Coins were the medium of exchange in the village. They didn’t have to be local. Villagers found a way to use whatever coins strangers passing through brought with them. Only gold and silver coins disturbed monetary circulation. No one had coins enough to return change for a gold or a silver coin. If they did enter circulation, they were treated as common coins with gold or silver plating.
A hawk with pointy wings sat on a rock atop the pygmy mountain. The wings were blue and brown on the shoulder, white at the tip. The hawk was looking for prey. It noticed the two khanjan birds that had been playing hide-and-seek with Bolu.
As animals flee a forest once they discover the presence of a tiger, birds leave the tree on which a hawk alights. They fear the hawk’s keen eyes. They fear the hawk’s appetite. They fear for their lives. The hawk’s eyes fixed on one of the two khanjan birds as it shot forward. For some reason, the hawk missed its aim. Perhaps the khanjan bird sensed the hawk’s intention. Perhaps the other khanjan bird flew over the target bird and made it vanish. A khanjan bird can’t disappear on its own—it lacks feathers on its head—but it can help with the disappearance of another.
The hawk climbed. This time it noticed the other khanjan bird. It shot towards the bird like an arrow. It missed its aim again. Perhaps the first khanjan made the second invisible. The hawk grew tired—not from the exertion of flight but from disappointment.
There was a stand of acacia trees between the village and the forest. It had been planted to keep villagers from straying into the dense woods. The tired hawk alighted on an acacia tree. No harm had come to Bolu’s gust-wings when he flew through the acacia trees. Had the wings been made of inflated rubber, acacia thorns would have punctured them and Bolu would have dropped to the ground. But gusts of wind travel through acacia trees without trouble. The wind is puncture-proof. The hawk flew at the khanjan bird. Bolu couldn’t see that the bird was being attacked. If Bolu had seen the hawk attacking the khanjan birds, he would have climbed higher and distracted the hawk. What was not seen was thought to have gone away.
Many people travelled along the path of the khanjan’s flight. They must have become momentarily invisible as the bird flew directly overhead. Their disappearing and reappearing would happen in an instant. Not long enough for their companions to notice. One could stay invisible for a noticeable duration only if the khanjan hovered directly overhead for a while. It seemed simpler to a lay a khanjan feather on one’s head for as long as one needed to be invisible.
The khanjan birds in the area must have begun to recognize Bolu and his friends. The birds wanted to play with them.
One day, Koona was going to school accompanied by her mother. Koona was walking briskly, taking quick small steps. Koona’s mother was walking slowly, to keep pace with Koona. Koona was getting tired of walking fast; Koona’s mother was getting tired of walking slowly.
‘Walk fast,’ Koona’s mother urged.
‘I am walking fast, Mother,’ Koona said as she came to a halt. ‘I can’t keep up with you.’
‘I’ll slow down,’ Koona’s mother said, slowing her pace, but continuing to walk while Koona stayed behind.
Suddenly Koona sprinted hard, overtook her mother, and kept running till she reached the laburnum tree. She waited for her mother to draw near before she ran ahead of her mother again. Yellow laburnum flowers dangled by her ear.
Koona’s mother picked up her pace. She kept her daughter in view. Then she looked again. Her daughter had vanished. Koona’s mother thought she heard Koona say: ‘These yellow flowers are fragrant’ just before she disappeared.
At first, Koona’s mother thought she had heard the entire sentence before Koona disappeared. Afterwards she thought Koona was visible as far as ‘These yellow flowers…’ The rest she heard only after Koona vanished. Or it may have been that she heard Koona’s entire sentence after Koona was no longer visible. She panicked. Where could Koona be?
The khanjan bird settled on the laburnum branch above Koona. The flowers below stirred lightly.
Koona’s mother feared Koona had gone into the woods. She broke into a run. In her worry over Koona, she ran right past her daughter, who stood under a cluster of laburnum flowers.
Koona, on the other hand, saw her mother running and felt happy. She didn’t call out to her. ‘Let her run ahead,’ Koona thought. ‘I’ll sprint up to her in no time.’ When her mother was well ahead, Koona shouted, ‘Mother, I’m coming behind you.’ Her mother turned and saw Koona. Her face lit up with joy. She had turned around immediately on hearing Koona’s voice, but she had the impression that Koona was not visible immediately.
Koona had said, ‘Mother, I’m coming behind you’ while she stood under the tree. Then she began running.
It’s clear that when we disappear we disappear from the view of others. But could it be that we disappear from ourselves as well? If we put our hands out when we’ve disappeared, will we be able to see them? Can two people who have disappeared see one another? Having disappeared, how would Bolu, Koona and their friends play hide-and-seek? They would have to hide behind what was visible to them in the disappeared condition, as say, a tree they could see, or a rock.
Koona could hide behind her visible mother. Even if an invisible Bolu hid behind a visible tiger, Koona would be able to find out where he was. If she were invisible herself, she wouldn’t be afraid of the tiger. She would be able to ride it fearlessly. Could she make her way to the bottom of the mountain while she had disappeared? Would she get hurt if she stumbled? Would she hear clinking if she hit the heap of coins? Would the clinking be soft or loud? Does a person who has disappeared have weight? Will the weight remain the same as before the disappearance? Or is there a rule: weight before disappearance + weight after disappearance = weight before disappearance? And an identity: weight after disappearance = weight before becoming visible?
Bolu may have become capable of descending into the hole in the mountain. As he grew older, he discovered that he became lighter or heavier if he hummed a tune. When he hummed sweetly, he grew lighter. When he paused, he grew heavier. He thought it might be possible to find the right balance for travelling down. He could also try growing smaller wind-gust wings. He would need to be careful going down, but might be able to enjoy full wingspan when he reached the bottom. The wind gusts at the bottom might be poisonous, though. He would choke. The plan would work only if pulses of fresh air from the top escorted him down.
There’s a bird called hareva, green in colour, nightingale-sized. Different from the patrangi. Imitates the call of other birds. Usually travels in pairs or small groups. If spotted alone on a tree, its partner will be found on an adjacent tree. Hops from branch to branch. An acrobat in hopping. Green camouflage matches the green of trees. Blends with leaves. Its call suggests a conference of bulbul, kotyal, shaubeezi, kilkila, daiyaar and darzi – a conference in which each species is able to understand the language of the others.
There was an old stump near a tree. The hawk with pointy wings heard the chirping of many birds and alighted on the tree stump with its mate. Hawks hunt in pairs. One frightens birds into taking flight; the other pounces. The hareva sensed danger and flew away. Of the many birds the hawk had heard, not one was to be found on the tree. Meanwhile, the hareva was saved.
What the hareva’s own call is nobody knows. The hareva seems to have forgotten its native language. Being a ventriloquist may be its only call.
The hareva sat alone on a tree. Many birds could be heard chirping together and Bolu was about to lose himself in birdsong. He thought he recognized the khanjan bird’s call even though there was no khanjan bird in the tree. If there had been a khanjan bird present, it would have wanted to play hide-and-seek with Bolu. It would have hopped onto a branch above Bolu and made him invisible.
On the other hand, Bolu did have a friend a lot like the hareva bird. His name was Chhotu. Chhotu imitated the voices of his friends. Sometimes he spoke like Premu, sometimes like Bhaira or Bolu, sometimes like Koona.
He hid behind a tree and called out to Bolu in Premu’s voice. Bolu thought it was Premu. Just then he heard Bhaira calling him, ‘Come this way, Bolu.’
‘We are all here together,’ Binu said.
‘I am here too,’ Koona added playfully.
‘I am here too,’ Chhotu said in no one’s voice.
Bolu didn’t recognize the speaker of the last sentence. Anybody would have had trouble recognizing Chhotu by his voice; Chhotu had been in the habit of speaking in the voice of others for a long time. When children were confused about the source of an utterance they considered the possibility that it was Chhotu speaking. But there was no confusion here. Why would somebody think of Chhotu when the voice was distinctly Premu’s?
Bolu looked around. There were trees on every side. Somebody hiding behind one tree could move to the next without being detected. Bolu looked behind the tree next to him. No one there. He looked behind the next tree, and the next. After looking behind a dozen trees he concluded that his friends must be present but invisible.
He heard Premu’s voice. ‘I’m heading back.’
He heard Bhaira’s voice. ‘I’m heading back, too.’
‘Me too,’ he heard Koona say.
Bolu turned to look each time he heard a voice, but he saw no one going anywhere. He thought he saw a green shirtsleeve behind the karanj bush. It vanished when he looked again. Bolu advanced towards the bush anyway, speaking under his breath so he would not be detected. He found Chhotu hiding behind the bush. He assumed Koona and the others were nearby.
‘Where’s Premu?’ Bolu asked.
‘He went away,’ Chhotu answered in Premu’s voice.
‘I heard Binu too.’
‘Binu was here but he has gone back,’ Chhotu said in Binu’s voice.
The others were usually quiet when Chhotu was with them but sometimes they felt impelled to speak.
‘I know you don’t like to play with me,’ Chhotu said in Koona’s voice.
Koona knew what he said wasn’t true. ‘Everyone likes to play with me,’ she responded.
‘I’m speaking for myself,’ Chhotu said in Binu’s voice.
Binu spoke up. ‘That’s not true. Nobody refuses my offer to play.’
‘Don’t you understand I’m speaking for myself?’ Chhotu said in Bhaira’s voice.
Bhaira acquiesced. ‘I’m slow-witted. It’s true people don’t enjoy playing with me.’
Then everyone including Chhotu said to Bhaira: ‘We’re your friends. We love playing with you!’
It was hard to tell whose voice Chhotu used when he joined in with the others. He might have thought that on such occasions he ought to contribute his individual voice.
‘I was speaking for myself,’ Bolu seemed to have said, but it was Chhotu speaking. Everyone turned to look at Bolu. He was seated on the ground. He hadn’t moved while he spoke.
‘We like playing with you, Chhotu,’ Bolu said as he walked up to where Chhotu was.
Because of all these complications, Chhotu preferred to play by himself. He played freely when he played alone. He pretended all his friends were with him. He would speak to himself in the voice of his friends. People who couldn’t see Chhotu was alone imagined an entire group of children at play.
While alone, Chhotu said in Binu’s voice: ‘Tell me Premu, what game shall we play today?’
‘You decide,’ Chhotu said in Premu’s voice. ‘You never say which game you like playing.’
‘Let’s ask Chhotu,’ Binu’s voice declared.
‘What’ll Chhotu say? He doesn’t speak for himself, only on behalf of others.’
This was heard in Premu’s voice.
‘Binu, will you play with me or not?’ Chhotu asked gently in Premu’s voice.
A boy so gentle must be a wonderful person.
‘I’m not playing with you,’ Chhotu said roughly in Binu’s voice. A boy so rude must be a terrible person.
‘Why not?’ Premu’s voice asked.
‘Because you aren’t Premu. You’re Chhotu.’
Koona’s voice joined in. ‘Binu’s just teasing you. Of course, he’ll play with you.’
That’s how Chhotu played. His becoming quiet meant a lot of people stopped talking.
People who came under the khanjan’s flight vanished in the blink of an eye for the blink of an eye. There was no way of registering that they had disappeared and then reappeared. Nothing is visible when we shut our eyes, but the disappearance of something should be visible. We should be aware we are unable to see something we are capable of seeing if that thing is present. Keeping our eyes shut a long time is not the same as the disappearing of something for a long time. In disappearance, only that which has vanished is not seen; everything else is visible.
People who are blind see through their imagination. One blind person’s imagined scene will not be the same as another blind person’s imagined scene.
But people who have sight share the visible world. A person with eyesight sees a particular tree much the way another person with eyesight sees that tree. That disc which is known by one sighted person to be the moon is known to be the moon by another sighted person as well. Knowing the world by seeing it is one way. Knowing the world by not seeing it is another. One must draw close to something to be able to touch it. The blind live closest to creation, so close they can run their hands over it.
Children learned to know what they could see. They also learned to sense what they couldn’t see. Blind man’s buff taught them to sense where things were even with blindfolds on.
Koona had large eyes. Koona’s mother said with pride that Koona’s eyes were like a khanjan bird’s. Koona couldn’t understand why having eyes like a khanjan bird’s should make them special. She agreed that blinking was like a wingbeat, and that the eyes could fly to something far away, but the eyes flying was not the same as the whole person taking flight. A bird could see something far away and fly to that something. Koona saw nothing when she closed her khanjan eyes. She couldn’t see her hand before her face when she closed her eyes. She couldn’t see her face in the mirror when she closed her eyes. When she shut her khanjan eyes, she disappeared.
While Bolu read his textbook on the way to class, his eyes saw little of what was around him. He was guided to the school by what he remembered seeing on earlier trips to the school. He knew he had to turn left by the banyan tree. If his eyes were on his book and he didn’t look up at the banyan tree, he was guided by the tree’s shadow. If he didn’t notice the tree’s shadow, he was aware of yellow leaves falling from the tree. In case of serious doubt, he would look back at the tree to confirm he had made the correct turn. Persons blind from birth have awareness of what they are unable to see. They also have awareness of what they have come to know by touch.
The village children wished to be in school even during vacation days. But they wanted classes to be conducted as if they were on vacation. The teachers wanted the students to tell them what to teach. They clapped and cheered if a student came up with a nice lesson plan.
Not everyone knew the story of Bhaira and Bolu on the wrestling grounds. Bolu would narrate a few details and forget to narrate other details. He also lacked knowledge of certain events in which he took part. These were events that occurred while he was lost in observing something. While narrating the wrestling grounds events, Bolu walked all the way to the wrestling grounds.
Koona wanted to be the one to add the details Bolu left out. She didn’t like someone else completing the story. She didn’t like it even when Bolu completed the story. She wanted to be the sole chronicler.
Bhaira had left off going to school on regular days, but he was faithful in attending vacation days. If vacation days were being held in school, he would come to school too.
Bhaira began describing what happened on the wrestling grounds. He wanted to suppress the part about his charging at Bolu, but Koona kept interrupting him, saying ‘tell the whole truth’. So, he told the whole truth. It is possible he would have tol
d the whole truth even if Koona had not prompted him.
When he had finished, Koona certified the veracity of Bhaira’s account. ‘He’s telling the truth,’ she said. When in her turn Koona described seeing Bolu flying in the sky, Guruji laughed out loud.
‘Why are you laughing, Guruji?’ Koona asked.
‘Because I’m delighted with your report,’ Guruji replied.
It was Binu’s vacation day task to count fish in the temple pond. The task was difficult. Binu squatted on a partly submerged step, and began to count. The fish had already noticed either him or his reflection in the water. Their movement broke up his reflection. The fish weren’t still even for a fraction of a second. They moved in and out of Binu’s reflection. The count got confused. If he wasn’t sure he counted them coming, he counted them going. He couldn’t keep pace with their restlessness. The tally kept leaping and plunging like the fish.
He jumped up at one of the fish jumping out of the water. He lost his footing and slipped down the submerged steps as the fish dropped back into the pond. The fish weren’t swimming: they were circling him, clamouring to be counted. They swam away, and swam towards him a second time. It wasn’t fish food that drew them; they came back just to be counted again. Binu was sure all the fish in the earth’s waters had entered the temple pond. They were innumerable. It would be simpler to try counting stars at night. He was tired. His clothes were wet. He had made mistakes. He had added a jumping frog to his count of fish. He felt hungry. He wanted to cry.
‘Maybe my tally was not far off,’ he thought as he headed home.
‘Have you finished your vacation day lesson?’ his father asked him.
‘Yes, Father,’ he answered.
He drew up water from the well to splash on his face. There was a small fish in the water bucket. ‘One thousand eight hundred and thirty-nine!’ he said aloud. He thought that if he drew up another bucket of water the count would go up to one thousand eight hundred and forty. The one thousand eight hundred and thirty-ninth fish swam about in the bucket. No. He was wrong. The additional fish belonged to the well, not to the pond. He tossed bucket and fish back into the well.
Moonrise from the Green Grass Roof Page 4