He (Shey)

by Rabindranath Tagore

  The music gave way to abuse. ‘Sitting pretty on your pots of money, with your feet up on a feather bed!’ they yelled. ‘Remember this, the day you die, you millionaires will be worth no more than us beggars in our rags!’

  The harangue was old stuff, but being called a millionaire sent a spasm of rage through me.

  That was just the beginning. Since then, I’ve been elected to no less than twenty-five committees. I’ve become the certified president of all societies in Bengal: the Society for the Revival of Ancient Indian Music, the Society for Eradication of the Pond-Choking Water Hyacinth, the Society for the Cremation of the Dead, the Society for the Improvement of Literature, the Society for the Unification of the Three Poets Chandidas,57 the Society for the Reform of Trade in Sugar-cane Fibres, the Society for the Reclamation of Khana’s Lost Homestead at Khanyan,58 the Society for the Improvement of Conditions in Homes for Aged Cattle, the Society for the Protection of Whiskers and Reduction of Barber’s Bills—I have become a distinguished member of all these. I have been requested to write a preface to a treatise on tetanus, to pronounce my opinion on modern mathematical textbooks, to bestow my blessings upon the book The Identification of Bhavabhuti’s Birthplace at Bhubandanga,59 to find a name for the infant daughter of the forest officer at Rawalpindi, to sing the praises of a particular brand of shaving soap,60 and to recount my personal experience of medicines for lunatics.

  ‘Dadamashai, you talk so much nonsense for no reason at all that no one ever believes you when you say you don’t have the time for something. Today you simply have to tell me what He did when he got his body back.’

  ‘He was immensely pleased and rushed off to Dumdum.’

  ‘Dumdum!’

  ‘You see, our He has got his ears back after quite a while. Now he just can’t get over his urge to hear every bit of sound for himself. He pricks up his ears at Shyambazar crossing: he delights in the rumble of buses and trams. He’s befriended the guard at the Titagarh jute mill, who lets him sit in his room for hours on end, listening to the grinding of the machines. The noise almost lulls him to sleep. He takes a snack of aloo dum and rosogollas with him in a paper bag, to eat at the workshop of the Baron Company’s blacksmith. The British troops have marched to Dumdum for target practice. It was the booming of their guns that he was listening to, sitting comfortably behind the targets. Unable to restrain his excitement, he poked out his face, caught a bullet in the head—and that was it.’

  ‘That was what, Dadamashai?’

  ‘That was that—meaning all my stories about him are quite finished.’

  ‘No, no, that simply can’t happen. You’re trying to dodge me. All the stories in the world could end that way.’

  ‘And so they do.’

  ‘Not this story. What happened after that?’

  ‘After he was dead? You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Yes, after he was dead.’

  ‘I see you’ve become quite the Savitri61 of myth.’

  ‘No, you can’t fob me off with all that. Tell me what happened next.’

  ‘Very well. They say that once you’re dead, nothing can hurt you. Let me prove to you that even when you’re dead, you’re not safe. The army surgeon, a famous man, was in his tent. When he heard that the poor fellow was dead of a bullet in the skull, he leapt up and let out a joyful “Hurrah!” ’

  ‘Why was he pleased?’

  ‘He said, “Now we can experiment with a brain transplant.” ’

  ‘How can you transplant a brain?’

  ‘It’s a feat of science. He sent for a gorilla from the zoo, and extracted its brain. Then he cranked open our man’s skull, put in the gorilla’s grey matter and kept the head bound up in plaster of lime for fifteen days. The skull became whole once again. But when our He got off his bed—what a nightmare! He bared his teeth at anyone he saw and chattered excitedly. The nurse took to her heels. The great doctor seized his patient’s hands in an iron grip and thundered, ‘Now sit here quietly and behave yourself!’ He understood the bellow, but not the language. He didn’t want to sit on the couch: he was determined to jump onto the table. But he couldn’t manage the leap, and fell on the floor with a bump. The door was open; there was an ashvatthva tree outside. Dodging all his captors, he made a bolt for the tree. He imagined he’d be among the branches in a single bound. He kept making wild springs at it, and falling down heavily each time he tried. His failure bewildered him. He began working himself into a rage. His frantic leaps sent the boys of the medical college into gales of mirth. He kept baring his teeth and making little rushes at them. One of the Anglo-Indian students was sitting under a tree with his legs stretched out, enjoying a snack of bread and butter with bananas, laid out neatly on a napkin. Our He pounced on the unsuspecting fellow and snatched away his fruit. The youth lost his temper and tried to hit him. Meanwhile, his friends couldn’t stop their guffaws.

  There was great consternation when it came to deciding who should take charge of him. Some were all for sending him to the zoo, others advised the orphanage. The zookeeper objected, ‘We can’t keep humans here.’ The superintendent of the orphanage demurred, ‘Our rules won’t allow a monkey to be kept here.’

  ‘Dadamashai, why did you stop?’

  ‘Didimani, at the absolute end of absolutely everything in this world of ours, there comes a stop.’

  ‘No, this can’t have stopped yet. Anybody could snatch a banana and eat it.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow. I have work to do today.’

  ‘Do tell me what’s going to happen tomorrow. Just a little bit.’

  ‘You know our He has received a proposal of marriage, don’t you? Well, the bride’s family haven’t heard that his brain’s been exchanged. They’ve settled the day and hour of the wedding. The groom’s uncle cooled him down with two enormous bunches of bananas, and led him to the venue for the wedding. And after that—when I describe to you the pandemonium that followed, you’ll be forced to acknowledge that it’s a story indeed. We won’t need to kill him off after that. He’ll be beyond death.’

  It was evening, and I was sitting on the terrace, enjoying the southerly breeze. It was shukla chaturthi, the fourth evening of the bright phase of the moon, and the moon was shining radiantly. Pupu-didi had brought with her a wreath of akanda flowers on a glass platter. After the story, I was to receive my reward.

  Meanwhile, He arrived, out of breath. He said, ‘Today I’m resigning from my job of finding matter for your stories. I didn’t say anything when you dressed me in that ganja-addict Patu’s skin. But I can’t have you putting an ape’s brain in my skull. Who knows what you’ll do next? Perhaps you’ll turn me into a fruit bat, or a lizard, or a dung beetle. I’d believe you capable of anything. Today, when I sat down in my chair at the office, what did I find on my desk? A bunch of yellow bananas. Normally I’m not averse to a few bananas. But now I see I’ll have to give up eating bananas altogether. Pupu-didi, if this grandfather of yours turns me into a Brahmin ogre or a headless spectre next, make sure the tale doesn’t get into print. I’ve already received a visit from my father-in-law-to-be. He’d promised me eighty tolas of gold as his daughter’s dowry; now it’s come down to thirteen. They know I’ll find it difficult to get another bride, after what you’ve done to my reputation. So now I’m off, and a very good bye to you.’

  10

  IT WAS EVENING, AND I WAS SITTING IN THE SOUTHERN COURTYARD. THE stars were invisible, hidden behind a screen of venerable rain trees. Alive with fireflies, their branches seemed to wink a hundred jewel-bright eyes at me.

  I remarked to Pupu-didi, ‘Your wits are ripening rather precociously, so today I think I’ll remind you that at one time you too were young.’

  Didi laughed. ‘You win there. I can’t remind you that at one time, you were young as well.’

  I sighed. ‘Probably no one can any longer. Only the stars in the sky can bear witness to my forgotten childhood. But enough about me—let me tell you a story of your own pas
t childishness. I don’t know if you’ll enjoy it, but I’ll find it sweet.’

  ‘Very well, go on.’

  I think it was the month of Phalgun.62 For the past few days, that Kishori Chatto,63 with his shiny bald head, had been entertaining you with stories from the Ramayana. One morning as I sat reading a newspaper and sipping tea, you arrived, wide-eyed.

  I exclaimed, ‘What’s the matter?’

  You gasped, ‘I’ve been kidnapped!’

  ‘Great heavens! Who could have committed this nefarious deed?’

  You hadn’t yet thought up an answer to that. You could have said it was Ravana,64 but since that wouldn’t have been true, you felt a twinge of misgiving. In the story you’d been told the previous evening, Ravana had been killed in battle—not one of his ten heads had survived. Not seeing a way out, you replied, ‘He told me to keep it a secret.’

  ‘Now you’ve created a problem. How am I to rescue you now? Which way did he take you?’

  ‘Oh, through an unknown country.’

  ‘It wasn’t Khandesh, was it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not Bundelkhand?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What kind of a country was it?’

  ‘It had rivers and mountains and big trees. In some parts it was dark, in others there was light.’

  ‘All that doesn’t make it any different from lots of other countries. Did you happen to see anything in the nature of a demon? With spikes, and a tongue hanging out?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he stuck out his tongue at me and disappeared.’

  ‘He does seem to slip through one’s fingers. Otherwise, I’d have seized him by the hair-tuft by now. Anyway, he must have borne you off in something. Was it in a chariot?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘On horseback?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘On an elephant?’

  You blurted out, ‘On a rabbit!’ Thoughts of this animal had been springing to your mind every now and then of late: your father had given you a pair on your birthday.

  I said, ‘Well, now we know who the villain is.’

  With a mischievous smile, you said, ‘Tell me who it is.’

  ‘This, without doubt, is the doing of old Uncle Moon.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Keeping rabbits is an old habit with him too.’65

  ‘Where did he get them?’

  ‘Your father didn’t give them to him.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘He slipped into Lord Brahma’s zoo66 and stole them.’

  ‘Shame on him!’

  ‘Shame on him, no question. That’s why Lord Brahma stained his body with black, as a punishment.’

  ‘Serve him right.’

  ‘But he doesn’t seem to have learnt his lesson. He’s gone back to his thieving ways, and actually stolen you this time! He probably wants you to feed his rabbits cauliflower leaves with your little hands.’

  You were pleased to hear this. To test my cunning, you said, ‘Very well, let’s see if you know how the rabbit carried me off on his back.’

  'You must have been asleep.'

  'Do people become lighter when they sleep?'

  'Of course. Haven't you ever flown in your sleep?'

  'Yes, I've flown all right.'

  'Then where's the problem? Why, it's easy for a rabbit. A mere bullfrog could hoist you on his back and take you leaping all over the field.'

  ‘A frog! Ugh, just to hear you say it makes me feel queer!’

  ‘Don’t worry. In the land of the moon, the frogs never get up to mischief. Let me ask you a question. Didn’t you meet the Byangama67 bird on the way?’

  ‘We certainly did!’

  ‘How was that?’

  ‘He swooped down from the top of the casuarina tree and stood straight up on his two feet. “Who dares carry off our Pupudidi?” he demanded. No sooner had the rabbit heard him than he was off at top speed. He ran so fast that the Byangama bird couldn’t catch him. What happened after that?’

  ‘After what?’

  ‘After the rabbit carried me off. Tell me what happened next.’

  ‘How can I? You’re the one who should tell me.’

  ‘Now that’s a fine thing to say! Wasn’t I asleep? How should I know?’

  ‘That’s where the trouble lies, you see. I don’t know where he’s taken you. And if I don’t know the address, which way am I to lead the rescue? All right, let me ask you something. As he bore you down the road, did you happen to hear any bells?’

  ‘Yes, yes, they went ding-dong, ding-dong.’

  ‘Then the road must have passed straight through the neighbourhood where the Bell-Ears live.’

  ‘Bell-Ears! What are they like?’

  ‘Their two ears are bells. And their two tails have hammers attached to their ends. With flicks of their tails, they ring a peal first on one ear, then on the other. Bell-Ears are of two species.

  One is the fierce kind, whose bells have brassy, warlike tones. The bells of the other toll with grave, booming notes.'

  'Do you ever hear their bells, Dadamashai?'

  'I do indeed. Only last night, as 1lay reading a book, I heard one striding through the darkness. When he had struck twelve, I couldn’t restrain myself. I dropped my book, started from my chair and ran to the bed. I buried my face in the pillow and lay there with my eyes shut tight.’

  ‘Are the Bell-Ears friends with the rabbits?’

  ‘Great friends. The sound of their bells guides the rabbit along the Milky Way, right through the home of the Seven Sages.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then, when it strikes one, then two, then three and four and five, the road comes to an end.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then he reaches the land of lights, on the far side of the meadow of sleep, and is seen no more.’

  ‘Have I reached the land of lights too?’

  ‘You must have.’

  ‘In that case, I’m not on the rabbit’s back any more?’

  ‘You’d break his back if you were.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot, I’ve become heavy once more. And then?’

  ‘Then I must rescue you.’

  ‘You certainly must. How will you do it?’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking of. I think we’ll have to seek the help of a prince.’

  ‘Where will you find one?’

  ‘Right here, in your Sukumar.’

  At once your face grew grave. In rather a stiff tone, you said, ‘You’re very fond of him. He comes to recite his lessons to you every evening. That’s why he’s ahead of me in Maths.’

  His being ahead may be due to certain other reasons. However, I refrained from dwelling on the topic. Instead, I said, ‘Well, whether I’m fond of him or not, he’s the only prince available.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘After certain negotiations with me, he has confirmed himself in the post.’

  You frowned heavily and said, ‘All his negotiations seem to be with you.’

  ‘What am I to do? He just won’t accept that I’m a great deal older than him.’

  ‘You call him a prince! I wouldn’t even call him Jatayu.68 Prince indeed!’

  ‘Calm yourself a little: we’ve landed ourselves in great danger. We have no idea where you are. Let him carry out a rescue just this once, so that we can heave a sigh of relief. After that, I promise to turn him into a squirrel and set him to bridge-building.’

  ‘Why should he agree to rescue me? He’s busy studying for his exams.’

  I have some hope that he’ll agree. I’d gone to his home the Saturday before last. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Having given his mother the slip, he was walking about on the terrace, in the blazing sun. I called up to him, ‘What’s the matter?’

  He threw up his head and announced, ‘I’m a prince!’

  ‘Where’s your sword?’

  A broken stick from a half-burnt firework had been lying on their terrace ever since the n
ight of Diwali. He had tied it to his waist with a ribbon, and now displayed it to me.

  I said, ‘A sword indeed! But you must have a horse as well!’

  He answered, ‘It’s in the stables.’

  So saying, he dragged out an ancient, shamelessly tattered umbrella of his uncle’s from a corner of the terrace. He wedged it between his knees, and with cries of'Giddy up!' rode it round once at a gallop. I exclaimed, 'A noble beast!'

  'Would you care to see its wings?'

  'I certainly would.'

  The umbrella opened with a swoosh. The feed-grains in its belly scattered all over the terrace.

  I exclaimed, 'Astonishing! Marvellous! That I should have the fortune to see a real winged steed in this life surpasses all my hopes!'

  'Now I'm flying, Dada. Keep your eyes shut, and you'll realize that I'm hovering by that cloud, right up there, in absolute darkness!'

  ‘I don’t need to shut my eyes. It’s quite clear to me: you’re flying high, the wings of your steed are lost among the clouds.’

  ‘Now Dadamashai, give my horse a name.’

  ‘Chhatrapati,’69 I suggested.

  He answered for his horse, ‘Yes, please, sir!’

  Then he looked me in the face and said, ‘You think I said “Yes, please, sir”? It wasn’t me, it was the horse.’

  ‘Do you think you have to tell me that? Am I deaf?’

  The prince declared, ‘Chhatrapati, I’m tired of sitting here quietly.’

  From his own mouth came the reply, ‘What is your command?’

  ‘We must cross the field of Tepantar.’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  I could stay no longer—I had work to do. I was forced to bring the fun to an end. ‘But, Prince, your tutor is waiting for you. I saw him—he’s in a foul temper.’

  The prince grew restless when he heard this. Thumping the umbrella, he demanded, ‘Can’t you fly off with me just now?’

  I had to reply for the poor horse. ‘He can’t fly unless it’s night. In the daytime he coyly disguises himself as an umbrella; he’ll spread his wings as soon as you fall asleep. For the time being you’d better go in for your lesson, otherwise there’ll be trouble.’