The Calcutta Chromosome

by Amitav Gosh

  There was a tremor in the image and the man's torso vanished. Now only his head remained, vastly enlarged, much larger than lifesize, blown up to the scale of a piece of monumental statuary.

  'Guess you couldn't bear to look at my body any more,' said the man, laughing again.

  Now Antar could see the maggots in his hair; the sight was so grotesque that he reached for the control panel and tilted the head away. But then, as the flat cross-section of the neck hove slowly into view, he discovered that Ava had done such a realistic job of severing the head that every artery and vein was clearly visible. He could see the throbbing capillaries; even the directional flow of the blood was reproduced, in motion, so that the neck looked as though it were spouting gore.

  Antar choked: the head was startlingly like a vision that often recurred in his worst nightmares; an image from a medieval painting he had once seen in a European museum, a picture of a beheaded saint, holding his own dripping head nonchalantly under his arm, as though it were a fresh-picked cabbage.

  The man began to shout as his head tilted further and further back.

  'Put me down, you bastard,' he shouted. 'Look me in the eye.'

  Antar tilted the image again, with a signal, and the red glaring eyes fastened upon him. 'So you want to know what happened to Murugan?' he said.

  'Yes,' said Antar.

  The man erupted into another burst of manic laughter. 'Let me ask you again,' he said. 'Are you quite sure?'

  Chapter 43

  IT WAS RAINING HARD when they got down to the pillared portico of the tumbledown old mansion. The neon lamps on Robinson Street were glowing fuzzily greenish, like aquarium lights. Urmila and Sonali drew their saris over their heads as they stood under the portico, looking into the pouring rain. Murugan started down the gravelled driveway at a run. At the gate he stopped to look back at the two women, who were still waiting uncertainly under the portico.

  'Come on,' he shouted, at the top of his voice, urging them on. 'Let's move it, let's go.'

  His voice came back to the portico disembodied, buffeted by the wind, and softened by the rain. Urmila gave Sonali's arm a tug and they began to run, hesitantly at first, and then faster, following Murugan as he sprinted down the road, towards the entrance of number eight.

  Turning blindly through the gate of Mrs Aratounian's building Murugan ran straight into something that was standing in the narrow driveway. He picked himself up and saw that two bamboo pushcarts were standing in the driveway, blocking the entrance. Tents of translucent tarpaulin rose out of them, stretched tight over jumbled heaps of objects.

  He was rubbing his knees, swearing, when Sonali and Urmila caught up. Urmila edged quickly past the carts, made her way to the entrance and started towards the lift. Halfway through the dimly lit hall she noticed two men in lungis and vests, squatting by the staircase, smoking biris. Standing beside them was a large piece of furniture, a heavy mahogany sideboard.

  Urmila stopped dead, shifting her gaze from the two men to the sideboard and back again. The men stared back in unruffled calm, the biri-smoke rising above them in widening spirals.

  Sonali came to a halt beside her: 'What's the matter?'

  'That's Mrs Aratounian's,' said Urmila, pointing at the sideboard. 'She used to have it in her dining room. I remember it.'

  'You're right,' said Murugan. 'I saw it there last night.'

  Speaking to the two men in Hindi, Urmila said: 'Where did you get that?'

  One of the men flicked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing up the staircase. A moment later they heard a loud clatter, followed by shouts and grunts. Three barebodied men came around the bend in the stairs carrying a huge chintz-printed sofa.

  'Hey!' said Murugan. 'That's Mrs Aratounian's too; I was sitting on it last night, watching TV.'

  Raising her voice, Urmila said: 'What's happening?'

  One of the men took aim with the butt of his biri and flicked it away, into a corner. Then he rose unhurriedly to his feet, and stretched. 'Someone's leaving,' he said with a yawn, putting his shoulder to the sideboard. 'And we're carrying away the furniture.'

  'Who's leaving?' Urmila said.

  The man shrugged and lowered his shoulder to the sideboard. 'How am I to know?'

  Urmila went running over to the lift and opened the door, motioning to Murugan and Sonali to follow. They squeezed in beside her and she pressed the button for the fourth floor. None of them said a word as the ancient lift ascended slowly upwards through the hollow centre of the staircase.

  The lift came to a halt and Urmila stepped out. Her eyes fell on Mrs Aratounian's door and she froze.

  The door was wide open, held in place by a brick. Light was pouring out of the flat, gilding the scarred, dusty planks of the landing. On the wall beside the door where the nameplates had once hung, there were now two discoloured rectangular spots.

  Their eyes were drawn irresistibly past the door. The hall beyond was empty; the clutter and the brio-a-brae were gone. The walls were absolutely bare. As they stood there staring, two men came out with jute sacks slung over their shoulders: both were full to bursting.

  Murugan was the first to move. Running through the empty drawing room he darted into the room he had slept in the night before. Urmila followed, walking as though in a trance, with Sonali close behind her.

  A moment later a howl echoed out of Murugan's room: 'My things are all gone. Everything: my laptop, my clothes, my Vuitton suitcase, everything…' Murugan came running back, wild-eyed: 'Even the bed and the mosquito net are gone – everything…'

  Footsteps sounded somewhere behind them, along the corridor that led to the kitchen. All three of them turned in unison and found themselves facing a thin, bespectacled man, in a fraying shirt and trousers. He had a pencil behind his ear, and he was holding a clipboard and a sheaf of stapled papers in one hand. In the other he had a fistful of peanuts.

  He glared at them, his eyes hugely enlarged by his spectacles. 'Who are you?' he said, with an uncomprehending blink. 'What are you doing here?'

  'Who are you?' snapped Urmila. 'And what are you doing in Mrs Aratounian's flat?'

  The man stiffened and a frown appeared on his forehead. His eyes flickered angrily from Urmila's face to Murugan's. Then he looked at Sonali and suddenly his face went slack. His arm rose slowly upwards, trembling, scattering peanuts on the floor. His mouth dropped open and his eyes grew larger, spilling out of the rims of his spectacles.

  'Why,' he stammered, stabbing his index finger in her direction. 'Why, but you… you are… you are Sonali Oas.'

  Sonali gave him a nod and a distant smile. He swallowed convulsively, his Adam's apple bobbing like a fisherman's float.

  'Do you know who she is?' he said to the others, spluttering in excitement, spraying a fine plume of spit in their direction. 'She is Sonali Oas… the great actress… I never dreamed… '

  He was hopping on his toes now, his face flushed with pleasure and excitement.

  'Oh, madame,' he said to Sonali, 'we see your films at least twice every year at the Bansdroni Film Society. At my insistence, if I may say so – I am treasurer, co-founder and member-secretary. You can ask anyone in Bansdroni and they'll tell you: Bolai-da won't let a year go by without showing each of Sonali Das's films at least twice. Once there was even an impeachment motion on this score, but…'

  He paused, at a loss for words, his eyes filling with tears. 'Oh Madame Sonali,' he said, 'for me you are greater than Anna Magnani in Open City, greater than Garbo in Camille, greater even than… '

  He swallowed as though gathering his courage. 'Yes/ he said, with an air of recklessness. 'I will say it, why not? Greater even than the incomparable Madhabi in Charulata.'

  Sonali gave him an embarrassed smile.

  Murugan could contain his impatience no longer. 'Can we leave this fan-club stuff till later?' he exploded, shaking a fist.

  The man flinched, and knocked his knuckles on his skull, as though to awaken himself from a dream. 'I am sorry,' h
e said. 'I should not permit myself to become so excited.' Urmila patted him gently on the shoulder.

  'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'You are quite right about Sonali-di. But at the moment we have something else on our minds. We came here to see Mrs Aratounian. Can you tell us where she is?'

  'Mrs Aratounian?' the bespectacled man said dreamily, 'his eyes drifting back to Sonali. 'She has gone.'

  'Gone where?' said Murugan.

  'Just gone.' The man shrugged, losing interest in the conversation. Suddenly a thought struck him and he turned to Sonali, his face brightening. 'Perhaps you will consent to make an appearance at our Society?' he said. 'Is it possible, madame?'

  Sonali answered with a practised gesture that indicated neither confirmation nor disavowal.

  Murugan took hold of the man's arm and shook it, hard. 'Later!' he shouted. 'You can talk about that later. First tell us, where's Mrs Aratounian? And where's her stuff – her furniture, and plants and everything? And my stuff – my suitcase, laptop and all the rest?'

  The man flicked Murugan's fingers off his arm with a fastidious sniff. 'By the way,' he said. 'There is no need to raise your voice.'

  'Sorry,' said Murugan. 'I just wanted to get a grip on your attention before it escaped again. As I was saying: where is everything – my things, her things?'

  The man gave him a look of puzzled enquiry, spectacles glinting. 'Don't you know?' he said. 'She sold everything. To the New Russell Exchange. That is why I am here: I am the head clerk in charge of collections and evaluations.'

  'But it was all here this morning,' Murugan cried breathlessly. 'I mean, I stayed here last night. Everything was here when I went out this morning. She couldn't have sold it all today.'

  The clerk gave him a pitying smile. 'Of course not,' he said. 'Such a sale cannot be arranged in a day' The legal formalities alone… there is the registration of sale to consider and the affidavits and the stamp duty.'

  He thrust his clipboard in Murugan's direction. 'Here, look,' he said, pointing with his pencil. 'This is the contract.'

  Peering over his shoulder, Murugan and Urmila found themselves looking at a carbon copy of a long typewritten document. The letterhead said New Russell Exchange, Auctioneers and Valuers. The margin of each page was covered with a patchwork of legal stamps, initials and signatures.

  The clerk hummed as he flipped through the document. He stopped at the end, with a triumphant cry. 'Here,' he said. 'Do you see? The contract was signed and sealed exactly a year ago, to the day. Mrs Aratounian sold everything on these premises on an as-is-where-is basis, subject to the stipulation that collection would occur exactly a year later.'

  He flipped the pages back and tapped on the document with the rubberized butt of his pencil.

  'Everything is accounted for in this list,' he said. 'Mrs Aratounian personally showed me the location of every item on that list, this morning. Everything in this flat was entered here at the time of evaluation, just before the flat was sold.'

  Urmila gave a disbelieving cry: 'The flat was sold!'

  'Yes,' said the clerk. 'The new owners will be taking possession today.'

  Murugan stared at him, flabbergasted. 'But,' he began, 'but my things can't be on that list: I wasn't even here.'

  The clerk directed a glance of enquiry at Murugan. 'Are you attempting to establish a claim to certain articles?' he said. 'I should inform you that according to this contract we have an absolute legal right to remove everything on these premises.'

  'I'm not attempting to claim anything,' said Murugan. 'I just want to know what happened to my things.'

  'What were they?' said the clerk. 'Can you describe them?'

  Murugan nodded: 'A suitcase, a laptop – that kind of stuff.'

  The clerk ran his pencil through the list, humming to himself. 'Here!' he said, pointing to a line. 'Suitcase, leather, plus miscellaneous travel articles and imported electronic equipment.'

  Murugan fell silent, staring at the clipboard, shaking his head in incomprehension. 'But this is insane,' he said. 'I mean – being here today wasn't even a glimmer in my eye a year ago.'

  The clerk handed Murugan the clipboard and wandered off in Sonali's direction. He produced a piece of paper from his trouser pocket and handed it to her. 'Please, madame,' he said, 'if you could just give me your autograph… just to show the society… '

  Sonali took the paper and the proffered pencil. She scribbled her name and handed the paper back. He received it with both hands, cupping it reverently between his palms. 'You do not know what this means to me,' he breathed, 'two famous people in one day – it is more than I could ever have imagined.'

  Murugan reappeared, thrusting himself between them. 'I have another question for you,' he said. 'Did Mrs Aratounian leave any papers behind? Any Xeroxes, old newspaper cuttings, anything?'

  The clerk cocked his head, regarding Murugan with a puzzled frown. 'It is interesting that you ask,' he said. 'Usually when we clear out a flat there's a lot of waste paper lying around. But here there was nothing. No newspapers, old books, nothing. I looked because I wanted to put these in some paper.' Unfurling his fist he showed them his last remaining peanuts. 'But I couldn't find a single bit of paper in the whole house. That is why for Madame's autograph once again I had to use the paper that Mrs Aratounian gave me just before she left.'

  'What paper?' said Murugan.

  The clerk parted his hands slowly to reveal the slip of paper that Sonali had just autographed.

  'When did Mrs Aratounian give you that?' Murugan demanded. 'And why?'

  'She said if anyone came here to tell them… '

  'Tell them what?'

  The clerk squinted at the little slip. 'That she was going to catch a train at eight thirty,' he said. 'To Renupur, from Sealdah.'

  'What!' cried Murugan. 'Quick: what time is it now?' Grabbing the clerk's wrist, Urmila looked at his watch. 'Seven forty-five,' she said. 'We might just get there in time, if we find a taxi right away.'

  She dropped the clerk's hand and said: 'Why didn't you tell us this before?'

  'I didn't know,' he replied, sheepishly. 'I thought she meant someone else.'

  'Who?' said Murugan.

  'Phulboni,' said the clerk.

  'Phulboni!' Sonali cried.

  'Yes,' said the clerk. 'Phulboni himself. The great writer; he was here just a short while ago. He said that someone had gone to his house very late last night and left a note telling him to come here. Look…' He flipped the paper over and pointed to another scrawled autograph.

  Murugan started for the door. 'Come on,' he said to Urmila. 'Let's move it.'

  Urmila and Sonali followed him at a run, leaving the clerk momentarily stunned. They were halfway down when he shouted after them, hanging over the stairwell: 'Madame… my invitation…' There was no answer.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Urmila stopped for a moment, to regain her breath. 'Sonali-di,' she said, panting. 'Why are you coming with us? You don't have to come.' Sonali burst into laughter. 'Of course I'm coming with you,' she said.

  'But why?' said Urmila. 'You don't know anything about this business.'

  'There's something you don't know either,' Sonali said. 'What?'

  'That Phulboni is my father,' said Sonali. 'With Phulboni and Romen gone, what will I stay for?'

  A startled cry came floating down the stairwell. 'Oh my God!' the clerk's voice breathed. 'Phulboni is your father, madame? Oh my God' What will they say at the Film Society?'

  They heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs and went running out to the street.

  Murugan had already stopped a taxi. 'Quick,' he said to the driver. 'Sealdah – jaldi, as quick as you can.'

  Chapter 44

  AS THE TAXI lurched around a corner, on to Park Street, Murugan reached for Urmila's hand and sandwiched it between his.

  'I want you to promise me something Calcutta,' he said.

  'What?' said Urmila. 'What are you talking about?'

  Murugan tugged u
rgently at her hand. 'Promise me, Calcutta,' he said. 'Promise me that you'll take me across if I don't make it on my own.'

  Urmila's eyes widened. 'Make it where?' she said.

  'Wherever. '

  She laughed out loud, throwing back her head: 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'But promise anyway,' Murugan insisted. 'Promise you'll take me, even if they want you to leave me behind?'

  'Why would anyone want to leave you behind?' said Urmila. 'You're the only one who knows what's happened, what's happening. You said yourself that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to help you make connections.'

  'That's just the problem,' said Murugan. 'My part in this was to tie some threads together so that they could hand the whole package over in a neat little bundle some time in the future, to whoever it is they're waiting for.'

  'And how do you know it's not you they've been waiting for?'

  'It can't be me,' said Murugan flatly. 'You see, for them the only way to escape the tyranny of knowledge is to turn it on itself. But for that to work they have to create a single perfect moment of discovery when the person who discovers is also that which is discovered. The problem with me is that I know too much and too little.'

  'But who is it, then?' said Urmila.

  'I wish I could tell you,' said Murugan. 'But I can't. In fact, I should be asking you that question.'

  'What do you mean?' said Urmila.

  'You still don't get it?' Murugan asked her, with a rueful half-smile.

  'No,' said Urmila. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  Murugan looked her in the eyes. 'Don't you see?' he said. 'You're the one she's chosen.' Urmila gasped. 'For what?'

  'For herself.'

  Suddenly, taking Urmila by surprise, Murugan fell to his knees, squeezing himself into the narrow leg space of the back seat. Bending low he touched his forehead to her feet. 'Don't forget me,' he begged her. 'If you have it in your power to change the script, write me in. Don't leave me behind. Please.'

  Urmila laughed. She put a hand on his head and an arm around Sonali's shoulders. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'I'll take you both with me, wherever I go.'