Chowringhee

by Mani Shankar Mukherji

  ‘Why are you hesitating?’ I said to him. ‘I’ll tell the bearer to get some right away.’

  Karabi stopped me. ‘Let me prove today that even in hotels you can get home-made tea.’

  She made some for Anindo. After he had finished drinking it, she asked, ‘What now?’

  ‘I’m going to drive to the river front,’ he replied. ‘My parents are under the impression that their son is escorting our guests around the city. But I simply love watching the onset of dusk over Calcutta. It’s as if someone drapes the city in ornaments of light, which are locked away carefully in a box during the day.’

  She asked, ‘Where did you learn so much about jewellery?’

  ‘Just because I’m not married you think I shouldn’t know anything about jewellery?’

  It was Karabi who told me later that they talked a lot over tea. Though I wasn’t supposed to know, she was probably keen to share everything with someone. She seemed bubbling with happiness. I had always known her as reserved, but this was a pleasant change.

  ‘What’s the hurry? Where are you off to so soon?’ she asked me.

  ‘I have to go to the counter. I’ve promised William Ghosh,’ I said.

  ‘Why do you have to be there during his duty hours?’

  ‘He’s made a special request, so I’ve promised to stand in for him for a couple of hours.’

  I didn’t want to say anything more, but under her cross-questioning I had to come out with the truth. William was taking Rosie out that night, having got this extraordinary opportunity after months of coaxing and cajoling. The two of them would go to a restaurant on Chowringhee for dinner. They could have had free meals at the hotel, but poor William had agreed to spend his own money.

  Karabi smiled and said, ‘Then you’d better go. If you can, drop in before you go up to your room.’

  William was fidgeting, waiting for me at the counter. ‘I can’t find the words to thank you,’ he said as I approached.

  ‘That’s all very well, but where’s the one for whom I am doing overtime?’

  ‘She refuses to be seen going out with me,’ William whispered. ‘She’ll wait for me in front of the Grand. I’ll take a taxi and pick her up on the way to Park Street.’

  ‘Excellent plan,’ I said.

  Before leaving, he came to the counter once more, saying furtively, ‘One request: no one should get even a whiff of this. If it gets to Jimmy’s ears, you know what will happen.’

  I nodded. ‘Of course I do. Have a wonderful evening.’

  Every job has its own addiction—one in a hotel certainly does. Once you get absorbed in the work, everything else slips out of your mind. As I got busy directing the flow of guests at the counter, the two of them had been forgotten. I remembered them only when Rosie threw a sidelong glance at me and walked straight into the lift. She looked different under the fluorescent lights.

  William returned after another quarter of an hour. ‘Thank you, o pilot,’ he proclaimed. ‘Let me take the controls now.’

  ‘Why so late?’ I asked.

  ‘Rosie wouldn’t let me return with her. “You must wait at least fifteen minutes before setting foot in the hotel,” she told me. I spent some time walking across Central Avenue, enjoying the night breeze.’

  I handed over charge to William and knocked at the door to Karabi’s suite on my way up. I wasn’t too keen on visiting her at this hour, but I had promised. She might have been up and waiting for me.

  ‘Come in,’ she said softly. I entered to find Karabi Guha hunched over a table in a corner of the dimly lit room. Slowly she turned towards me. I was shocked by her appearance. It seemed as if I had left someone else in suite number two when I went to relieve William Ghosh. This was a different woman.

  Even in that air-conditioned suite, I felt beads of perspiration on my forehead. Why was Karabi seated like this? She didn’t ask me to sit. She just looked at me. Then her eyes turned to the telephone in the corner.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ I asked. She looked as though she did but then, on second thought, changed her mind.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I was thinking of asking you to call him, but maybe I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Where are your guests?’ I whispered.

  ‘They wanted to go to Mrs Chakladar’s again,’ she said, ‘but some top-level government officers had booked the place for the evening. She could have accommodated the two of them, but the contractor, Mrs Kanoria, didn’t agree. She had promised her guests that there would be nobody else at Mrs Chakladar’s. Officers are very careful these days...What if someone wrote a couple of paragraphs in a newspaper?’ She paused, and then added, ‘I may have to ask you for a favour—but not now. I’ve managed for today.’ She was pale.

  ‘I don’t like the look of things,’ I said. ‘If I can be of any service, please don’t hesitate to tell me.’

  But she didn’t say anything. I went back to my own world on the terrace. There was a dazzling festival of stars in the sky, as if some inhabitant of the heavens had arranged a banquet up there.

  On dry nights, hotel employees usually went back to their rooms and fell asleep early. But Gomez wasn’t one of them. He was sitting on a stool outside his room. I was worried about Karabi. Why had she been so overwrought? I found it puzzling. It felt like a play was being enacted on the stage of suite number two, and I was a silent member of the audience. Who knew what other plays were being staged in the different rooms of Shahjahan, in the dark of night, away from the public eye? Who kept track? I did not care where the lives of those I did not know were headed. But suite number two was different. The thought of Karabi as the heroine of some tragic play made me apprehensive.

  Gomez beckoned to me. ‘Still up?’ I asked him.

  He smiled. ‘I can’t sleep—my habits have changed after years of treating night as day, so I spend dry nights in the company of the stars. Nice feeling.’ I drew up another stool next to him. ‘You’re young, you should sleep well,’ he said. ‘Once you get older you’ll also have to do a lot of coaxing and cajoling to get sleep to visit you.’

  ‘There’s so much you reflect on, Mr Gomez. The stars, the sun—they seem to be in communion with you. Can you tell me why we are always apprehensive about something or the other? Why irrational anxieties affect us so?’

  ‘I believe the Hindu scriptures have the answer to that,’ he said. ‘But I’m an uneducated Christian, I don’t know. I can give you the answer through a song though, an ordinary song from a film. That’s where I found the philosophy of life: que sera sera.’

  ‘What does it mean?’ I asked.

  Gomez started singing softly, ‘Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, the future’s not ours to see...’ Finishing the song, he said, ‘An American guest who had come to this hotel gave me the record. I’ll play it for you some time. It reminds me that it’s not our job to worry about the future—que sera sera.’ His words helped me regain some of my composure.

  Anindo returned the next day. That morning the front page of leading newspapers had carried a report under the headline, GERMAN INDUSTRIAL REPRESENTATIVES IN CALCUTTA. It had mentioned Madhab Industries and that Madhab Pakrashi wasn’t present at Dum Dum Airport because he was unwell, and that his wife couldn’t make it either, busy as she was tending to her husband. Karabi had read the report and looked at Anindo. I was also present, but only because she had insisted on it.

  Anindo shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘These are all mother’s plans. She got hold of our PRO, Mr Sen, and prepared the press note. Father wanted to go to the airport, but she insisted that I be given a chance. He had no choice but to fall ill.’ Then, turning to Karabi, he said, ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask your permission for something.’

  ‘I’m your friend Mr Agarwalla’s hostess, which practically makes me part of your staff. So it’s not for you to make a request, you have only to order,’ she replied.

  Anindo wasn’t prepared for such an answer, but he smiled
and said, ‘I see, this is revenge for yesterday. But I’m not angry. I didn’t spend much time by the river yesterday—I went straight to a bookshop. You’re a prisoner all by yourself in the hotel. So I thought my favourite poets’ works might bring you some joy.’

  ‘How did you assume that your favourite poets would also be mine?’

  ‘Jibanananda or Samar Sen won’t have an answer to that, but it’s easy for me to give you the answer. Speculation. We’re businessmen, speculation runs in our blood.’

  ‘You could really have done a lot for Bengali literature.’

  ‘Wait. For now let me improve the lot of Madhab Industries by being in the service of these two Germans,’ he replied, laughing. ‘But I can also tell you that I’m not going to stay this way all my life. I’ll break free of this madness and devote myself to poetry and history.’

  Karabi wanted me to stay on. But I had other tasks to attend to. I was on special duty at the suite, but I hadn’t been released from all my other responsibilities.

  I went to the counter and had just begun work when Bose, the reporter, appeared. ‘How are you?’ he said. ‘And where’s your guru Sata Bose? I need some more information about these Germans.’

  ‘I’m sure the PRO of Madhab Industries will send their press release to your office well in time.’

  ‘If such press releases were all that was needed to run a newspaper, the owners wouldn’t need reporters like me. I want the real stuff, not artificial flavouring. Now tell me where I can get some unadulterated news.’

  I was silent. But he was apparently quite well informed. ‘Miss Guha from your deluxe suite could help me if she wanted to,’ he said.

  ‘She has guests now,’ I said. ‘If you could come back a little later?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll pay a visit to the railway publicity office at Esplanade in the meantime.’

  As soon as he left I called Karabi. ‘Here is your chance to get famous—a newspaper representative wants to meet you,’ I told her.

  ‘I don’t understand...why don’t you come over to the suite?’

  Anindo was still there. I repeated my conversation with the reporter. She said, ‘Hostesses should always stay in the background. Anindo will meet the press.’

  Anindo immediately became uneasy. ‘Neither my father nor my mother talks to the press without the PRO around.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be nervous about,’ she reassured him. ‘I’ll be there.’

  She did not invite the reporter to suite number two. The number of people privileged to go in there could be counted on the fingers of one hand. They met Bose in a corner of the lounge. Karabi asked me to arrange for some tea.

  As I went back to the counter after ordering the tea, I heard Karabi say, ‘Mr Pakrashi’s going into a new industry. He loves Bengal, and the future of our country depends to a great extent on this collaboration between Indian and German industries.’

  Anindo said, ‘If you give these guests good coverage, it’ll help us. If we can set up this factory for manufacturing electrical equipment, we’ll be able to give jobs to lots of unemployed young people—all those unemployed youngsters whose woes you write about in your papers.’

  Bose left after promising to help as much as possible. He kept his word. The next day a long account of the interview with Anindo Pakrashi, spokesman for Madhab Industries, was published in Calcutta’s most influential English daily.

  Anindo arrived at Shahjahan with the newspaper in his hand. He was ecstatic. ‘Both my parents are amazed,’ he told Karabi effusively. ‘They’re wondering how junior managed to organize such publicity. It’s thanks to your foresight. I came here right away—you know why? So that I could—’

  ‘Thank me, right?’ Karabi snatched the words out of his mouth.

  He smiled. ‘You think I’m always being polite and formal, don’t you? Have you ever considered that we too can feel like expressing gratitude from our hearts?’ Karabi was quiet. ‘My guests must be troubling you a lot,’ he said.

  ‘Not at all. Compared to the VIPs from our own country, these are demigods. They drink at the bar, watch the cabaret and go to sleep in their rooms. They don’t bother me very much.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Having their breakfast in the hall.’

  ‘Fine, I’m not worried any more. All these days I’ve been thinking about them all the time—now I will try to be normal. And the day they sign the agreement, I’ll be a free bird.’

  I had just got back to my room after the day’s work, and was lying on my bed, when there was a knock on the door. Opening it, I stood transfixed for a while. I had never imagined Karabi would come to meet me at that hour.

  She entered and sat down on the chair, her face clouded over with anxiety. Her breath came in short gasps.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘You could have sent for me.’

  ‘No, we couldn’t have spoken in my room. I need your advice.’ Her voice quivered as she spoke. ‘I didn’t realize it that day, though I did suspect it. But at that time I thought Mr Agarwalla was showing interest on Mr Pakrashi’s behalf.’

  She told me that the owner of suite number two had called her. ‘This is top secret,’ he had said. ‘Reiter and Kurt will have to be observed. How do you assess their state of mind?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to them about business,’ she’d told him.

  ‘You must. What’s the point in having a beautiful hostess otherwise?’

  Even at that point, she had thought Agarwalla was making enquiries on Madhab Pakrashi’s behalf. Before ending the call, he had said, ‘They must be given the best possible treatment, a great deal depends on their being kept happy.’

  I still couldn’t make sense of what she was saying.

  ‘Only a moment ago I realized that Agarwalla is planning to meet them separately. Having obtained the detailed plan of Madhab Industries, he wants to get into the act himself. The Germans don’t care if they build their factory in collaboration with him instead of Pakrashi. Agarwalla wants to meet them secretly. He wants to come when the Pakrashis aren’t around and quietly get his job done. He has rung me up several times to find out how long Anindo stays here. Even last night he phoned to find out today’s programme. I lied and told him that as far as I know, Anindo would be here till late. But there’s somebody called Phokla Chatterjee who feeds secret information to Mr Agarwalla; he’s promised to arrange it so that Anindo doesn’t come to the hotel this evening. Mr Agarwalla has promised to pay whatever is needed. Mr Chatterjee shouldn’t skimp on expenses for a drive or drinks or anything else.’

  ‘Phokla Chatterjee, did you say?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s the name I heard,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. All these days I thought my loyalties lay with the person I work for...but now things are different...I have been reading the poems Anindo gave me and they made me realize that I have an identity too, that I have to account for my actions.’ Trying to say all this coherently, she seemed to run out of breath. ‘Will you please call Anindo?’

  ‘I can,’ I said, ‘but you’ll have to do the talking.’

  Had we called a little later we wouldn’t have found him in. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘Please speak to Miss Guha,’ I said.

  To her he said, ‘I’m not going to the hotel this evening, I’m going out with my uncle instead. He’s promised to introduce me to Jibanananda Das—he’s going to read his own poetry. Then I’ll go the river front. My uncle’s suddenly developed a wish to listen to poetry—I’m going to read, and he’s going to listen. He’s such an unromantic sort of chap, I may not get another chance like this.’

  Karabi’s lips were trembling. ‘Go some other day,’ she said. ‘Today you’d better come here. Immediately.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I want to see you right now,’ she said and hung up.

  Karabi went downstairs without wasting a moment. I couldn’t sit still either. I went d
own to the counter and chatted with William. I was in his good books now, and he wanted to keep me happy. Who else would cover for him if he got the chance to take Rosie out to dinner again? Bose-da was present too.

  I hadn’t expected the whole thing to play out before our eyes. It happened because Anindo and Mr Agarwalla entered the hotel practically at the same time. Agarwalla was in a good mood, but the sight of Anindo gave him the shock of his life. Hitching up his trousers which had slipped below his navel, he asked Anindo, ‘You here?’

  Anindo was a little embarrassed. ‘To check on my guests,’ he said.

  Agarwalla gulped. ‘You needn’t have bothered. By your grace no guest in Agarwalla’s guest room lacks for comfort. I don’t pay Miss Guha so much for nothing!’

  ‘I wish I knew how to thank you,’ said Anindo. ‘Not one suite was available in any of the city’s good hotels—and these people couldn’t have been put up in ordinary rooms.’

  ‘Not at all. If one business concern doesn’t look after another, how will we operate? After all, your father is an old friend.’

  Now it was Anindo’s turn to ask why Agarwalla was there. ‘I’ve come looking for a friend,’ said Agarwalla. ‘He’s supposed to be waiting at the bar. I’ll be going out with him in a minute. Do let me know in case your guests have any problems.’

  Anindo went in. Agarwalla went straight to the lounge telephone, but couldn’t get through to whoever he was trying to contact. Then he came over to the counter and told us that if Phokla Chatterjee came looking for him, we should tell him that he had gone to Mrs Chakladar’s.

  Phokla Chatterjee arrived at Shahjahan soon after. Coming straight to the counter, he said, ‘Sata! This is getting too much for me. At my age I’d be happy with a ten-to-five job.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Mr Chatterjee?’ asked Bose-da.

  ‘All in good time,’ wheezed Phokla. ‘Right now I’m dying of thirst—can you organize some booze?’