But Lily had proved him wrong and Mishtu had marveled at her instincts.
‘What, Sir?’ Lily had smiled at a delighted Mishtu after Raju’s first hit. ‘Where’s my bakshish, my reward?’
To her utter amazement, a blushing Mishtu had reached under his table and brought out a small red box. ‘For you, madam,’ he had mumbled.
It was a blue turquoise ring set in gold. ‘What…yeh kya…’ a bewildered Lily had demanded, ‘you gone mad or what?’
‘No, no, madam,’ Mishtu was red-faced. ‘No bad purpose madam, only to capture your beautiful hand…I take it back, madam.’
As he had tried to grab the box from Lily’s hand, she had snatched it back. ‘What kind of man you are, man, giving, then taking away?’
She had slipped the ring into the middle finger of her left hand, admired it an instant then waved her hand before Mishtu’s flushed face. ‘Khush, happy?’
As she had gathered up her things in a flurry, he had kissed her on the cheek, and then as he stood unsure of his next move, Lily had kissed him back. It had unfolded tenderly on the sofa, Lily perched on Mishtu’s knees, his arms circling her waist, her hands cradling his head. Mishtu told Lily he would become Christian if she would marry him, but she wouldn’t hear of it. ‘What bakwaas, Sir, rubbish…’ she had laughed in her usual manner.
Mishtu Modak would know real love when he saw it…like that afternoon. The young man that leaped off his bicycle in front of Unique studio was in love. And he would not take no for an answer. He might have gotten her outside the studio, as she left for the day, and somehow whispered to her the news. But for once he wanted to make a show of it. He wanted to lift her off her feet and take her from Unique studio, from right in front of the noses of her Madam and Mishtu Da.
As he strode in through the green and white gates a sleepy darwan jumped to his feet. ‘What babu, what’s your work?’ he tried to stop the forward march.
‘Bhai, my heroine…I’m only here to take her with me…’ he laughed at the flummoxed Bihari.
He wondered where Raju would be at this hour. In the rehearsal room, with the music or dance master? But he would go find Modak first. And he hoped her Lily Madam was close at hand, to see her bolt. He was holding the papers, the contract for Rajbala Dasi, stamped and signed by none other than Ramola Devi, proprietor of Bharat Talkies. And it named the price…to be paid to Unique studio for releasing their star.
The office was up the stairs in the old bungalow built by Modak Senior, he knew that from Raju. He had not seen her in the month gone. Not since she had stormed out, that day before Shankar Da had died. He had wanted to speak to Shankar Da about her…dada would have understood. Still he had not done badly. He smiled as he ran up the stairs. She had vowed to never see him again. ‘Come and get me out of Unique, if you want me back…’ she had said. He had done better. She was going to be the heroine, of the most talked about bioscope picture.
He stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, unsure. A deserted verandah lay before him, the sunlight filtering through overhead ghulghulis and an open door at its end. A perfume…of spices…he couldn’t tell. The trace of a voice. He then spotted it. The door marked ‘Office’ on his left, so near that he could reach out his hand and push it open. He came close and put his ear to it. A woman was speaking but what he couldn’t be sure. Then some moments of silence. Again the muffled voice. He pressed closer. Then pushed gently, parting the hinge a few hairs breadth…it wasn’t locked on the inside.
‘Chalo, baba…come now…’ the woman’s voice was cajoling. The door parted another few hairs as he leant forward eagerly. Then the woman again, a clear tinkly laugh, ‘…no baba…see, it’s slipping…careful now.’
A man grunted, ‘I’m trying…don’t hurry me…’ He sounded breathless.
The woman’s smooth tones again, ‘Arre baba…you’re not doing it right…didn’t I tell you, haath ko lagao, take hold, right one, then the left one…don’t let it slip, now push in…and…in your mouth…’ She giggled.
Her unseen listener gulped, wasn’t untrue then what Raju had said…about what things went on here in the afternoons.
‘Arreee,’ the woman’s voice raised, then the clanging sound of something knocked over and falling.
The man was angry. ‘Dhuur…leave it…I don’t want… leave it.’
The woman giggled again, ‘Why? Why you don’t want? See…so nice…for you.’
He’d heard enough. Better make an entry before things got out of hand. Anyhow, he had a job to do. He braced himself for the unimaginable, then pushed the door to enter the sanctum.
Mishtu Modak looked up annoyed, ‘What’s up? I’m eating, won’t you people let me eat in peace even?’
The invader looked from Mishtu to Lily, then Mishtu again. Mishtu was hunched over the green top pedestal desk, red and white napkin knotted about his neck, fork dangling from his left hand. Its companion, the knife, had bounced off and now lay on the floor. A king’s feast sat before Mishtu Modak…only, the monarch was yet to partake of it. The culprits, fork and knife.
‘Kaun hai tum? Kaisa andar aya? Who are you? Who let you in?’ Lily demanded.
The young man laughed aloud. A guffaw, as he picked the knife and laid it on the table. Mishtu blinked.
‘Mishtu Da…’ he smiled wide. Then turned to Lily where she stood, hands on her hips. ‘Lily bouthan…’
Lily recovered sooner. ‘What bakwaas…who are you…where from you came?’
The lively stranger took no notice. He addressed Mishtu. ‘Mishtu Da, you will understand…I know it now. Whatever people say. You and I…we are the same, travelers of the same path…’
Mishtu blinked again.
The young man leaned forward and gently extracted the fork from his hand. ‘Eat with your hands dada, and listen to me.’
He turned to Lily, ‘Bouthan…no knife-fork, for today…’
‘Tum saala…you rascal,’ Lily hissed, looked at Mishtu, and glared in disbelief.
Mishtu had started to eat, tipping more of the bowl of red brown oily mutton over the mound of rice and speedily shoveling the curry and rice into his mouth.
He smiled again. ‘Can’t you see bouthan, how hungry he was, and still carrying on with knife and fork, only for you…only to please you. That is how it happens…tai na, what do you say, Mishtu Da?’
Lily sat down slowly.
The intruder was at ease. ‘Even I do things like that, you know…to please Raju…your Rajbala…steady… steady dada…’ he warned, as the bowl nearly slipped from Mishtu at Raju’s mention. Mishtu had stopped eating, he gaped, his mouth full.
The young man mocked. ‘Eat dada, don’t stop…hear me while you eat.’
Lily found her voice, ‘Raju…you…how you know Raju?’
‘She’s the one bouthan…’ he smiled shyly. ‘Like you are for Mishtu Da, she is for me…’
Lily eyes blazed. ‘You pagal…you mad or what? Bloody rascal kidhar ka…Raju? Raju has no time for no loafer like you.’
Her opponent grinned. ‘Why not, bouthan? Ask Raju. If a beautiful lady like you can love Mishtu Da so much, why not Raju me…see here, such a feast you cooked for him…mutton kasha, beguni…what’s that…rui fish, isn’t it? You have to cook for me one time, bouthan…what Mishtu Da?’
Mishtu had found his voice. ‘Arre, na na…’ he mumbled through the rice. ‘Not Lily, my thakur here… he cooks it all…’ then chuckled ‘…all of this…not Lily… Lily can make stew…roast…and what else?’ He grinned at her showing grains of curry caked rice against yellowed teeth.
‘Quiet, buddha kidhar ka…keep quiet, you old fool and don’t talk with your mouth full…’ Lily snapped at him. ‘And you…’ she flew up and threw an arm to the door, ‘you get out of here…or…or…I’ll call the darwan… police ko bulaega…’
He was not to be daunted. ‘I’ll go bouthan…I’ll go, but I’m taking Raju with me…do not worry, no loss to you, you’ll get her price…’ He thrust the
papers at her.
Yeh kya…what’s in this?’ Lily snarled.
‘Don’t be so angry bouthan, it is for your benefit. Bharat Talkies…most certainly you have heard of Bharat Talkies…Bharat Talkies will pay you, to release Raju. Today…here and now…read it bouthan…the money is not less…see here.’ He pointed to where the sum was inscribed.
Lily pushed it aside. ‘Release Raju…you gadha, stupid donkey, you full mad or what. We have her contract, two more years…she’s going nowhere. We’re making a new picture with her…you…you get out of here…darwaza is behind…jao bhago…go on…’ she flayed the air again.
The young man had stopped smiling. ‘Mishtu Da… you say…do you want the money now without any hassle or jhamela? Or, do you want to show Raju that contract, that one which you haven’t still shown her. Bharat Talkies can go court-kutcheri, you know…they want Raju…they have the means.’
Mishtu had forgotten the food. He was looking at Lily.
Lily squinted at her contender. ‘Now I know, you’re the one. You saala rascal. You fed her all that bakwaas… about doing that outside film…you been eating her head, you badmash…’
‘Yes bouthan, it was me,’ he looked pleased again. ‘I told her that she was made for better things…true, you made her a star, but then, you made her like the frog in the well…you did not let her rise, held her back, at every step. But now she wants to be free of you…of Unique studio…take your price, let her go.’
‘She’s going nowhere…’ Lily said again, turning to Mishtu, ‘Why don’t you say something, you…show him the contract, then throw him out of here…nikhalo isko…’
Mishtu was eating quietly again. He raised his eyes then shook his head, ‘What to show…leave her… besides…’ he threw the foe a glance, ‘that girl now has a pukka contract with somebody, it seems…’
Lily sank back into her seat ‘All that hard work, running after her…giving her money, behind that masi of hers…making her a star from nothing, so that one day she can kick my butt and run off…Lily Joseph, you saala donkey…’
Mishtu was looking worried, he wasn’t used to seeing Lily capitulate.
The fellow paramour motioned for action, ‘Go dada… go on…’
Mishtu hastily rose upsetting his chair, wiped his curried fingers on the napkin around his neck, then looked to the abettor, who nodded encouragingly. Lily looked up at Mishtu. ‘Aap bolo…you say…how will we chalao Unique now, without that girl? No Raju Darling… no Unique…what will happen, Mishtu?’
Never before had she called him that. Only Sir, or Modak Babu, even in their most intimate of moments.
Mishtu seized his chance. ‘I’m taking the money…’ he announced. ‘And here and now I am closing Unique studio. Enough of this bioscope business. Mishtiwala’s son I am and mishti I will make…’
‘And hum…humara kya hoga, what will happen to me?’ Lily seemed stricken.
Mishtu pumped up to his full size. ‘You too madam, enough is enough. No more of this bioscope nonsense for you…troublesome line this, full of trouble-makers… mishti is much better…’
He looked again at the young man. ‘You know bhai, my mother died, early last year. She was too much strict…tai to, that is why…and Lily also, always doing na na, else, tell me, does it look nice, she and me like this…not married…’
Mishtu looked happy. ‘Now brother, all we need is a good purohit…bas, then Lily and I, off on pilgrimage… Kashi…Haridwar…enough of this bioscope…what say, madam?’ He beamed at her.
For once Lily was at sea.
The young man rose. ‘Dada, should I take Raju with me…now?’
Mishtu threw up his hands. ‘Take her, right away, right now. Bajjat girl…very mischievous, disobedient, gutter of a mouth, don’t say I didn’t tell you…dekho, perhaps you can teach her a thing or two…’
The trophy’s recipient grinned as he turned to depart.
‘You’ll find her downstairs in the studio building on the other side, in the rehearsal room. Tell her I don’t ever want to see that face again…tell her to go…’ Lily said to the floor.
The interloper returned, this time with hands folded. ‘Don’t be angry, bouthan. One day she will stand higher than us all, you will see…dada, come to Bharat Talkies any day, for the money…it will be arranged, bring the papers I gave…ask for me…’
As he was stepping out, Mishtu remembered.
‘Your name, bhai…what is your name?’
‘Anil…just newly appointed, manager-in-chief, Bharat Talkies.’
PART 3
I
Ambarish Dev Burma sucked his finger crossly, where the needle had pricked it. Then looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ma had been so fussy about winding it up every morning. Now he did it. Though it no longer shone like before, when Ma would clean it so lovingly. Its hands looked frail now, like they would fall off its face sometime soon. Still, it gave the time like before, never a minute ahead or behind…now a few minutes to four in the morning, almost dawn.
He had been up all night, working on the wig. And thinking, through them happenings at Bharat Talkies, these last days. The new heroine, she had sprung from the blue, even he had had no inkling. He had imagined that Ramola Devi would abandon that precious Mirabai of hers, what was to have brought undying fame to the boss. Ambarish snorted. Shankar Chattopadhyay, maker of some chalta-hai films, those too had had their run because he had fronted that tight-arsed, snooty wife of his that everyone wanted to die for. Why he never understood. She was way too clean, always looked like she was freshly washed. Wore that jasmine perfume that reeked every time you came close to her. Like Ma. He simply couldn’t bear it. Ma used to have jasmine by her bed, and every morning the room would be heavy with the scent of the dying flowers.
Better the smell of dead hair, he smiled at the locks he had strewn around him. And dead flesh. Ma had smelt good the night she had died. He had sat with her…right there…near the carved head of the bed and watched as her breath had turned heavier, lips parched, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth…she’d gasped a few times. He might have poured a few drops of water in her mouth, he’d thought later. But he had been so very taken, just watching her like that…her beautiful face twisting, then her breasts heave as she had struggled for air, he hadn’t wanted to miss the moment when it all stopped suddenly. It had thrilled him, when he had put a shaking hand under her nostril and not felt the warmness of exhaled air. She that had forever pushed him away had beckoned, and he had climbed atop her and hugged her close. Rested his head on her bosom like when he was a little boy, until that monster Putu had arrived and started to suck on her breasts. They used to be so beautiful, Ma’s breasts, when he had watched them enter Putu’s hungry toothless mouth. How he had wished that soft flesh in her mouth would choke Putu to death. That night, when he became her little boy again, he had taken Ma’s breasts in his mouth. They had turned dry…shrunk and shrivelled, but they had smelled nice. And he had taken her hair. Turned her on her side and cut the locks from behind her head so they wouldn’t know. And washed them and smoothed them out to dry. Perfumed and rolled them up. That night Ma was his again. They took her away…but then, there were those girls. He could have his pick, and they could never have enough of him…he smiled.
The new heroine, now, that one was something. One look at her and he knew she was going to be the next one. He hummed to himself. Just the thought of her made him happy. Even finding Menoka had not given him such delight. He knew about her, of course. Who didn’t? She had sprung out of nowhere some three, no, two years before, making all of the chotolok want to stuff theirs’ up her. Craze she was for them, the whole bloody lot of low-class swine. Went mad after her, the vermin. Even Ramola Devi couldn’t claim the same frenzy to her name, one had to give the girl that. And she had lasted…not a one-picture wonder, like some of them. Though he himself hadn’t seen any of those pictures… way beneath him. But now he would have to try and see if he could sneak a show
somewhere, when they had a rerun…some back-street show house, where nobody would know him. Packed with the screaming scum it would be, mad dogs baying for that whore. He needed to see just one time, how she looked…in the darkness… against light and shade.
He picked another lock and held it against the mesh on the wooden head, where he was going to weave it. He had to admit though…he too had wanted to scream in delight when he had watched her on the studio floor, day before. What a twist she was giving to that holy girl Mirabai. Twirling her buttery waist and throwing herself at that Krishna doll like she was going to give it to the Lord himself, there and then. And that dear old boy Nishith Babu…standing there, tearing his hair, and Ramola Devi frozen like she’d seen a ghost. He chuckled. Your days are numbered, Madam. This bitch will eat you whole, and your precious picture.
What got into Ramola Devi’s head though, he wondered. Why in hell’s name had she gotten this Rajbala Dasi to be the new Mirabai, the role she herself was going to play? Might have had Nishith Roy direct her, once the boss went kaput. Would still have been something passable. He had heard something about Kedar and his cronies prevailing on her…to get a chalu face, to make this one a quick hit, but it sure smelled wrong somewhere. Kedar, always spouting some righteousness or other, leader of that pious lot that would wag their tails around the boss. Wouldn’t he rather fall dead than dish up such tricks, that too this slut Rajubala? Kedar that had refused to budge when they were giving him his weight in gold…New Talkies was it, or that Marwari house? Only because he never would get sold in the market, like aloo and pyaj…blah blah blah. How then could he have pushed Ramola for a quickie? True, Bharat Talkies needed a hit now, at any cost. What with the boss popping off like that and even his own picture seven feet under, that Menoka now rotting in hell. And Rajubala was sure to get the money ringing in. Still, it was odd… very odd. Why get a girl who stuck out in this place like a rotten thumb he couldn’t imagine. Wasn’t like Menoka or any of the girls that he had gotten. They were little nobodies…easy enough to fit them in the Bharat Talkies set, make them into little devis. So much so that they had themselves started to believe it. He snorted again. But Ramola Devi, how in the world are you going to make a devi out of that piece of arse? That Rajbala. How will you stop them from throwing coins and kisses at your Mirabai? You really have lost your mind Ramola Devi, he hummed again as he started to sew onto the mesh. You must really have loved that buffalo of a husband you had. It has made you stark raving mad, my lady.
Menoka has hanged herself Page 12