‘Nothing; they merely retrenched,’ replied Srinivas.
‘Are you sure? If he has done anything to merit punishment he is not my son.’ He drew himself up proudly. ‘Our family has gone on without a blemish on its members for seven generations, do you know?’ he asked. ‘Whatever happens to us we want to preserve a good name in society.’ The old man went on talking; the ragged children stood around and gaped. Ravi’s mother came in and said: ‘Can’t you do something for the boy? He goes out somewhere and returns late every day.’
‘You get in,’ thundered the old man. ‘Get in and mind your business. I don’t want you to trouble this gentleman with all your idiotic words.’
‘It is no trouble,’ said Srinivas. The lady said: ‘Oh, you are standing.’ She told one of the boys: ‘He is standing, give him a mat.’
‘I won’t bring the mat,’ said the boy suddenly, and pointed to another and said: ‘Let him do it. Why should I alone do everything?’ The other fellow pounced upon him for making this suggestion. This quarrel came to a stop when the old man thundered at his wife: ‘Why can’t you leave the children alone – always nagging and worrying them?’ The lady quietly spread out a mat on the floor and said: ‘Be seated, please.’
‘Yes, yes, pray don’t keep standing,’ added the old man. And then: ‘Yes – I was saying something, what was it?’
‘Family honour,’ Srinivas felt like saying, but suppressed the impulse and said: ‘Don’t you worry about your son. I will see him fixed up satisfactorily in a new place.’ He felt consolation was due to the old man.
‘What office?’ the old man asked.
‘Connected with film production –’
‘What film production?’
‘They have recently started a studio –’ and he went on to explain its nature and scope. The old man said emphatically: ‘That will never do. I wouldn’t like my son to work in a place like that, among play-boys and dancing girls. I won’t have him go there.’
‘He is not acting,’ said Srinivas.
‘If he is not, what business has he there?’ asked the old man. The lady fidgeted about nervously, fearing what the old man might say at any moment. Srinivas said: ‘He is not acting – he is going to do quite a respectable piece of work.’
‘What is that?’
‘He is going to be given a start of a hundred rupees, and he may rise very fast.’
‘I don’t care if he is going to earn ten thousand; it is of no consequence to me; tell me what he will have to do to earn his salary.’ And then Srinivas had to blurt out: ‘He is an artist – probably will prove to be the greatest artist of the century some day.’
Art! Art!’ the old man mimicked offensively. ‘What does he know of art?’
‘Please don’t be offended with him,’ begged the lady. ‘He doesn’t mean to offend you.’
‘You go in and do your cooking and don’t come and interfere with us here,’ the old man ordered. The lady quietly went in, sighing a little as she went. The children trooped behind her with war cries. Srinivas felt like counting their numbers, but refrained from doing so, since he felt that it might fill him with infinite rage against the old man. The old man said: ‘Do you know what difficulty I had in finding him a job in the bank? I went from door to door, and how lightly he has thrown it up! And now he wants to pursue art, is that it? What does he know of art? Where has he studied it?’
‘He is born with it,’ Srinivas said.
‘Don’t put notions into his head, please,’ the old man said. ‘I would like him to keep up the family honour and not do anything that may bring it discredit in any way. We have lived without dishonour for seven generations and now this fellow wants to associate with dancing girls and that sort of gang. He will be spoilt. He can’t go there, that is certain. Let him beg and cringe and get back to his old office –’
‘I saw the manager. It’s no use,’ said Srinivas.
The old man shook his head. ‘Then he had better try and do something else. For a man with his wits about him, there must be dozens of ways of making a living without becoming a performing monkey.’
Srinivas rose to go. He was afraid to open his lips and say anything. Everything connected with Ravi seemed to get into such complications that he wondered how he was going to survive at all.
‘Can’t you stay a few minutes more?’ implored the old man. ‘I have nothing to offer you in this bare house. There was a time when in our old house we had fifty guests, and all of them were treated royally. It was a mistake to have left our old house in the village, and it was not my mistake exactly, but my father’s. He always – All right, why should I think of all that now? I was saying – what was I saying before?’
Srinivas was in no mood to help him out of the constant difficulty into which he seemed to be getting. He merely said: ‘I have got to be going now.’ He did not wait for further permission from the old man.
When he had gone a few yards from the house, a little girl came up behind and stopped him. She was one of Ravi’s numerous sisters. ‘Mother wants to know if you can give us a loan often rupees for buying rice.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Yes, she didn’t want to ask before Father, and so sent me on to see you. We have had no rice for two days and we have been trying to eat something else.’ Srinivas opened his purse and put ten rupees into her hands. ‘Give it to your mother and tell her not to bother about returning it yet … and tell her that Ravi will soon be earning enough to keep you all free from worry.’
At his office he found Ravi, sitting up as usual in a semi-doze. Srinivas hung his upper-cloth on the nail, came to his seat, and said: ‘Ravi, I had an interesting talk with your father; this is the first time I’ve met him, you know; an interesting man.’
‘What did he say?’ Ravi asked anxiously. ‘Did he speak about me?’
‘Of course; he is bound to talk about you. Well, I assured him that things will be all right. All that doesn’t arise now, since you are well on your way to a new job …’ It seemed to be a delicate negotiation, steering him into a job. He had to be put in without much ado, without his own knowledge, so to speak.
You can go and start duties tomorrow at the office of Sunrise Pictures down below.’ He added for the sake of safety: ‘They need someone with experience in accounts. Sampath will help you to pick up the work.’ Ravi seemed to hear the news without showing any enthusiasm. On the first day when it was mentioned he had seemed so enthusiastic. Today, somehow, his mood had changed. He looked dully at Srinivas and asked: ‘Why should I work and earn? For whom? For whose benefit? Why can I not be allowed to perish as I am?’ Srinivas found that a little peremptoriness always helped him with Ravi. He said: ‘We can decide all that later. You are free today; probably from tomorrow you will be very busy. Why don’t you hear me read out the story to you?’ Ravi sat up attentively. Srinivas picked up his manuscript sheets and started reading from the first scene.
* * *
Evidence of Sampath’s handiwork came to light. The old landlord dropped in quite early one morning and said: ‘Tell your wife not to trouble to give me coffee or anything every time I come. I have come now on business. I can’t catch you unless I come so early.’ Srinivas called up his wife to bring a tumbler of coffee for the old man. When the coffee arrived the old man’s eyes shone with joy. ‘You are going to force it on me?’
‘Yes,’ said Srinivas, ‘why not?’
‘You forget, sir, that I am a very old man and a Sanyasi, at that; I should never indulge in all this, though I’m inclined that way. It is not good for my soul.’
‘This is not alcohol, after all – only coffee,’ said Srinivas.
The old man said: ‘What if it were alcohol? Does a man’s salvation depend upon what he drinks? No, no – it depends upon …’ He became reflective and paused as if wondering what it really depended on. Srinivas could not resist asking: ‘On what does it really depend?’
The old man looked very puzzled and said, with his finger
s fondly curling round the coffee tumbler: ‘Shall I drink this off before it gets cold?’ He lifted the tumbler, tilted back his head and gulped it off. Srinivas asked: ‘You would like a piece of areca-nut, I am sure, after this?’
‘Areca-nut? Areca-nut, at my age? Oh! But how good of you to think of my needs. Who can ever forget the lovely scented nuts that your wife provides her guests?’ He revelled in visions of this supreme luxury. Srinivas got up and put a little bottle containing them in his hands. He looked at it fondly and put it away with a sigh. A man should not succumb to more than one temptation.’ He raised his voice in a song and quoted an Upanishad which said: ‘Food is Brahman …’A few children came up from Ravi’s house and stood in the doorway and watched him with interest. He glared at them and said: ‘That is what I hate about children – their habit of hanging about and staring at people. After this I’m not going to give my house to anyone who has children. They are a nuisance.’
‘We have all been children,’ Srinivas said.
‘Yes, yes,’ the old man agreed. ‘But what of it? We don’t remain children. Leave that vexed question aside. I want to tell you a happy piece of news.’ He lowered his voice and said: ‘It seems that that boy is going to get a hundred rupees a month. I always knew that he would rise.’
‘Who told you?’ asked Srinivas.
‘Ah, nobody can conceal such things from me. I know everything that goes on in the town,’ said the old man rather boastfully. Srinivas thought of Ravi with pity once again. This was another unwanted element in his already complicated life. The fates seemed to have chosen him for their greatest experiment in messing things up. Srinivas asked the old man: ‘Has Sampath seen you?’
‘He is a good man,’ the old man said. ‘I had not the pleasure of seeing him before. But he came to my humble room and sat there one day. I liked him at first sight. It is always my habit. Nobody can deceive me. I know when I meet a good fellow, and I know when I meet a bad one. Association is an important thing. Otherwise, why should I ever come in search of you and talk to you, though I have not spoken to anyone in all my life, especially if they are my tenants?’
‘What did Sampath say?’ asked Srinivas.
‘Nothing. He showed a desire to learn a few things in Bhagavad Gita and Upanishads. Somebody seems to have told him that I have perused these things, and he wanted to clear some doubts.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Srinivas, picturing Sampath, racked with metaphysical doubts.
‘Why do you cry out in such surprise? There are some young men like him even in these days who have spiritual interests. How can we say “No” to them? He said he would come to me two or three days in a week, whenever he found time. Do you know, he asked what fee he should pay me? I grew very angry with him and told him “I’m not here to sell my knowledge as a market commodity”. But he said: “Very well, master. But any piece of learning accepted becomes worthless, ineffectual, unless a man has given a Guru Dakshina [master’s fee].” What a reasonable argument! Yes, there is that verse.’ The old man quoted another scripture to prove that learning which has not been properly paid for is like water held in a vessel without a bottom. Srinivas reflected that here was Sampath unfolding yet another surprise. The old man lowered his voice and said: ‘Do you know, he has agreed to fix up the marriage of my granddaughter with your friend, though you forgot this old man’s appeal?’
‘I have not forgotten,’ replied Srinivas. ‘But –’
‘It seems Ravi is working under him and will listen to what he says. I knew that that girl was fortunate and would not get any husband less than one getting a hundred rupees a month. You will keep all this to yourself?’ begged the old man, starting to go. ‘I came here expressly to give you this piece of good news. You are my only well-wisher. Who else is there to feel happy about the good things that happen to me? You make me think less and less of those blighted sons and daughters of mine, those vultures.’ Ravi was very rarely to be seen nowadays. He sat making entries in ledgers in the office below. Sampath had managed to put him into the accounts section, transferring his accountant to the art section of the studio. ‘That’s how I have been able to manage this affair with Somu,’ he confessed to Srinivas.
‘But the other man, what can he do in the art department?’ asked Srinivas in genuine doubt.
‘He will have to do something, otherwise he will lose his job. Do you know, under such a pressure, anybody will turn his hand to anything; that’s how I find that most of our actors, musicians, and technicians are produced. You watch; in a short time that fellow will refuse to come back to accounts, because he will have bloomed into an artist, just when Ravi is prepared to do art work. And then I will be faced with a further complication with Somu. Do you know, I’m facing peculiar difficulties with Somu nowadays?’
At this moment Somu himself arrived in a big car. As soon as he entered, he said: ‘It’s so difficult to approach this place, Sampath. We must very soon look out for a good building on the main road itself.
‘How is the story progressing, sir?’ he asked, turning to Srinivas. Srinivas tried to recapitulate to himself Sampath’s account of Somu’s partnership complications, and wondered in what way his present question was connected with that report. He found himself getting into a maze once again, and gave up the attempt. He merely replied: ‘All the scenes will be ready very soon.’
‘Ah! Ah! That’s very good news. We must fix up an auspicious day for cranking. I want to invite our district judge to switch on.’ Seeing that Srinivas received the suggestion without enthusiasm, he hastened to add: ‘Of course, you must allow us business people to do things in our own way.’
‘What’s the point in asking the judge to do it?’
Somu turned to Sampath, and said with a very significant wink: ‘Tell him some time.’ Sampath rose to the occasion and said: ‘You will know soon. All this has its own value.’
Srinivas turned to go upstairs, back to his work. He had been spending a considerable amount of time at the foot of the staircase with Sampath. They had to do all the talking here because inside Sampath’s office, in an ante-chamber, Ravi worked, and they had to talk of certain matters without his knowledge. Srinivas now felt that the time had come for him to beat a retreat, since the foot of the staircase was threatening to become a conference room. Somu stopped him and said: ‘We must have another story conference shortly to see how far we have progressed.’
‘You can go ahead with your other plans. I will tell you when it is all ready.’
‘One thing, mister, I want you to remember. You must not fail to introduce a comic interlude.’ A slight frown came on Srinivas’s face. ‘I don’t see how any comic interlude can be put into this.’
‘Please try. It would make the picture very popular. People would come again and again to laugh. Personally, do you know, I always like something that makes me laugh.’
The old landlord waited for Srinivas at the road-bend, explaining: ‘I could have come to your house and caught you, but didn’t. You are sure to press on me your hospitality, and what will people say? “This old fellow goes there to snatch a free cup of coffee.” No, sir, I don’t want that reputation. I have always had honourable dealings with all my tenants.’ ‘Except in the matter of water-taps.’
‘Oh! You always have a word about that. All right. I will add a new tap – not one, several – one for each block. Are you satisfied?’
‘When?’
‘When? Oh! You cross-examine me like a lawyer, sir; that’s why people always say “Beware of people who write!”’
You have not answered my question,’ Srinivas said.
You are very difficult to satisfy,’ he replied, as if paying a compliment. ‘If it were any other landlord he would have become distracted – well, I’m not here to talk about all that now. I’ve an important matter on which to consult you. You are going to your office. Shall I walk along with you?’
‘Oh, you will feel bored and tired, coming back all alone,’ said Srinivas, trying t
o put him off.
‘That shows you don’t know me,’ said the old man. ‘There is no loneliness for a Sanyasi like me. If I keep repeating “Om”, I have the best companion on a lonely way. Don’t you know this sloka: “Wherever my mind, there be your form; wherever my head, there be your feet”?’
Srinivas slowed down his pace, and the old man followed him. After several more questions he said: ‘What do you think of Sampath’s film company? What are they doing?’
Srinivas explained as well as he could its various aspects and purposes. ‘Do you really think it is a very profitable concern?’ Srinivas could not easily answer the question. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know much about that.’ The old man stopped for a moment to hold him by the arm and say: ‘Ah, how careful! You don’t want to give away trade secrets, is that it?’ He gave the other a knowing wink. Srinivas tried not to look portentous, and said: ‘I will find out, if you like, from Sampath all about it.’ ‘No, no, no,’ the old man cried, alarmed. ‘Not that way. I don’t want you to speak to Sampath about it. I don’t want him to think I’ve been talking about it. He trusted me with a confidence…. No, no. I was just thinking that if I invested five thousand at twelve and a half per cent –’
‘Why not ten thousand?’
‘Why not fifty thousand?’ asked the old man. ‘You seem to imagine I’ve a lot of cash!’ He looked horror-stricken at the thought of someone thinking him rich. ‘I’ve only a few coppers kept for the marriage of that child. If it can be multiplied without any trouble it will mean a little more happiness for the child. Sampath is taking an interest in her, and so I thought …’ He meandered on, and then feeling that he had spoken too much of his finances, shut up suddenly. ‘Well, I will get back. I thought you might be able to give me some information.’ He turned abruptly round, leaving Srinivas to go forward alone. Srinivas went to his office, trying to divine what exact technique Sampath was employing with the old man. An indication of it was not long in coming.
Mr Sampath-The Printer of Malgudi, the Financial Expert, Waiting for the Mahatma Page 15
