BARCAROLLE (Short Story)
‘Leisurely, darkness came down upon the earth, as if the night covered daylight with a black veil…’ Unconsciously Aijoni’s story book slipped down from his hand on to the table. Pranob realised that truly darkness was enveloping the earth, as if the daylight was being covered by a black veil. While shifting gaze from Aijoni’s story book to darkness outside, the loss of sight occurred for few seconds. Pranob realised that the pupils of the eyes took that much of time to adjust to the change. Similarly when we enter a darkened theatre from outside, momentarily our eyesight and mindset get occupied in the dissimilar world of the screen in front of us; we never ponder over the fact that the waves coming out of the sound track has completely replaced the sound of the outside world with ease. Pranob was not even aware that the reason for the tranquility in the neighborhood was due to the conclusion of the cricket game of Dulu and his companions, at the play ground in front of Bezbarooah’s house. Noisily they departed with their bat & ball. Darkness covered the lane in front of Pranob’s house, Saifuddin Overseer’s backyard, window curtains, the calendar inside the room, the small part of sky viewed through the window. Gradually objects were growing more & more indistinguishable. Reflected sunrays from the new ‘Hillman’ car parked in front of Hari Mahajan’s house now did not reach his eyes. Sometime ago, razor-sharp midday sunlight had faded, it was now impossible to guess the colour of the car whether green or blue. The small trees on Saifuddin overseer’s backyard were slowly disappearing from sight; the outline of Uddhab Mahajan’s two storied house, white curtain of Uma’s window, the pan shop on the edge of the road, the poster on the shop, Upenbabu’s radio antenna all growing more & more obscure. Gradually the feel of bright sunlight of daytime was fading. May be this was the moment; the borderline; here the flow stops, takes a new course abruptly, clear, smooth and unrelenting flow. ‘What had happened to Aijoni?’, ‘Why Aijoni died all of a sudden just like that?’, ‘How Uma is spending her days?’, ‘What will be Bimala Pehi’s fate,’ all these thoughts did not hurt him anymore. Now thinking of others does not bring tears, nor does the complexity of Amol’s character; why he treated Uma like that? Now painful behavior of numerous people, countless irrational opinions have become insignificant.
Even the tears he had shed quietly, thinking why mother did not understand things, does not bother him anymore. Now all troubles are inconsequential, solutions meaningless. Matter or wave, karma or fate, magnetism or electricity, all these grave questions merged into one, ensuring the infinite flow of thoughts in one’s mind. With conjecture Pranob thought ‘Now as evening has come down, can my diverse thoughts come to an end momentarily; can space and time go motionless? If we can accept the unforeseen without a shred of doubt, if we can snatch a quiet moment from this wavering flow.’
But the black veil was gradually being filled by dots of light. Pranob thought, ‘Did Aijoni too observe the stars like the stars of today, some steady, some fluctuating? May be some stars she noticed particularly, some she ignored. Yes, a black veil has gradually engulfed the earth and the night has come down. Green leaves of trees have stopped photo synthesis, mercury level came down a few inches in the thermometers. In London, Paris and New York millions of neon lamps lighted up. Moonlight spread from the top of Alps, moonlight scattered from snows of Himalayas. Tides began on the heart of Atlantic. In Bombay & Calcutta, Milan & Rome thousands of lights illuminated. On a waterway of Venice, Hoffman’s Barcarolle floated in the sound of guitar. In the North bank, on the narrow village road the wheels of a bullock cart made screeching sound, a black hurricane lantern hanging at the rear, billowing black smoke. Frogs croaked on the marshes. Under the bamboo grove myriad fireflies dispersed light. In darkness Insect covered lights of Assam Link Express glowed mockingly at the overcrowded compartment. At the paan shop in the corner of the lane sparks emitted from the hanging rope, kept for lighting cigarettes. In the sky the number of stars grew, wind started blowing from south. On the grand trunk road a car sped away noisily.
Wind stirred the door curtains to and fro, displacing the papers on the table and made the light & shade pattern on the wall change repeatedly. Sound of a sewing machine was clearly audible from Uddhab Mahajan’s new building. His wife is very keen in stitching clothes. Some time ago Mrs Saifuddin finished cleaning the rice and retired from the back yard. From her kitchen the smell of frying potatoes entered the nostrils. Far away the east-going train whistled too. The usual hum & aroma of the evening dissolved into the darkness like a song. Maa had sent Bezbarooah’s house boy to market; probably he was back. Whether Maa told him to collect firewood or dried clothes was not clear. Disturbed by the wind the calendar fell to the ground. Pranob sat down pressing his forehead with both hands. Today Jogen Mastor’s eldest daughter is getting married. From the loud speaker the sound of a song is coming in through the window-‘Pretend not, pretend not, this smile, this song, it is love, pretend not.’ Amidst noise in the surrounding, the murmur of tree leaves was clearly audible. The monotonous tune and the lyrics of the song had strange likeness with the repetitive story lines written by a girl of eighth standard. Pranob could not understand the similarity. Maybe at such times people sit down to write letters or stories. Maybe there is moon in the sky, or there is no moon. Pranob put his head on the table and started crying.
Outside someone coughed. Maa was alarmed. In this she is not the only one. Hearing uncle’s incurable cough all his office staff stop gossiping, leave tea and news papers, and hurriedly get busy in their work. His cough is the measure of heavy atmosphere. He is a dreaded object. His face is always morose; for what reason he is so unhappy is not known- may be unhappy with aunt, may be with God. In many ways God has not treated him well. His office staff calls him Mr Bell in his absence.
Whatever it is, Maa was aware. She said ‘O, dada” and stood facing him.
“Where is Dulu? Did he come here?” He asked gravely.
Alarmed, mother thought, ‘Dulu must have done some mischief, father’s bashing is in his destiny today”
‘Don’t know. Saw him playing cricket in front of Bezbarooah’s house, has he not gone home?’
“Let him come home today!’ Uncle said in a harsh tone.
He sat on the chair, made himself comfortable, coughed two three times and started wiping the glasses of the spectacles with tip of ‘dhoti. At the same time gathered some useful information with brief questions.
‘Bimala left?’ ‘Yes. Dangar bapu put her on a bullock cart at the other bank across the river. Is it true that the portion of the road seems to be very bad?’
’When was the village road in north bank good?’ Uncle gave a quick look at Maa. She remained silent. Uncle coughed once and said ‘Since last five years talk of repairing the road is going on and on, the community has no sense of urgency, when were the authorities concerned? Nobody has the will to do. Only talks. It will be night before she reaches home. Such a long route, she has to bear the rough ride on a bullock cart. What a pity. Had there even been a narrow road so that cars could go? Could you not convince her to stay a few more days?’ Uncle continued with irritation, ‘What is she going do there, with her unworthy sons? They acquired all of their mother’s property by cheating. Now they are comfortable; do not need her, scoundrels.’
Maa took it to be a sharp rebuke.
“And look at her yearning to go back to her sons after so much had happened’
Maa said, ‘After all mother’s love’.
‘Oh I almost forgot.’ Uncle said and gave a brown paper wrapped packet to Maa. She was waiting for it eagerly so long. She untied the threads and opened the piece of cloth on the table.
‘How is it?’ Mama said with a long face, Maa felt as if he had taken something bitter into his mouth. Maa said in one breath, ‘Really very beautiful’ and at the same time remembering the core issue asked, ‘How much did it cost? Uncle told the price. Maa looked at uncle in astonishment. She expected to see uncle’s face as if he swallowed something bitter, but it was not there. She understood that while opening the packet her face glowed in delight which uncle did not lose sight of.
‘It will go very well on Chandraprabha, but what was the necessity of buying such a costly item. The Benaras silk saree you bought for yourself is exactly the same, what will people think at the marriage ……..” .
‘How can it be, the one we bought for us is totally different. What is there to think? Will there be only a few presents at Jogen Mastors’s house? Who will have time to notice that the two saris are similar? And there are very few marriages of intimate people in a year, if you have to give, give something good. Nowadays people are making it a ploy of presenting book costing only two rupees, some book called ‘Dristipat’ has become very popular for presentation.
Aunt had told him that Maa would like the silk sari very much. But he did not tell Maa so, instead he freely coughed several times and started his comments on the moral degradation of the cloth merchants, ‘Band of swindlers’- then told Maa to switch on the light, ‘See in light’. Maa went with the packet of saree and stood under the lighted bulb.
After some time uncle remembered again the cause of his annoyance. Dulu broke several windowpanes in the middle room. Uncle had warned him not to play cricket in front of that room many times. He plays cricket the whole day, has failed in exams. God only knows what will be his future. The tone of uncle’s cough has altered. Maa realized that he was really very angry. Not knowing what to do, she asked ‘Will you have a cup of tea’? Uncle stopped coughing and asked ‘Is hot water available?’
‘Please be seated’ she told and immediately went behind the house and called loudly ’Hello, can you hear me?’ Mrs Saifuddin’s face appeared above the bamboo fence. Maa asked. ‘Have you finished reading the newspaper?’ She brought the newspaper and said ‘I have finished cooking and waiting for my husband, to go together to the marriage function. Are you not going to the marriage?’
‘I am going with Mrs Barooah. She is expected any moment’
Uncle took the paper and started reading. Of course there is nothing in the news paper worth reading. Only news of fist fights, theft, robbery & long.. long speeches…. very irritating. ‘These news papers.’ He says. But he always finishes reading the paper including advertisements. He feels that taste of tea is not complete without reading the irritating news pieces. At least Ma thought that way. Immediately she put the kettle in the oven and started blowing the fire with mouth thinking what should be done. ‘Dulu must have gone to the marriage reception with his mother. Dada has an engagement with Makhan Hakim at eight, after that he will make a flying visit at the marriage & return home. If he finds Dulu at home, he is sure to beat him black & blue. How mercilessly he beats children when angry. There is no use counseling Dada. Before that Dangar bapu or somebody has to bring Dulu to my home. Tomorrow his anger will subside, Dulu can go home safely.’
Dragging the cup of tea close to him, uncle looked at Maa moodily. Maa brought the kerosene lamp and placed it on the small table and facing the earthen Idol of Goddess Lakshmi, closed her eyes momentarily. Uncle understood that Maa offered a prayer. He looked at the photographs behind the Idol, one was Aijoni’s & the other was of the father.
‘This house is a mental refuge’ he thought, ’ When there is electricity in the house, how long will the stupidity of lighting the oil lamp will continue’. He himself had bought the lamp for Aijoni when there was no electricity in the house. The books in front were also bought by him. After death of the father the whole burden of looking after the family had fallen on his shoulders. One day Aijoni saw the statue of Goddess Lakshmi at the Puja bazaar and bought it. There is an open slot backside, inside is hollow; there Aijoni had kept some coins which are still there. Suddenly uncle realised that the sound irritating to the ears for so long was coming out of loudspeaker at Jogen Mastor’s house. ‘They will not allow anybody to sleep peacefully tonight, how long the people will learn civic sense.’
Chandraprabha and Aijoni studied together. Hopefully Maa will not start crying at the marriage gathering. Maa surveyed uncle’s face and realised that he was quietly listening to the song in the loudspeaker. She said without realising, ‘By now Aijoni would have attained marriageable age, isn’t it Dada?’ Immediately she became self-conscious and looked at uncle embarrassed, “Look, there is no use thinking about it – serves no purpose; now we should put our mind on Dangarbapu. Let go the past. We did whatever we could. Even in the absence of father, no effort was left undone. No doctor could diagnose her illness, our fate.’ ‘Our karma,’ Maa said ‘result of my some karma’. ‘Rubbish’, uncle said brought the news paper close to his face, so that if Maa shed tears, he would not see. To break the impasse mother said, ‘Your tea is getting cold.’
Uncle picked up the cup and asked, ‘Where is Dangarbapu’? Mother looked towards the door of Pranob’s room, no light was visible through the gap. Maa was alarmed of Pranob quietly sitting in the room again. She said quickly ‘Perhaps he is studying, his exams to start on Monday.’
‘Why do you allow him to study at this inauspicious hour. Let him not become a scholar. ‘What does he do all day? Tell him to go to the marriage house and show his face, otherwise Jogen & his family members will be very much disappointed.’ Maa said ‘Let me call him”
Maa entered Pranob’s room and closed the door immediately hoping that uncle would not observe that the room is dark. She called ‘Dangarbapu’ and immediately switched on the light. The entire room got fully illuminated. There was a sound of activity on the table, Pranob got a shock. But before Maa could see his face, he instantly retreated to the Veranda. Maa understood that he was trying to hide something.
‘Was he crying?’ She thought and followed him to the veranda but could not see his face in darkness and decided that at the moment it was better not to say anything.
She simply said, ‘Uncle is calling you’ and went back to uncle. Pranob also came out, stood near uncle and started fiddling a shirt button. Uncle took a zarda pan and looked at him with a gloomy face. Maa understood that Pranob was edgy & restless, therefore hesitatingly awaited to see what was going to happen. He stood under the shadeless bulb and kept looking at uncle’s face like other days. At last, like other days he came out of reverie to real world. He remembered, ‘Evening is closing in our town; it is true that darkness has engulfed the road in front of our house. It is also true that at Paris & in the other side of the globe at New York, there is bright sunshine on the streets, snow was starting to melt. Streets are full of busy people. On the waterways of Venice on the gondolas and in the midst of pigeons at Pianza Sun Marc maybe American tourists are a majority, in place of Hofman’s Barcarolle, Jazz music is floating in the air. And it is not necessary that lights of 3rd class compartments of Assam Silk Express will always glow. There is always a difference between ours and Musolini’s trains.’
Uncle asked ‘Were you studying?’Pranob did not say anything. ‘You were studying or doing something else?’ Maa understood that uncle was pointing at Pranob’s writing habit. Immediately she said, ‘His exam is starting from Monday’. Accepting the fact that he was studying text books, Uncle said ”We also appeared in exams. Even then we did not have to stay inside room during inauspicious evening hours like ghosts. Instead of wasting the whole day in writing meaningless things, a little study will suffice. Work while you work, play while you play- for everything there is a specific time. Now go to the marriage reception; if you live in society, you have to follow the custom; a short break in studies will not do any harm.’ Maa saw Pranob was playing with the shirt button rapidly with force; was afraid that the button might get torn. Observing that his eye lids quivered while Uncle was talking to him, she became alarmed that he might start crying. ‘Such a grown up fellow studying in college, his habit has not changed’ she thought.
Lazily Pranob said, ‘Don’t feel like going.’ Uncle kept looking at his face for some time and asked ‘What have you put on your face? Go and wash it.’ Maa said, ‘ Dangarbapu listen to Dada, just go once. But she understood that Uncle understood & would not ask him to go again. Maa could guess that tears had caused the stains on his face. Most probably Uncle could not see it in the light.
Inside when Maa gave him a towel, Pranob took it & started wiping his face. Maa smiled within, knowing that he was little embarrassed. She saw the button was intact. Thank God. She asked ‘Really you don’t want to go?’
Pranob asked, ‘Do I have to go?’ If Maa tells he has to. Again she smiled within and asked, ‘Where do you want to go?’ Pranob didn’t reply. She asked again, ‘Will you have tea, hot water is available.’ With a sigh of relief Pranob said, ‘No no, now I am off’. Maa told him to come home early and also told about Dulu’s predicament. Maa guessed that he wanted to get away. But he didn’t move. ‘How much do you want? I have about half a rupee kept tied with the bunch of keys in the corner of my chaddar. Don’t take all.’
Uncle asked, ‘Has Dangarbapu gone out? Is he seriously studying or busy writing trash. Why he does not decide what he will like to do, study science or become a writer, instead of groping in the dark. Ultimately he will neither be this side nor that side; he should have developed some sense all these years.’ Maa said that she heard that a science student could be a writer also. Uncle said, ‘Where have you learnt these things? Did Newton write about sunset on the River Lohit?’ Maa thought, ‘ May not be on the Lohit, but maybe on some river in England.’ She said audibly, ‘Mahesh says that Dangarbapu’s has a good hand in writing, if he tries he should be able to write well.’ With a glumly face Uncle said, ‘Leave it, since when Mahesh has become an expert in these matters. Everyone has become an authority these days. If he becomes a Shakespeare or Milton we all will be very happy. Firstly, one should be able to earn one’s livelihood in this country, rest afterwards. First things first. Ok, did you send Mahesh to collect the rent?’ Maa replied, ‘Yes, but he has not turned up so far, maybe he will come in the evening.’ Uncle said, ‘I doubt he will be able to get something. There is no one like Dutta so far as payment of house rent is concerned. One cannot trust anybody, if somebody had little sense of accountability. Keep this with you, in case you don’t get the rent within this month.’
He took out some money & kept it on the table. He stopped coughing again started opening the zarda container. Maa said, ‘Keep with you now, let me wait for Mahesh to come.’ Uncle did not reply. He said, ‘If Mahesh comes, tell him to see me tomorrow … don’t know what will be Makhan Hakim’s mood? Let him come home today’.
Gathering all the courage she said, ‘ Dada, he requires counseling not punishment.’
‘Hoo.’ Mama said meaning enough ‘you don’t have to teach me.’
Maa’s heart froze.
A jeep stopped outside. The first person to jump out of driver’s seat like an athlete was Mahesh Barooah. He was wearing a costly suit, his front teeth were gold plated. He addresses Maa as Baideo. He is an Excise Inspector; some jealous persons say that he takes bribes- which Maa does not believe. Maa’s logic is that if he had taken bribes, he would have been able to afford a new car like Uddhab Mahajan. Uncle is not ready to comment on the subject.
Already Mahesh Barooah had a long chapter with Dutta, but could not realise the rent from him. Therefore he decided to give half the rent from his own pocket in Dutta’s name with assurance from Dutta that it will be paid by the month end. The second person was Loken Bhatta, wearing Dhoti down to knee & a chaddar got down steadily and carefully like Maa. Any one seeing him first time will take him to be a Congress worker from UP. He addresses Maa as Aunt and teaches Philosophy in an Intermediate College. Maa does not take him to be a philosopher. His wife has sent two bottles of pickles for Maa.
Why one addresses Maa as sister & the other as aunt is complicated. If Pranob is made to describe the relation, he has to make a intricate analysis, which is no less complicated than theory of relativity. Mahesh Barooah had come earlier but as he was entering he heard uncle coughing and ran away. Then he met Loken Bhatta on the way.
They have come to take Maa to the marriage reception.
Mahesh Barooah shouted, ‘Sister look who is with me.’
‘O professor, where have you come from?’
Now the Professor held the centre stage giving news of life at home. He will give news about the household, children, whose four teeth have come out, who is having constipation, etc etc. Maa said ‘’You used to come and stay with us, now should you forget to visit us as we are facing bad times?’, ‘No Aunt please don’t say that, I am at present putting up with Barooah; as soon as I finish the court job, I will be here, be assured. Oh how many days have passed since I ate hilsa fry cooked by you ‘
.Maa does not eat fish these days, but Dangarbapu, Dulu, Mahesh Barua – all eat fried fish and head curry like demons. Therefore Maa has to continue cooking fish. Mahesh Barooah followed Maa to the kitchen & gave half the rent money to her telling it is given by Dutta. Maa was little surprised at Dutta’s sense of obligation.
Seated alone, Loken Bhatta observed the room. It not only required repair, but cobwebs have appeared here & there. The room was not like this before. On the table Aijoni was reading loudly to memorise her lessons, the room had resonance and liveliness. He observed Aijoni’s books, the two photographs & the image of Lakshmi- He also knew how much money is there. He used to tell others that the kerosene lamp was Aijoni’s Alladin lamp. Aunt has lighted it today also, he thought. He looked for Aijoni’s red cover story book but could not find it. Girls of her class had a magazine named Mirror. But he could recognise the colourful sail painted on the small imported toffee tin-he knew what could be inside-his daughter has a similar tin-ordinary pencil, red & blue pencil, pencil sharpener, hair lace, safety pin, needle & thread, maybe two three buttons, may some toffees wrapped with colour paper. Suddenly he realised that the bed on which he was sitting was quite familiar. He recognised the bed from the carpenter’s logo towards the head. The bed is shaky, it makes a creaking sound while someone lies on it. To keep watch on Aijoni he had slept on the bed for many nights, when she was seriously ill. Not only he but also Dangarbapu, Mahesh Barooah & Ratan and sometimes Mr Bell had slept on the bed. He wondered what Ratan does these days. Aijoni’s bed was not in the room, it was replaced by two trunks where Maa sleeps nowadays. Surprisingly the arrangement appears to be quite natural and old. Why an eight class student wanted to be Pearl Buck was a matter of contemplation. He wondered why the red cover notebook was not on the table. He remembered, he and Aunt were highly amused reading the book together in Aijoni’s absence. If Aijoni had kept writing till today, probably it would not have aroused so much amusement In essence, a ‘Story of life’…no, ‘Life’s Fairy Tale.’ In it he discovered an effort to create a symbolism. Not even sixteen, she could understand life’s fairytale. He wanted to see the ‘Life’s Fairytale’ once again & went to the table to find the note book; it was not there.
He was a bit annoyed with himself; all of a sudden he had a feeling that he had missed something. Sometimes returning from college he used to feel that he left something at the common room; he could not remember what he had left behind. He felt the urgent need of a cigarette and quickly lit one. He felt something was missing in the train of his thought. He got mixed up in which book he had read it… the way it was expressed. He became angry with himself fearing that his memory was going down the drain. ‘The birds do not leave any mark in the air, & fishes do not leave any mark in the water, but the creative efforts of a budding life not leaving any sign, without any mark ……’ He looked here and there to find the red labeled notebook. But a mark, a sign, an impression might have existed- the pleasure of discovery stayed in his mind. Some time ago Maa wrote to him that Dangarbapu had been wasting lot of papers in writing. Loken Bhatta remembered that when an article written by Dangarbapu, was published how, Maa used to show it to everyone visiting her house, trying to hide a smile of pride. How she used to open a page inquisitively and read the name of Dangarbapu printed on it. After two months on another periodical, again her face lit with a smile. After that more and more.
He is now a grown up boy, studying in college- wears dhoti; does shave. Maybe he will fall in love someday. He tells his mother romantic tales of Italy; reads popular science books; gives big long lectures. Nowadays, when things in the world grow perceptible or when impression become un quantifiable, wide spread conflict ….. and wastes lot of papers. Loken Bhatta pondered what the mother thinks when she hears the talk of dualism from the son. He finished the cigarette with a long puff. & suddenly became happy and assured thinking that the mother was a critique of Pure Reason. Even if she could not explain in work simple terms, she would be able to explain that, unfinished and thrown away are essentially a part of creative process, no scientist or poet will be satisfied till work is complete. Obviously Dangarbapu will waste and tear lot of papers even now. During the moments taken by Maa to warm fried fish in the pan, a thought flashed through his mind; he decided that he would try to explain to Maa what goes through the minds of creative people. He could not remember where he read those things. Maa said ‘There is no Maida at home; you liked eating purees with fried fish.’ ( what an odd taste Professor has).Professor replied, ‘It t is not impossible to imagine the taste of puree if such a delicious thing touches the tongue. Kant had said that the value of real money is same as imaginary money.’ Sipping tea, he asked for news. ‘Firstly tell me the scandals, several scandals must have accumulated by this time.’ He said with enthusiasm, ‘On our side also some interesting scandals happened.’ Munching fried fish he gave rapid description of some.
Mahesh Barooah said, ‘You should be named Encyclopedia Scandalica,’ and gave a brief summary of local scandals. The Philosopher listened with rapt attention. Firstly Bimala Pehi’s. Maa said Bimala Pehi cried a lot, seeing that Pranob’s eyes were full of tears. He is grown up but the habit remains. She smiled remembering that he and Aijoni were very much thrilled to hear Bimali Pehi’s recitation of verses specially the one Bimali Pehi recited scornfully-
Wrinkled Skin, puffy bones
Eyes gone deep into the socket
Flesh & blood dried in the body
Lord Yama too did not ask.
Both of them used to examine the wrinkles in Bimala Pehi’s hand. Secondly Mahesh Barooah described the scandal involving Amal. Amal broke off with Uma. Uma is Uddhab Mahajan’s distant related niece and grew up in his house. She broke down, had to undergo appendicitis operation. Gajen took her to Kolkata. Today Maa received a letter from Uma. Operation is successful. Already she is on her way home in Assam Link Express; will arrive tomorrow. Maa is very much delighted It is expected that there will be lot of rejoicing at Sugar House. ‘Sugar House?’ Uddhab Mahajan has diverse businesses including a consumer goods store. The boys of the locality say that he has melted lot of money through black marketing of sugar, therefore has named it ‘Sugar House’. Looking through Pranob’s window, Loken Bhatta found that all windows of Sugar House are closed. Maybe will open tomorrow.
Ratan bought an old ford car. Mahesh Barooah told that Ratan talks about the car so much that Maa also memorised that it was 1932 model ford or something like that. He addresses Maa as Aunt, but she does not like She thinks that he is too lavish in his spending and does not like his manner. Maa has somehow rightly guessed that the aim of buying the car is not only
Running around on business but also he had discovered some advantageous isolated spots surrounded by shrubs, near the Grand trunk Road. He invited Pranob to come with him several times, but ‘Pranob is good for nothing.’ Maa does not like Pranob to roam around with Ratan. Mahesh Barooah was going to tell about Ratan’s escapade, but the Philosopher pushed him from behind with hand. Yes in presence of Maa at least this should not…….There are two other interesting incidents-cannot be told under any circumstances. He quickly looked at the watch and said, ‘It is going to be 8, Baideo let’s go now.’
Maa quickly changed the chaddar, got into Mahesh Barooah’s jeep and proceeded to Chandraprabha’s marriage ceremony.
At night Maa felt that her back pain was recurring, but forgot to pay attention to that because her mind was occupied with the events at the marriage home-the hullabaloo, guests and Chandraprabha. Maa felt that she was blessed to have a good companion. Pranob had not returned till then. She switched on the light of Pranob’s room. ‘What a messy boy!’ Maa picked up the Himani calendar from the floor & put it back on the wall and put the crumpled shirt lying on the bed and kept it hanging. The shirt smelled of sweat, Maa remembered that his father’s shirts also smelt like that. The table was untidy like other days. She had arranged in the morning, but now at the same state. While arranging the table, Maa thought how come he developed so much liking for Italy, when so many countries were there.
The ink pot was without top cover, luckily ink did not spoil the table cloth. Biting her lips, Maa glanced questioningly at some of the books –Twilight in Italy, Cultural transformation, one book of mathematics, When in Rome….., And pieces of torn paper. Professor & Mahesh Barooah gave a hearty laugh hearing that uncle termed his writings as garbage. Pieces of papers torn in anger and disgust, sometimes finished with one line, sometimes thrown after two three pages. ‘ Why then in the touch of night, familiar objects become fully autonomous; why our familiar world gets transformed, why in half light half darkness our dusty glamour less roads turn into lyrical poetry?’ ‘Only water ,surrounded by sea, only waterways and gondolas-no roads, no vehicles, no horse driven carts, no trams; trees and shrubs are rare. Here the noisy surrounding of other cities is replaced by the sound of ocean waves breaking on the base of Marble Monuments. Clear bright light, at the cafés of Pianza Sun Mark, tables are full of people, last sunrays are falling on the rise of Churches; myriad pigeons are flying around; sky is clear and on the water there are building after building –Palazzi Candidi, Palazzi Color Di Rosa, White Palace.“That night Minoti didn’t get sleep till late, Sitting in the verandah Minoti kept listening to the divergent mystifying sound of the night.’
Maa did not get sleep till late, sitting in the verandah she kept listening to the sound of night. The light in front of the house was illuminating a corner of the veranda, sometimes sound of footsteps of people returning late, somewhere a dog barked intermittently, the sound of a car dissipated gradually. Somebody was cracking a joke at Upen Babu’s house- sound of peals of laughter. Maa suddenly realised that the song on the loudspeaker had stopped at the marriage house, the ‘dhap’ ‘dhap’ sound of the power house clearly became audible. She thought that lot of time still left for the bridegroom party to arrive, wind speed had reduced, but the door curtains were shaking making soft sound. Somewhere a window closing sound. Somewhere an cat making ominous sounds behind Saifuddin Overseer’s house. remembering that a cat called like that at night before Aijoni’s death.
She felt uneasy. The murmuring sound of tree leaves became clear, at the court building the Bell tolled indicating time at 12 o’clock at night. Some one is smoking in front of Bezbarooah’s house, a point of light is … Someone is playing mouth organ sitting at the culvert in front of the paan shop. A sudden incomprehensible fear gripped her, somewhere a lizard made ‘tik’ ‘tik’ sound. The bright headlight of a car taking a turn blinded her vision, some shadows have fallen on the wall then again darkness as the car departed.
‘Perhaps Dangarbapu had gone to see the ‘Night show’, she thought. After some time the silence of the road was disturbed by lot of sound, the wind carried sound of footsteps, pieces of diverse conversations-some people are coming back from the ‘Night Show’. Sound of bicycles bells, Jubilation and arguments-and one was whistling may be tune of a song in the movie just seen. Pranob had not come. ‘Where did he go? ‘ He is not used to company at late night. Maa smiled in the dark, till now he was not able to talk to a girl without feeling nervous. Maa fears that, what his condition would be if he falls in love, what will he be able to say; he will stammer at every word. Will any girl be able to understand his state of mind, May be he will break down completely, he will sit alone in the dark to hide his face from mother.’ Even then he will come back home’ Maa thought ‘because I am still at home, even if he could not sleep, there will be a surety that I am sleeping in the next room’. Maa knows that nights are unbearable, long & frightening; nights are dreadful. Aijoni could not eat the day before her exam, at night she stated crying years go, then she was very young. Yet in the bright light of the morning she went for the exam smilingly. What a change in the mind of a small girl within a gap of few hours. Maa remembered the time of Aijoni’s sickness- How the hopes of the day gradually disappeared at the evening set in. How the calm, hopeful faces of people change, Aijoni’s pain increases, Her face shows the lines of anguish increases. At night light & darkness draw shades of disappointment, worry & fear & excitement on the faces of Dangarbapu, Ratan, Dada, Mahesh & Professor.
There was no moon. Yet in the dim light coming from the road Maa could see the things in Pranob’s room books, the bed, the table & the cloth hanging stand, even the Himani calendar. Suddenly she felt that the room is looking beautiful in darkness, not the familiar room-a separate world far away from greed and impediments, away from hatred & envy. Really the night has transformed the room, there is no agitation and heat of the day time, there is no sign of raggedness & pain. In its place the room is full of coolness, the promise of a peaceful passion. Here a man is trying to create, bring into life, question of success and failure is meaningless. The room is alive with promise She remembered what the Professor told. Hearing that he wanted to write something about Aijoni, her throat went dry, She was angry, She shouted on him. She said, ‘Is Aijoni a play thing?” Even after that he is secretly trying to write something, Maa knows he is unable to write, Somehow unable to write-Maa does not wish that he should write a story about Aijoni. How will he be able to write ?
He is feeling hurt, She know he wants encouragement from her, but Aijoni….May be tomorrow in those dark windows of Uddhab Mahajan’s house lights will glow after arrival of Uma, Songs will be heard from Upenabu’s radio. Everyone loves the light from window and songs coming from a distance, Pranob likes it.
Maa dozed off. Pranob called ‘Maa, Maa’ Immediately Maa got up and was moving towards the spot where Aijoni’s bed was located, for a moment she felt that Aijoni was asking for water. Her eyes became full with tears. Pranob & Dulu were standing in front of door glass. Maa opened the door. Like a culprit Pranob tried to explain why he was late, Maa ignored him because Dulu’s face was very pale He looked very scared like a small boy. His eyes are still red. Removing the shirt & vest, she found that the bare back had several long marks; his back was red. He had not eaten anything, only crying all the time. Aunt was glad hearing that Maa told him to bring Dulu to our home. Uncle is still angry. Aunt unsuccessfully tried to make him calm down. Immediately Maa applied warm mustard oil on his back, His face still remained gloomy.
Maa made him sit for dinner. He said he was not hungry, and stayed with folding hands. Maa said, ‘Look, you must listen to your aunt. Professor brought some pickles for you’. There was no response. Pranob also tried to counsel him, but Maa could see that Pranob also required counseling, he also did not touch his food, even though his face looked much fresher. Maa put a pirha and sat near Dulu. She opened the sports page of the news paper left by uncle, said, ‘Dangarbapu do you know who is the person in the photograph?’ Pranob said ‘No’.
Suddenly Dulu said, ‘Why? He is Denis Compton.
Maa said, ‘Really, no no this………….’. Dulu exclaimed, ‘ Yes’ Don’t I know Denis Compton?’ His self respect was hurt. Pranob said ‘ Only recognising Compton is not enough. What do you know about him?’ ‘I know everything, Denis Compton is the captain of England, he has scored so many runs against Australia in tests etc etc. Maa exclaimed, ‘Can anybody score so many runs ?’ Maa thought what is this thing called runs. Dulu said he himself scored a century that day, could have make it two, but for the umpire who gave him out lbw out of enmity, otherwise….
Maa was surprised. She thought, ‘What was this LBW?’ And Dulu emptied the plate forgetting his woes. Looking towards Pranab, Maa smiled, hiding from Dulu. Pranob also smiled forgetting his mood of daytime. Then going to bed, they were enthusiastically discussing about test cricket, particularly about Mustaq Ali.Paleness of Dulu’s face disappeared, but Maa realised that Pranob’s enthusiasm was momentary and forced. Yet Maa felt lighter, at least he laughed once. He told Maa many times not to wait for him when he returns at night, only keep his food, Maa felt specially happy knowing that she always waiting for him. But not concentrating on those things, she put the mosquito net properly, talked a little of marriage house and said that Ratan came in his once. Fuse was burnt at the marriage pendal, he came to take the ‘petro max’ lamp and Mahesh had told him to collect a mosquito net and deliver at his house because a big hole was discovered in Professor’ mosquito net. His 1932 model ford has been very useful at the marriage house. Maa thought that his intention was different- real reason was to give lift to girls. Obviously she did not tell any of these things to Pranob. After some time Dulu fell in deep sleep, he was dreaming of getting Mustaq Ali out. After that slept.
Awakened by the sound of drums, pipes, vehicles, hullabaloo of people, Maa came out to the veranda. Pranob was already standing, he could not sleep at all, Dulu was in deep sleep. Bridegroom had arrived. Already very late, perhaps the party was blocked by had given lot of trouble. The procession was quite long. Before Maa reached the veranda; the band party had crossed. Pranob exclaimed ‘That one is bridegroom’s vehicle.’ Maa wanted to have a look at the bridegroom, he was surrounded by so many people, she could only see the flower covered car. Group of women were there. The beam from Patromax lamps Maa & Pranob’s eyes and face. In the light Maa observed his face. Was he crying? Maa put her hand on Pranob’s shoulder, looking at the bridegroom party, said, ‘Dangarbapu you told about writing on Aijoni, did you Write?
‘No.’ His voice became sparse and incoherent. ‘ So complicated…so confusing-very hard task, mother.’ Maa said easily, ‘Finish the exam. You are curtailing sleep, It is not healthy to deprive yourself of sleep.’
Maa remembered that she saw tears in his eyes when Bimali Pehi left. His mind is still very soft.. a good thing. Thoughts, creativity, giving birth-all these are softness personified. Human mind is soft, Soft earth is required to built an image, womb is soft. I had severe delivery pain at the time of Aijoni & Pranab’s birth. You have to undergo hardship to create something. Let it be-let him suffer a little more, I have done good by not consoling him. One day he will understand during the hard times why Maa did not help him.
The bridegroom party slowly disappeared carrying Patromax lamps casting shadows and light on Maa and Pranob’s face, and long shadows on the wall, the sound of drums & pipes slowly faded. Silently Maa prayed, ‘God, oh God give me strength to put up with when he is in distress.’
A popular Hindi song is coming from Upenbabu’s radio, Pranob is writing something, She did not turn to look at him, fearing he could get disturbed and stop writing. Uma has reached home, Light is coming out of sugar house windows, gathering of some folks in the room can be seen, sound of sewing machine is not there. Maa switched on the light as night has come down gradually covering the earth with a black veil. Green leaves of trees have stopped photosynthesis, mercury level came down a few inches in the thermometers. In London and Paris and New York millions of neon lamps lighted up. In Bombay & Calcutta, Milan and Rome thousands of lights illuminated. On a waterway of Venice, Hofman’s Barcarolle floated in the sound of guitar. In the North bank, on the narrow village road the wheels of a bullock cart made screeching sound, a black hurricane lantern hanging at the rear, billowing black smoke. Frogs croaked on the marshes. Under the bamboo grove innumerable fireflies spread light. In darkness Insect covered lights of Assam Link Express glowed mockingly at the overcrowded compartment or maybe did not glow. At the pan shop in the corner of the lane sparks emitted from the hanging rope, kept for lighting cigarettes. In the sky the number of stars grew, wind started blowing from south. On the grand trunk road a car sped away noisily.
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‘
(Translated by Wing Cdr. Sisir Kumar Barua (Retd.) from Assamese short story ‘Barcarolle’ by Saurabh Kumar Chaliha)
