this: to mend history, to protest against one’s exploitation and to advance in one’s fight for one’s rights, this is the right way. Vengeance always leads to reprisal. You can’t repay exploitation with exploitation, or bloodshed with bloodshed. Whatever you do in this world should be motivated by love, not hatred. The foundation of revenge rests upon hatred.’
‘Oh, Chacha, you are making a mountain out of a molehill like a school headmaster! Fine, go through my letter to Ramajor Pandey.’
Chacha began to read:
Respected Pandeyji,
Before I share anything with you, I must tell you that you may not know that the majority of the people in this country are Hindus, divided on the varna system – Brahmin, Khastriya, Vaishya and Shudra. The varna in which one is born, he will die in the same one. It is impossible to change one’s caste. Not only for that person, but for everyone born into his family. The system dictates that those who were born in a Brahmin family are Brahmins and so, your blood relations in India will be Brahmins. I must add that the Brahmins are the top dogs in the varna system. And if knowledge is state and might, the Brahmins have always ruled this country. They have had control over religion, culture, government, code of conduct, science … everything.
You may take pride in the fact that your Baba belonged to India’s brightest varna, and his present descendants also belong to this varna, but during my stay in Gosainganj and the quest I undertook there, I have arrived at the conclusion that Jagdamba Prajapati is most likely your closest blood relative. I should tell you that a Prajapati is a potter, one of the backward castes in the varna system. I also want to tell that a swarm of ‘relatives’ has spawned in Gosainganj. You don’t have to believe any of them. Each person saunters in with a fable about the connection between himself and your grandfather or great-grandfather.
Many of them are not even Brahmins, or Pandeys, but they have made up stories to prove that they were originally Brahmins and Pandeys. Naturally, all of them are suspect. When there are so many claims and counter claims and incredible stories, there is no choice but to doubt them all. It is quite possible that one of them maybe speaking the truth, but my scrutiny says that none of them are genuine. My initial investigations revealed that nobody from any of the households had gone abroad. The truth is that such men are not eager to be your family. They are not at all interested in you – their only interest is in your being an American citizen. It is not only with this village, if you conduct an opinion poll, most Indians, barring a measly few, would like a connection with America.
You visit any passport office, you will find a large crowd, made up mostly of middle or lower-middle class youths. You will see young men from villages and small towns, imploring the employees and middlemen to process their passports quickly, as if they have to catch a flight to America the very next morning. The reality is that most of them won’t be going anywhere. I pondered over this conundrum – in a country which has so much poverty, misery and exploitation, it is natural for men to dream of the paradise that is America. But I have an uncle who is a fascinating person and he said, ‘I don’t agree. There was a time when there was more poverty and backwardness, even then a large part of the middle class lived in wretched conditions, but the people never thought of going to America. Rather, people were disgusted and angered by the tendency. The deplorable state of our country is not the reason for this America mania, but something else.’ But this is Chacha’s view, and he has other interesting things to say.
But to return to the issue – you need not be waylaid by these villagers who swear that they are your relatives. How then do I assert so confidently that the family you are searching for is the household of Jagdamba Kumhar? What factual and definite evidence do I have to establish my claim? I would like to submit humbly that the very concept of ‘definiteness’ is elusive – so elusive that no definite prediction or statement can be made regarding the everlasting perpetuity of even the most vital formulae, equations and definitions. I philosophize perhaps because I cannot say with certainty that Jagdamba Kumhar is your blood relative – not only in India but in the whole wide world. After the demise of your parents and grandfather, Jagdamba Prajapati and his grandsons and granddaughters, great-grandchildren are the only family line of your ancestors.
I don’t have any definite proof except that the face of one of his great-grandchildren resembles your grandfather’s. I morphed and examined the photos of Baba that I have and the pictures of the members of Jagdamba’s family umpteen times and discovered something miraculous, which I will reveal when I meet you. Another proof in favour of Jagdamba Prajapati, whatever sounds proper, is that his grandfather had gone to Faizabad in the latter half of the nineteenth century and never returned to his village again. Jagdamba did not say it was the latter half of the nineteenth century, but he told me there was a terrible famine in the village. His grandfather went to Faizabad in search of livelihood during these terrible times and never returned.
Whatever he told me was based on the account of his father, Balesar. Jagdamba also said that there was a rumour that his untraceable grandfather had travelled to Calcutta from Faizabad. Baba’s journey from Gosainganj to Surinam follows the same route. I want to draw your attention to another fact: during the famine, none of the members of the higher castes, many of whom claim your grandfather as the trailblazer of their clans, had left Gosainganj. None of them went to Faizabad or any other town nearby in search of work, and perhaps they did not need to. Most of the men who left the village, or were dislocated, belonged to backward or untouchable castes. Chamar, Teli, Yadav, Kumhar, Dhobi, Nai, Kevat – there is not a single household in these castes from which at least one member had not been compelled to quit the village in search of a job.
Now I would like to broach the most important concern. The foremost dilemma is that you are a Brahmin and your sub-caste is Pandey. Jagdamba Prajapati is from the Kumhar caste. The riddle is not easy to solve because in the process of resolution, there is the possibility of unpleasant facts surfacing, difficult for both you and Jagdamba Prajapati to stomach. It is also possible that this story may head towards illicit relations or sexual exploitations. These may not bother you as you live in America, but the future of Jagdamba and his family would be jeopardized. Therefore, I have not steered my search in this direction. I beg your forgiveness for the lapse. I also beg to be excused for not reuniting you with your family as you had expected. Obviously, how can a close kin of a Brahmin belong to the potter caste? If the potter is the product of an illegitimate relationship, why should anyone embrace him, and seek a future and heir in him?
Through various means, from various vantage points, I tried really hard to trace your roots in the Brahmin community, but I was unable to locate them. If Jagdamba is the child from an illicit relationship, or if some man from the Prajapati family had a physical relationship with some woman of your family, in both conditions, your Baba’s family,
its branches and shoots and houses should be there in Gosainganj. Regretfully, I have not been successful in pinning it down so far.
Right now, the only truth or semi-truth I possess is that the features of Jagdamba Prajapati’s great-grandson resemble your Baba’s strongly, and there are other matching physical characteristics as well. I would also like to remind you that you’d said your Baba was an expert in making clay toys. On the basis of this, it is probable that Jagdamba’s family is your closest link. If you still have any doubts, you can take a DNA test for confirmation.
I hope you will issue directions for the next step.
Yours sincerely,
Suryakant
‘You write well,’ Chacha said, after finishing reading.
Suryakant replied, ‘Thank you, Chacha! Should I put in anything else?’
Chacha grew thoughtful for a moment and then said, ‘You can ask Pandeyji if his appetite is as huge as Jagdamba’s, and if he farts equally explosively. I believe this information will be a significant link in our hunt for Pandey’s forefathers.’
Chacha’s advice unsettled Suryakant so much that he sent the mail without wasting a second. The reply he received was as follows:
Dear Suryakant,
I hope you will correct your opinion that I have no idea of the caste system. I may have arrived from America, but I was born in Surinam and I am a Hindu. We Indians of Surinam are no less Indian. We are Hindus and are attached deeply to our religion and culture. Baba Tulsidas’s Ramayana dwells in our hearts. Ram, Krishna and Shankar exist in each molecule of ours. I would like to inform you that the Indians of Surinam call this country ‘Srinam’, ‘Sri Ram’ or ‘Sri Ram Dham’. There is not a single Hindu in that nation who does not revere Lord Ram. There also the Ram Lila is staged for an entire month before Dussehra. Worships and propitiations are held every day and there are priests as well. And then there are trees – the products of which are used in worship in every home – mango, banana, coconut and the bamboo. Subsequently, I want to let you know that I am a Hindu, an Indian and I am quite proud of it. And I am also proud of the fact that I am a Brahmin. Being a Brahmin is being closest to God. The noble fortune of being born in a Brahmin family is the consequence of the virtues of the past births.
However, the Arya Samaj has done a lot to eradicate caste discriminations in Surinam. They have protested against idol worship as well but the sanatan dharam cannot be swayed by such gusts. At the same time, our religion in Surinam is not so cruel as not to regard non-Brahmin people as low or untouchable. I mean to say that I deem myself lofty by being a Brahmin, but if someone is a non-Brahmin, I am not so mean that I should not consider him a human being – it does not happen with the Surinam Hindus. So, the caste Jagdamba Prajapati belongs to, what he is, or the fact that he is not a Brahmin does not make him any less important to me. Moreover, I have stayed in America for decades where such things do not matter.
But I shall come to the basic issue: Jagdamba Prajapati. It does not bother me whether Jagdamba Prajapati is my closest relative and that he belongs to the backward caste of the potters. It is not a setback for me, but for you. You must substantiate how a kumhar can be related to a Brahmin. If caste is determined by birth, and if the Brahmins are the brightest flame of the Creator, how did a Brahmin become a kumhar? If you can establish this with solid arguments and proofs, believe me, I shall not delay a moment in owning Jagdamba Prajapati. I am sentimental about every Indian, every Hindu, irrespective of caste.
There are caste distinctions among the Hindus of Surinam also, but there is no discrimination. Perhaps you are not aware that several members of the lower castes have been educated and become priests. The barber who used to shave Baba? One of his sons grew up to join the priestly vocation. I am not at all upset by the fact that my closest kin in this country – my clan brothers – are not Brahmins but are potters at present. I shall rush with you to visit them. But you have to expound your conclusions in such a manner that I should be convinced that it is the one and only credible truth.
I am reaching Lucknow on 12 June. Come meet me. We shall sit together like on the previous occasion – I, you and Bahugunaji.
Affectionately,
Ramajor Pandey
21
THE WANING MOON OR THE PARED SUN
Chacha unlocked the door and entered his part of the house in Manas Vihar, his sanctuary and castle, with Suryakant. Even if the world had snubbed Chacha, even if Chachi and the children had cast him out, this space held him close every time. It was a bastion because the glamour of the contemporary world, technological progress, its tints and other facets wilted as they entered, gasping for breath.
‘If you leave a house by itself, it doesn’t appear cheerful when you return. My mat, my surahi, lantern, books, kitchen and other objects – look at them! They are sprawled and look gloomy, woeful, alien.’ Chacha told Suryakant, as he reclined on the mat, ‘Come, lie by my side, you must be tired from the trip.’
Suryakant did not hear him. He was on his mobile phone, informing the family about his return from Gosainganj. ‘Shibbu, tell everyone at home and at Nupoor’s that I have come back. I will leave for Lucknow in a couple of days.’
‘Bhaiya, what’s the hurry?’
‘I have a meeting with Pandeyji on 12 June.’
‘Bhaiya, beg your Pandeyji to take me to America when he goes back.’
‘Stay here, Shibbu – one’s hometown is the best,’ Suryakant said, deflecting the topic.
‘This is not a country, but hell. Corruption is its national identity … I can get a job only after paying five lakh rupees as a bribe. Even washermen, barbers and plumbers earn many times more in America than I do.’
‘Corruption is a profitable negotiation for you,’ Suryakant wanted to say, but he was unwilling to hurt him after being reunited after a long gap. So he simply stated, ‘At least you have a proper job. Ma, Pitaji, Dadi are here, they are sick and old. Why should you go to America?’
‘To rake in the moolah! I’m not an engineer, merely a diploma holder. But if you manage my passage to America, these BTech types won’t be able to match up to me. Bhaiya, not only mine, but my children’s, Kamana’s – everyone’s life will change. I’ll take Gaurav with me as well.’ His voice broke, ‘You have reunited with your younger brother after so many years. But in the meanwhile, I have had to grow up, finish my studies and stuggle alone and you’ve never taken any responsibility towards me. You got a job, you got married; you can repay all that you owe me in this single act – send me there.’
‘Fine, let me see,’ he said, trying to to drop the subject.
Suryakant felt thirsty after putting the mobile in the pocket. His throat was dry, ‘Chacha, I want a glass of water.’
‘Oh! The water in the surahi must be fusty.’ Chacha said, ‘I’ll change it. The water will get cool soon.’
‘I’ll be dead by then.’
‘Nobody dies so fast,’ Chacha said, putting the surahi under the tap.
‘Chacha, with your permission, I’ll get two bottles of cold water from Chachi’s fridge.’
Chacha placed some batashas on a plate and said, ‘Instead of bringing the bottles here, go to her house. You’ll get water, glasses and everything tastefully set in a tray!’
‘Chacha, it looks you mind my going over!’
‘Wait until I come back.’ Chacha picked up the bucket, walked out and returned a short while later. He held a bucket full of water in his left hand and a bag containing bananas, fries, samosas and papaya in the right. ‘This well water is not in any way inferior to fridge water. Take what you like.’ He took out the fruits and the snacks from the bag and started putting them on a large plate.
Suryakant guzzled the water first. His intense thirst made him ignore whether the well water was drinkable. He downed two glasses, and perhaps because of his thirst or because of the taste of the minerals, he felt it was cool and sweet like manna. When he extended his hand to the plate to pick up something to ea
t, his phone rang.
Chacha muttered, ‘This bloody mobile is nothing but a pest – a slayer of peace and joy!’
‘Yes, Nupoor?’
‘Bhaiya, I heard you’re going to Lucknow soon. Why don’t you stay for a couple of days?’ Nupoor asked.
‘I really want to, but it isn’t possible. I must be in Lucknow on 12 June.’
‘Bhaiya, you must come to dinner tonight. I have invited Shibbu and Kamana also.’
‘Who else have you called?’
‘Whoever you’d like me to call.’
‘Chacha is with me.’
‘Give him the phone.
Chacha accepted the invitation on the phone and added, ‘This devil will partake of the food at you misers’ home. Thanks.’ He handed the mobile phone back to Suryakant and started slicing the papaya. ‘Have some of this.’
‘No, Chacha, this is enough. I want to go home now, everybody must be waiting.’
‘In such harsh heat? The sun is right overhead. Let it get cooler, leave in the evening.’
The wordsmith has called me Chacha everywhere, but he has not revealed my name. Maybe this is just callousness, or maybe there is a purpose behind this artifice. Anyway, it does not bother me, neither am I here to complain. The motive behind putting this spanner in the works – this intervention – is that if the Creator, the master who holds your strings, is unfair, you must beseech him for justice. I can only make an appeal; at the most I’ll whine a little. I am not a famous person that I should instantly lodge a defamation suit. As a common man, I have only two objectives. Number one: I should tell you that the manner in which the author has depicted me is not the complete truth. Number two: I must clarify who I really am.
The novelist has tried to establish, in every possible way, that I am anti-modernity and to prove that I am a capricious man – this is not true. However, it is a fact that once upon a time, I wanted time to stand still in the period before October 1984. Balwant Kaur left this town, swearing never to return. The entire world, not only this town, turned desolate and alien … I wanted to lose myself in the memories of Balwant Kaur, seeking to survive on those reminiscences. How interesting it is that life moved on, new wonders surfaced every day but I stayed still in time, rejecting the march of time. But this cursed picture resembled Balwant Kaur exactly and I plunged into the time before 1984, crashing into an age that comprised the opening years for today’s world.