‘Several lives’. Like the multiverse?
Atma gnyana is liberating, after all. When you possess no shadow, there’s no looking back.
Life is the born and the unborn, the pleasure and the penance, the sound and the fury. Akhil and Api knew this, but they were trapped. One in a method of life and the other in life itself. External tentacles, internal tentacles. Bolo kitne tentacles?
18
2004—The Unbearable Lightness of Being
The sun-baked coaches of the Darbhanga Express bumped along the scorching rails, leaving their occupants to absorb all the shocks and the jerks. There they sat, packed to the rafters, some by the open doors, some in the toilets, moving from side to side like car wipers, bled of all energy or, perhaps, trying to conserve it for greater, even more brutal challenges that somehow always lay ahead.
To the eyes of an eagle gliding above in the cloudless sky, it would have seemed as though a Moses formed of rusted iron and corroded tin was parting an ocean of yellow dust. Except for the train and a few pipal trees swaying to the cruel blasts of the loo, the eagle would have spotted no other movement. Even the water buffaloes stood unmoving in ankle-deep sludge that was a pond once. The train ignored them, speeding past as though on a mission.
In one of the coaches, amid a murmuring, nibbling, drinking, smoking and sleeping mass of humanity, sat Akhil Sukumar, looking out through the barred windows, waiting apathetically for the next fishplate pounding—the metronomic dhugh-dhugh-dhugh-dhugh.
Two days, three trains and countless kullarhs of chai later, Akhil and his companion were nearing their destination. But theirs was a journey where time had lost all meaning. Watch is a human invention and to consult it is a human choice.
The train came to an abrupt halt. Someone had stood by the rails flagging a ten-rupee note and the driver had obliged. After a while, the train lurched forward and in three or so pulls caught speed again.
The man sitting opposite Akhil said, ‘Saali, this heat.’ No one paid any attention.
Soon, a little boy in tattered clothes entered the corridor. He was followed by a thin man with small-poxed cheeks and a harmonium around his neck. The little boy was blind; there was caked skin and muscle where the eyes had once been. The duo could be heard from a distance. The thin man was pumping the harmonium in quick short bursts orphaned as and when he raised his arm to cover his ear with the palm. They were rendering a Hindi song that, over the years, the consortium of Indian beggars had appropriated as their clarion call. With his bleating partner in tow, the boy commenced feeling his way through the bays with extended arms, exaggerating his blindness.
‘…Gareebon ki suno…woh tumhaaree sunegaa…’
‘Oye,’ barked the man who had complained earlier of the heat as the singers approached his and Akhil’s bay.
‘…tum ek paisa dogay, woh dus laakh daygaa…’
‘Oye, saaley.’
‘…gareebon ki…’
‘Oye, easy on the harmonium, ban-cho.’
The thin man stopped pumping his harmonium. He bunched his fingers and took them to his mouth. ‘Arey saab, help this blind and deaf and dumb boy. Here, read his sad story…’
The man brushed the pamphlet that the man held out away from his lap. ‘Keep that in your pocket. He was only blind till last year, wasn’t he? And today he is deaf and dumb, too, haan? Ban-cho, you have seen Black, that’s why, isn’t it? Now bolt up that dubba and scoot.’
‘Hunh. Chal Chotu, to the next compartment…’
The man looked around the bay and gave a wry smile. ‘Saala. Did you see that, friends? No honesty, is there…Boss, will you pass me your lighter?’
Akhil obliged. ‘Here.’
‘Thanks…and a cigarette?’
Akhil broke into a chuckle. ‘Hah…here—Gold Flake. Will that do?’
‘That’ll do solid, boss. I am Arif Mohammed. You can call me Arif. And you two? Are travelling together? Here, the lighter.’
Akhil reached for his lighter. ‘Thanks, Arif. I am Akhil and he is Chander.’
Arif gave an aadaab. ‘Akhil, Chander, very happy to meet you, boss.’
Akhil lit one up himself. ‘Going to Batia?’
‘No, Akhil mian, further down, to Firdauspur.’
‘So, what do you do, Arif?’
Arif made a sorry face. ‘Loan business, Akhil bhai. Saala running from this village to the next with all these farmers defaulting. Once I was after a ban-cho who had defaulted on his ox.’
Akhil exhaled at length. ‘His ox. I didn’t know one could get an ox in EMIs.’
‘Of course. And they cost a lot if you didn’t know—sixty thousand is the going price. Anyway, this haraamzada lured me along to an animal fair, made me sign all the papers for an ox he said he liked the look of. And what do I find after three months? Huzoor this, huzoor that, I can’t pay the EMI for this month. The crops failed. Ban-cho. Is it my problem that the crops failed? Anyway, I caught him and his ox by their collars and dragged them both to the police station. That was one full year ago. The police hammered a khoonta in the courtyard and tied the ox there. Now they ask the farmer to appear in person every month and force their chai-pani from him and my firm asks me to do the rounds every month to get their chai-pani. I am fed up, boss.’
Akhil tried to switch lanes. ‘You must know Batia, then.’
‘Of course. It’s along the route. Not more than five-ten minutes from now, in fact.’
‘How long does the train stop at Batia?’
Arif slapped his thigh. ‘Stop? Hah. For as long as you want, boss. There is no scheduled stop at Batia—nor at Firdauspur, for that matter. Just pull the chain and get off as fast as you can. You seem new to these parts…’
‘Yes, we are going to Batia.’
Arif made a worried face. ‘Not loan agents, I hope.’
‘We work for a water company. Going to Batia to collect samples.’
‘Arey. I can see the kiln. Batia station is five minutes walk away. Now is the time. Pull it.’
Akhil got up, looking flustered. ‘Just like that?’
‘Of course. Look, I’ll do it for you—in exchange for the Gold Flake.’
The three men rushed over to the exit. In his excitement, Arif didn’t notice that Akhil and his friend weren’t carrying any suitcases. He dislodged the chain handle and pulled at it with all his might. ‘Here, now hurry. Jump.’
Akhil patted Arif’s shoulder affectionately. ‘Thank you, Arif mian—and good luck with the ox.’
‘Hah, thanks Akhil bhai, Chander bhai,’ replied Arif as he flicked the singed filter-tip on to the tracks.
Akhil and Chander hurried to the side and watched the train pass them by. The only piece of luggage between them—a small leather bag that contained some plasticware and a few credentials and letters—was slung across Akhil’s shoulder.
Chander fashioned a bandana out of his white handkerchief and tucked the edges behind his ears. ‘Batia. After all these years…’
‘Twenty-eight, to be precise.’
‘You look a bit grim, Kalki. Memories all rushing back, haan?’
Kalki smiled. ‘Come, Chander, let’s walk to the station. Might find someone there to take us to the village.’
Chander followed behind at a sluggish pace. ‘What’s the big hurry? Here, hand me the water thermos.’
Kalki unzipped the leather bag and took out the thermos. ‘All this while we haven’t had a drop and you want it now.’
‘...Aaahh. That was needed. What a day. 46 degrees, at least.’
Kalki glanced at the station. ‘No one on the platform.’
‘What, in this heat? What is it they say? Only a mad dog and an Englishman. But look—under that neem. Isn’t that…Kalki, it’s Bhola. Our Bhola! The bastard is now a tongawallah.’
Kalki nodded. ‘Yes, it is Bhola.’
Chander approached the tonga and patted the mule on the rear. ‘Arey....Arey tonga. Hey you.’
Bhola emerged from unde
r the canopy rubbing his eyes. ‘Who, what…Oh, haan haan, saab. Please come, please come…’
‘Will you take us to the village?’
‘Where in the village, saab? It’s some distance from here—at least thirteen furlongs.’
‘Sarpanch’s house.’
‘Twelve rupees, saab. Come saab. Here, let me dust the seats a little. Sit, sit.’
Kalki squeezed in next to Chander. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Yes, saab. Huck-k-k-kaa-huckkk…k-kaa-huckkk.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Bhola, saab. Tck-kaa-hukkk...tck-kaa-hukkk…Bhola.’
‘You have been in these parts long?’
Bhola gave the mule an almighty whiplash. ‘Born in Batia only, saab. Haven’t even been to the nearest town. I take great pride in saying that.’
‘Yes, some achievement. Tell me: is the Badey Thakur still the sarpanch?’
‘Why, yes of course, saab. Do you know him?’
‘We corresponded with him six months ago. We are here because of that.’
‘Great man, Badey Thakur.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, saab. Never forgot his neechi jaat people. Batia has a bhangi school, bhangi hospital, bhangi well. What more can we people ask for, saab? Tck-kaa-hukkk…’
‘Looks like Badey Thakur has made a little bhangi idyll for you.’
Bhola nodded. ‘Has been our sarpanch for close to forty years.’
Kalki asked Bhola what he had been wanting to for some time. ‘And, besides the bhangis, any other neechi jaat in Batia?’
‘Not anymore, saab, but used to be. Musahurs, they were called. Bad people, saab, rat eaters. Good riddance, if you ask me.’
Chander pulled at Kalki’s sleeve. ‘Leave it, Kalki…’
‘How far are we from…’
‘Two furlongs more. To Badey Thakur house you said, na saab?’
‘Yes.’
Chander squeezed Kalki’s arm all of a sudden. ‘Look, Kalki, the pipal. And, and…oh, Kallu, our burnt houses. Still standing…’
Kalki stared blankly at the scene before him. Hollowed-out ruins taken over by wild creepers; baby pipals sprouting from every possible crack in the soot-covered walls; termite-ravaged doors unhinged and reclining, waiting to unhinge further and detach from the threshold.
Kalki saw Amma trying to break open the door from inside. He saw his sisters pulling and pushing at the window bars, crying and shrieking till the flames engulfed even the shrieks…He looked away.
‘There, that’s your house. Nothing’s changed, Kalki.’
Kalki remained silent. His heart was pounding.
‘These houses, Kalki, still standing. Why?’
Bhola thought he was being spoken to. ‘What is that you said, saab?’
‘I said, what is this route—all these burnt houses.’
Bhola whipped the mule. ‘Oh, this is the Batia Aitihaasik Smarak, saab. These were musahur homes. They were torched, what, almost thirty years ago. Badey Thakur had said, let this be an example to anyone who dared to challenge the Thakurs. Huck-k-k-kaa-huckkk…even got our local MLA to come and inaugurate it. That day, each and every Batiara’s chhati swelled with pride.’
Chander crouched forward menacingly and said sofly ‘Saala, bastard, I’ll kill him, Kalki.’
‘Leave it, please, Chander.’
Bhola continued. ‘There was a great uprising that night thirty years ago. I was there to see it all with my own eyes, saab. The musahurs did something terrible to our Badey Thakur. Twenty musahur families, maybe twenty-five—I don’t remember—they were locked up in their homes and everything was set on fire. Next morning there was not a single musahur left in our…’
Kalki interrupted curtly. ‘Leave it, we don’t want to hear about it. How far to go now?’
‘Not long, saab. There, you can see the haveli already.’
Kalki and Chander saw the Thakur haveli gradually come into view. Closing their eyes was more painful than keeping them open.
Bhola reined in his mule. ‘Tck-kaa-hukkk...hurrrrahhh-hukkk. Here we are, saab. This is the Thakur haveli. Foohh, this heat…’
Kalki and Chander got down. ‘Here, twelve rupees. You want some water, Bhola?’
‘No, no saab, I’ll take it later—from my well.’
‘As you wish.’
Bhola bowed with folded hands. ‘Thank you, saab. Just go right ahead. Badey Thakur is usually in the inner veranda at this time of day. You might have to try coughing gently a few times to break his afternoon nap…Achha, saab.’
Chander touched Kalki on his arm. ‘Listen, Kalki, you alright with this?’
‘Yes, let’s go inside. Let’s meet the great man.’
The two approached the haveli. It looked deserted, even abandoned. The awning above the gateway of the extended threshold was tattered and weathered by the incessant sunlight. In the heat, the facade of the two jharokas that flanked the breadth of the haveli seemed to melt and stretch, the war scenes depicted by their embellished frescoes animated. Kalki and Chander walked slowly past the great bargad tree, noticing that its tentacles had reached over one of the side walls and deep into the haveli itself. The wrought-iron birdcages that dangled from its branches were empty, their little doors wide open.
The place bode ill.
Kalki thumped the nose ring of the growling lion on the wooden door. No one answered. He pushed at the door. It opened freely, then seemed to gain momentum, going the full quarter arc that was allowed it.
Kalki and Chander stepped in.
The fountain was dead, its spout corroded and covered by verdigris. A pigeon fluttered in noisily and perched itself on the ornate rim of the chalice-like structure, and just as it did, the main door of the inner courtyard swung open. The men stopped in their tracks. It was the wind. The door slammed shut soon. The two hurried on to the main courtyard.
Badey Thakur was taking his siesta, as Bhola had said.
Kalki stood over him. ‘Looks like the great man is dozing.’
‘Dreaming of some great things, I’m sure…’
‘A-Ahum...Ahum-a-hum! Badey Thakur? Badey Thakur.’
The great man got up, then fell back. He tried again, this time succeeding. ‘Huun…? What…who, who are y-you?’
‘Good afternoon, Badey Thakur.’
‘W-what…? You have to speak a little louder, I can’t hear properly.’
Kalki raised his voice. ‘We said, good afternoon, Badey Thakur.’
‘Haan, good afternoon. What can I do for you?’
‘We are from the water company, from Mumbai. Remember we had corresponded six months ago? Well, we are here to see you regarding that.’
‘Oh, haan haan. So you did get my reply, then.’
‘Yes, Badey Thakur, and we are very grateful that you could take some time out…’
‘Er, you are…? I am sorry, my memory these days…’
‘I am Akhil, and he is Chander.’
Badey Thakur gestured with his hand. ‘Well, have a seat, have a seat…Very hot, isn’t it?’
‘Ji, Badey Thakur.’
Badey Thakur looked under the cot for his hookah. ‘And in this heat, no one dares to come out of their houses. You must have hardly seen anyone on your way here.’
‘Hah, that is correct, Badey Thakur. Not one person, come to think of it.’
‘Yes, kabristaan is what Batia becomes in this heat. So, tell me.’
Kalki opened the leather bag as he spoke. ‘Ji, Badey Thakur. It is like this—very simple. The plan is to install a state-of-the-art water purification system at the well, so that the water from the well goes directly into this system and comes out all clean and ready to drink. Here—this is exactly how it will look.’
‘Wah.’
‘Ji, Badey Thakur. The water can then be drunk straight from the pipe—no further filtering.’
‘And none of this kaulra, chechak, kutta-khansi…?’
‘Ji, Badey Thakur. These, er, diseases you
mentioned…I mean, we could first install the system, say for a well that is the dirtiest. For example, maybe a bhangi well…’
Badey Thakur shook his head. ‘No no, install it for the Thakur well first. The system should be seen as a thing of pride for the village. People will come from far and away just to see it. And why worry about the bhangi well. They are immune to all these diseases anyway.’
‘Ji, Badey Thakur, as you say.’
‘So when will you come and install it?’
‘In a month. As soon as we have analysed the water quality of your well. The system has to be fine-tuned, you see. We would need some samples.’
‘Of course. My servant will take you to the well. Mahi Ram? Mahi Ram!’
Kalki replaced the brochure in the leather bag. ‘We would have preferred if you showed us the well. You see, the water samples have to be taken in the presence of the sarpanch. That’s the company regulation.’
‘Oh. Come then, I’ll take you to the well. It is not very far. Here, give me a hand.’
‘Ji, Badey Thakur.’
For an old man, Badey Thakur certainly could step on it. Kalki and Chander found themselves breaking into a jog.
‘Come along, come along…’
‘Ji Badey Thakur. We must thank you for your ready acceptance of our company’s plans, Badey Thakur. It’s not always like that—in other villages, I mean.’
Badey Thakur took the compliment warmly and turned philosophical. ‘Arey, we must see the light and move forward. I don’t believe in holding people back. All these rituals, these traditions, these are holding our great country back. I don’t know whether you have taken a round of our village, but you will see for yourself how much I have done for these lower castes.’
‘Ji, Badey Thakur. We saw a few things on our way here. The bhangi school building looks very impressive and so does their dispensary.’
‘You think so? Well, that really pleases me—to see my selfless efforts being appreciated by outsiders. And mind you, in a couple of years you must come back. I’ll myself ask you to install a similar system for the bhangi well. I don’t believe in depriving these people their due—in due course, if you get me.’
The Rat Eater Page 36