Arzee the Dwarf

by Chandrahas Choudhury

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Phirozbhai. You know the truth just as well as I do. I’m sorry to say all this while you’re praying, and I wouldn’t have said it either, because it’s only two days to your daughter’s wedding. But you’ve brought it out of me, Phirozbhai. You finish, Phirozbhai, and we’ll sort this out – face to face.’

  ‘Think about what I’ve said, and speak no more of it,’ said Phiroz. He rang his little bell, mumbled a few words, dusted off his trousers, and slowly rose to his feet. ‘If you want to be a good projectionist, remember that the show always comes first. I won’t be around much longer to tell you this.’ He turned around and fixed his glassy gaze upon Arzee. ‘Are you getting me or not?’

  ‘Phirozbhai!’ cried Arzee. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘It’s…it’s gone!’

  Phiroz had shaved off his moustache! He’d done away with that faithful friend of his old age, and without it his face looked so forlorn. So fallow. So empty. His lips seemed so thin and bitter. Phiroz wouldn’t have looked so odd if he had come to work in only his vest and underpants. With the erasure of his moustache he looked like a shifty, furtive younger brother of himself – an usurper. His demeanour was Phirozian as ever, but not his look.

  ‘What’s gone?’ said Phiroz crankily, as if he didn’t know. Even his voice sounded different without his moustache.

  ‘Did you do it for the wedding, Phirozbhai? And Shireen – what did she have to say about it? Oh, she…I’m sorry. I’ve never known you without a moustache, Phirozbhai.’

  Phiroz grunted. ‘I took it out in five clean strokes,’ he revealed, and ran his fingers over his naked upper lip.

  ‘And I also never knew, Phirozbhai, never knew all these years, that Shireen was…that she can’t…’

  ‘And it doesn’t matter,’ said Phiroz. ‘What matters is how we live in this world.’

  ‘Was she always like this, Phirozbhai?’

  ‘From the very beginning. But the child hasn’t let it affect her. And she’s good. It’s we people who can see who cause all the evil in the world.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have not been of more help to you in all these years, Phirozbhai. I could have been, if only you’d asked me. For some reason you don’t think I’m a helpful person, but I am! I want to be of help now. Is there something I can do for the wedding? I did come over to your place on Monday evening. But you had gone to Udwada.’

  ‘Help me? Help yourself,’ said Phiroz, and chortled. ‘Your mother’s very upset with you.’

  ‘My mother’s upset? How do you know that, Phirozbhai? You haven’t met her for so long, and I just saw her before leaving home.’

  ‘Because she called me. She wanted to know if something was troubling you. I said it’s obvious. The news from the management is that the theatre is going under. That’s when I found out that you hadn’t told her.’

  Arzee’s mouth fell open. ‘That means – that means that you told her, Phirozbhai?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ said Phiroz, jabbing the air. ‘How was I to know that you hadn’t told her until I told her?’

  ‘I should have known this was going to happen, Phirozbhai. In fact, I’d planned to tell her last night, but I was too groggy, because I got drunk in the afternoon and passed out. Was she – was she very upset?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell over the phone. I can’t hear very well on this instrument of mine.’

  ‘I think she will be, Phirozbhai. I was with her at home just half an hour ago. She waited for me to leave before calling you!’

  ‘It won’t be easy,’ agreed Phiroz. ‘But it’s not my fault. I didn’t realize. But if you want I’ll say I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, Phirozbhai. It had to happen some time. My mother is a sharp one! Don’t trouble yourself about it. You think about the wedding.’

  ‘The old gold,’ mumbled Phiroz, and turned to the Babur.

  Mother! Arzee went over to the window, and when he looked down he could see his mother – younger, slimmer – and himself – short for his age, but not yet isolated in dwarfhood – walking up to the ticket window of the Noor. It was the late eighties. The cinema had still been respectable then; families still came. And it was with Mother that it had all begun. After the show Arzee had insisted on seeing the place from where the beam originated. And that was when his mother, who didn’t know anything about the cinema other than how to find her seat and buy popcorn and cry during scenes of lovers parting, had brought him up here after taking the permission of the strange-looking manager Mr Abjani. And they’d come climbing slowly up this narrow staircase, and popped their heads into the projection room for the very first time. And Phiroz had been younger then, and he was always a gentleman to the ladies, and he hadn’t said a word when Arzee ran around the room opening drawers, and pushing and kicking the Babur, and peering through the shutter. Finally Mother had said, ‘It’s time to go, we mustn’t trouble this nice uncle any more, we’ll come back another day.’ And Arzee had left with so many questions that were still unanswered. But in time he’d answered them all, and in answering them he had answered the question of his own life, the question of whether there was a place for him in this world. And Mother had been so happy for him then, and she would be so upset now. This was what she had always feared – that because he was so different from the standard, he, her first-born, would be left adrift, would live in resentment and in need. And now she knew. Phiroz had told her.

  Arzee smelt sandalwood, and saw that Phiroz was standing behind him, looking out. His upper lip, bereft of its moustache cover, was quivering.

  ‘If Sule’s still around downstairs then I think I’ll send him up and go home, Phirozbhai,’ he said. ‘I must talk to my mother before she talks to me. I’ll pretend I don’t know that she spoke to you.’

  ‘Go,’ said Phiroz.

  ‘Parents can be such a problem, Phirozbhai. They need more taking care of than children.’

  ‘Is that so?’ quavered Phiroz, and suddenly his naked face twisted. ‘My daughter’s leaving my home in two days. I hope she doesn’t think I’m a problem.’

  ‘That’s not how I meant it, Phirozbhai – you’re getting me all wrong! What I meant was my mother – only my mother is a problem. You accept everything calmly, Phirozbhai. You can never be a problem for anyone.’

  ‘I hope that’s what my daughter thinks,’ said Phiroz. ‘I hope she’ll come and see me after she’s gone. I won’t ask her to come. She’ll come when she wants to.’

  ‘She will, Phirozbhai, you don’t worry about it. We’ll have a talk about this soon. And we’ll make this last month a month to remember, Phirozbhai. But let me be off now.’

  ‘It’s up to her,’ said Phiroz, and turned away.

  As he left the Noor Arzee realized, for the first time, that life was soon going to be puffed with empty time not just for him, but for Phiroz too. Soon Phiroz would be left with only his gods and his birds for company, and a box of memories to mull over, as he shuffled around his flat on his arthritic legs, murmuring his conclusions to himself. The sudden disappearance of Phiroz’s moustache was like an expression of the vulnerability within, the foreboding he felt at the impending departure of his daughter and the closing of the Noor. He never said anything, but the felled moustache said it all.

  If he was to leave the city after the Noor closed down, who would be left to look after Phiroz? Certainly not the wretches at the Noor – they didn’t even know how to look after themselves. Arzee had been so lost in himself all these days that he hadn’t considered the point. ‘I’ll go every day to meet him, at least for the time that I’m still here,’ he thought. ‘I’ll go to see Phiroz. We’ll drink tea, eat samosas, and talk about old times, and if that makes him happy I won’t be so sad either. It’ll be Mother in the mornings, Phiroz in the afternoons.’

  Arzee saw that it was only his livelihood that was being dissolved. His duties and responsibilities remained. That was his bur
den, and it was by how he bore it that he would be judged.

  As Arzee entered his building, panting, he was sweating with anxiety, and in his thoughts he had already pitched himself into the arena with his taxing parent.

  ‘I know how she’ll start,’ he figured. ‘She’ll go back to Father’s death, and then talk about how difficult it was to bring us up on her own – how she’d been looking forward to a little peace – how she’d nearly sealed my marriage. But no, she’ll say – life is an everlasting struggle, and dark clouds always hang above our family! When all these years she loved the Noor, now she’ll remember that she always wanted me to complete my twelfth standard, and to apply for government service. And she’ll want to go off to the cinema to argue with Abjani, and embarrass me to no end. And then she’ll try to tell me that it’s all right, and that as long as she’s alive nobody can touch a hair on our heads. She’ll talk about selling off her gold bangles, and breaking her fixed deposit. She’ll make herself the centre of the crisis, when it’s really all about me – she’ll make me a bit player in my own story! And then she’ll bring up that whisky bottle she found in my room, when it has nothing to do with any of this. I’ll have to stand there listening like a dumb dog, and at the end of it I’ll have to do whatever she thinks is right. No! It’s now or never! If I don’t bring up my plan of leaving the city before she goes through all these points, I won’t have a chance. I’ll take charge of the situation – I’ll rein her in! I’m a man first, her child second. Mother doesn’t know what’s going on inside me. I’m not the Arzee she thinks she’s talking to – I’m a different person, and only I know who I am.’

  He cautiously opened the door with his key. At this time Mother was usually sleeping, but not today. The living-room, where Mother watched TV, read the newspaper, and spoke on the phone all day with breaks to cook, was empty, yet there was a kind of residual human presence inside it, as if Mother was nearby. Arzee heard some scratching sounds in the kitchen and went there, but it was only a crow at the window, trying to reach through the bars for an eggshell. Mother wasn’t home then. A pan was resting on the stove, and when Arzee brought it down and touched the tea leaves in it they were still warm! Mother was home! In the dustbin Arzee saw the wrapper of the box of sweets that someone had given Mobin. The box had still been wrapped when he’d left for work.

  Going back, he noticed that the door of his room was ajar, and as he approached he could hear little sniffles inside, as if some child version of himself was still in there, crying over a broken toy or because it was Mobin’s birthday. The first thing he saw when he peeped in was that the store cupboard was open, and the top shelf, where they kept their family photo albums, was almost empty. He pushed the door open and saw Mother sitting on his bed. She was drinking tea and eating sweets, and dabbing her eyes with her dupatta as she looked at the albums.

  Arzee’s heart went out instantly to his old, troubled mother. He saw how he’d been thinking the wrong things about her all these days. Just as Mother had an outdated idea of him, in the same way he’d failed to notice that she herself was no longer what she used to be! Mother was aging. Her strength was ebbing. Deep inside, she was as lonely and as vulnerable as old Phiroz. And having heard the distressing news, she was missing Father, and thinking of the times that the four of them had shared. Just like him, she longed for a lost time; she wanted back the world of these photographs. Arzee had never seen his mother like this. There was something alarming about the way she was rocking back and forth, murmuring the same thing over and over.

  ‘Mother…’ he said in a quavering voice, going forward.

  Mother gave a start. ‘Arzoo! You!’

  ‘Don’t cry, Mother!’ said Arzee. He went all the way up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It isn’t the end of the world, even if seems like it is! Everything will be all right. Why did you call Phiroz? I would have told you myself.’

  Mother’s face was all scrunched up, and her eyes were red, and her skin seemed papery. She suddenly looked so old. ‘I hope you’re not angry with me, my son,’ she said, in a small, contrite voice. ‘I was just so – just so worried.’

  ‘I could be angry, Mother, but I’m not,’ said Arzee magnanimously. ‘If I didn’t tell you, it was only to save you the sadness you’re feeling now, because I knew you’d take it badly. But you went ahead anyway and found out by yourself. But I understand, Mother. I might have done the same thing in your place. All I want to tell you is, don’t cry. Bad things happen to all families.’

  Mother turned away and began to weep. ‘But it’s not fair on you, my son, it’s just not fair!’ she sobbed. ‘You’ve always had to bear the hardest knocks.’

  ‘I know, Mother, I know. You understand that, and that in itself is such a big thing for me, because no one else does. That’s all you owe me, Mother. Really. After that it’s my life. If I want to leave this city and go, then you shouldn’t try to stop me.’

  ‘Arzee, I – I hope I’ve been a good mother to you. I hope I haven’t fallen short in any way. No – I have! I haven’t been a good mother. I’ve always been better to Mobin.’

  ‘No, Mother, no! You’ve always kept a special watch over me, I know. If anybody should complain, it’s Mobin, not me. You’ve made me what I am today, Mother.’

  ‘Life’s never treated you well from the very beginning, my son. I tried my best, but I know I’ve failed! I can’t keep my promise.’

  ‘What promise, Mother? There’s no promise. One can’t make such promises in life. Children have to find their own way for themselves.’

  ‘There’s something I have to tell you, son.’

  ‘No, I have to tell you something, Mother!’ said Arzee. ‘Even though you’re my mother and I’m your son, I’m not you, Mother, and you’re not me. It’s not your fault that I’m a dwarf, and everyone laughs at me in secret. And it’s not your fault that the Noor is closing down, so don’t take it upon yourself. I’ve got to deal with things on my own, because I’m a man now. I’m not a child any more, Mother.’

  Mother’s face had turned so red. Arzee said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. You won’t be able to find me a wife now, because no one will marry me. But let’s just put the matter on the back burner for a while, Mother. If Mobin wants to marry, let him. I don’t want to get in his way. And I’ll tell you something else. I never did tell you, Mother, but I nearly found you a daughter-in-law. She was a hairdresser, and you’d have really liked her. But something happened between us, and now it’s all over. But I nearly put it all together, Mother. Your Arzoo was this close!’

  ‘I thought I’d take it with me to my grave, but I can’t keep it to myself any more,’ cried Mother, a peculiar spasm breaking across her face. ‘It’s not right this way, but it’s not right the other way either. It’s not right at all! But it isn’t all my fault.’

  ‘Are you listening to what I’m telling you, Mother? What are you talking about? I was telling you about this girl, Mother.’

  ‘Just that you won’t reproach me – curse me! – any more for your being so small,’ cried Mother, ‘hear this, son. The truth is that I’m not your real mother!’

  There was a long silence. All the world seemed to have come to a standstill.

  ‘Ug…buh?’ said Arzee.

  ‘Your real parents drowned at sea many years ago,’ said Mother, covering her face in her hands. ‘Arzoo, we adopted you when you were just a baby!’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Arzee, closing all the albums that were lying open and stacking them up. ‘You’ve been watching too many TV serials, Mother. And then this news – it’s got to your brain. You’re not well, Mother. Just come and lie down on Mobin’s bed for a bit, and –’

  ‘It’s true, my son!’

  ‘It can’t be, Mother! Don’t be absurd.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s true! They were our neighbours, and you were so little, we couldn’t bear to see you go!’ Mother knocked her teacup to the floor with her knee. ‘We didn’t have any childr
en for so long, and then there was you. And we would never have told you, because everything would have been all right. Except that you never grew, and you suffered for it, and while your poor father left this world and found his peace, I suffered with you! So absolve me of this one thing, Arzee. It’s not from my womb that you’re a dwarf, son, it’s not from my womb that you’re a dwarf!’

  A great knocking had started up in Arzee’s chest, as if it was trying to break out of his body. His mouth with its big lips worked vainly, trying to utter one of the hundred questions that were stinging him like scorpions. Over a few moments he was whisked through his entire waking life, and the enormity – if what Mother was babbling was true – of all that had remained concealed behind it. It was as if he’d been sucked into the Babur, and was now hurtling and tumbling through the heat and light. Nothing – not a single thing – was as he’d thought it to be, and when he emerged from those few moments of wandering, he had become a stranger to himself.

  ‘You mean…then…my name’s not really Arzee, or is it?’ he said, with a kind of broken wonder, for it was as if he was speaking on behalf of two people within his little body.

  ‘It’s not, but it doesn’t matter, Arzee! You couldn’t even speak when it happened, my child. You didn’t even know you had a name.’

  ‘Then what was my real name?’

  ‘I can’t remember now, son, so don’t trouble yourself over it.’

  ‘You remember, Mother, you can’t have forgotten!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, son…’

  ‘I want to know!’

  ‘I think it was…I think it was Joseph.’

  ‘How can it have been Joseph, Mother?’ said Arzee, his eyes filling with tears. ‘Why do you joke with me like this?’