The tale told by the three people who were now sitting in his room, extremely agitated, puffing at cigarettes, was even more terrifying. He had been prepared to hear a new version. Hence, although the events were shocking, he had not expressed any astonishment at all. When they first arrived, they were very bewildered. For the first few hours, they were speechless. Later, after some rest, a wash and some food, what they said was simply unbelievable. The three of them were friends. They were students at Presidency College and lived in a private hostel. On the day of the event – that is to say, last night – these three friends had been in the hostel. They had been chatting, they hadn’t gone out because it had been raining heavily. Who likes to be confined like that in a room all day? Besides they were young fellows. Hence, at night – it was then approximately half past nine – after dinner, they felt a peculiar urge to go out. It was drizzling, besides nowadays it was quite unsafe to be out in the streets at night – though they seemed quite strong and capable in appearance. Nonetheless, these three friends decided to stroll around Sealdah despite the drizzle. They didn’t have any particular objective as such, it was mostly out of a dislike for being stuck indoors all day. Then again, it was also a bit about challenging each other and wanting to vaunt one’s bravado – no one wanted to lose to anyone else as far as courage was concerned. Be that as it may, when they got out onto the road, it was completely dark all around. It was drizzling, the street lights were out. The three chatted and joked – the way people of that age do, the things they talk about – and advanced towards Sealdah.
A little way before they reached the railway station, they heard a roaring sound that could only emanate from the throats of a vast multitude of people. Startled, they came to a halt. In their words, such a roar couldn’t have come from less than a hundred thousand people. The dreadful sound continued as the assembled masses advanced in the direction of the city. They entered the city from wherever they could. Within a short while, they had occupied the entire city by sheer brute force. They – that is, the three youths who were eyewitnesses – thought that those who had come to take over the city were mostly Bangladeshi people fleeing the oppression of the Pakistani government. Some people from this side of the border had lent them active support and assistance, else they couldn’t have occupied the whole city like this so easily, a city as large as Calcutta. And all three of them were unanimous regarding the immense bloodshed that had taken place. They said emphatically that some people, who were blinded by selfishness, who didn’t give a damn about their suffering brethren from Bangladesh – whom they opposed – who sneered at everything, who said abusively that ‘It’s because of them, these refugees, that we’re in this plight’ – they were killed. Perhaps just a handful of them had somehow escaped from the city and survived. That was possible. What was more, these hundred thousand people from Bangladesh were so resolute and forceful that, in the space of merely a few hours of the night, they had entered and occupied the city’s premier sites. They snapped all lines of communication with the outside world – which was why even twelve hours after the incident, people far away from Calcutta couldn’t fathom exactly what had happened, what kind of an incident had taken place. In their – that is to say, the three youths’ – view, they weren’t content with merely taking Calcutta. Perhaps their aim was the whole of West Bengal. They were perhaps thinking about something like an undivided Bengal, combining West Bengal and Bangladesh, and, in that case, both the countries would be under attack very soon.
But the most astonishing thing about all this was that he had been to Calcutta only a fortnight ago and stayed there for a few days, and there had been no indication that something like this could happen, not the slightest hint. Unable to bear Yahya Khan’s oppression, refugees had continued to pour into West Bengal. Their numbers grew by the day and had reached about seven million – this he had read and, having read it, just like others, he had felt a bit sad at that moment and then simply forgotten. He had not thought about it any more. Bangladesh was at war for independence. In the initial period, he had noted this with genuine enthusiasm and had been quite excited for the first few days. He had listened regularly to the news on the radio. He had been elated hearing about their victories. But, by and by, once things settled down and the stories in the newspapers stopped appearing on the first page and moved to the fifth page, he too had forgotten about the subject like everyone else – although it was quite clear that he had not wilfully done so, it was just the pace of the developments and the way it was presented in the newspapers that had made it so. Today, all of a sudden, the astonishing news of Calcutta being taken over by a huge army of refugees was utterly unexpected and even unbelievable. Could it possibly be true?
It was not just this one account or incident. Until this evening, he had heard lots of other things. Someone had said that last night everyone in Calcutta had seen an immensely tall man come walking from the northern sky, a red lantern slung on his hand. Seeing this, the people of Calcutta, especially those who lived in tall buildings and those from whose houses the sky was visible, got an inkling of some impending calamity. Someone else, quite elderly, whose two brown eyes were still dilated with fear, had somehow managed to escape and finally breathed in peace here. He said that, two days ago, he had gone to offer prayers at Pir Baba’s dargah, and it was there that he had heard that Calcutta’s destruction was imminent – Pir Baba had calculated on his fingers and declared that the earth could not bear such a great burden of sin, and that because of this the entire city would be struck a fatal blow, and thus would proper punishment be meted out, in full measure. On the afternoon of the day of the calamity, the man had heard jackals howling in Dalhousie Square and seen a vulture sitting on the top of Writers’ Buildings. Another man – he too was elderly – had about a year ago sensed that a disaster like this was going to occur in Calcutta because he had seen lightning strike the roof of the Kalighat temple. In this one incident alone he had found proof that in the dark depths of Kaliyug, the Goddess was not going to remain on earth any longer. She was leaving the temple and going away, and before leaving had intimated: ‘I’m going, now you lot do whatever you have to.’ He narrated his experience. It was midnight, he had not yet fallen asleep. Suddenly, a mighty gale arose from the north. And what a tremendous gale it was – the buildings, all the tall buildings in Calcutta, crumbled like matchboxes in that gale, and thus was the entire city of Calcutta destroyed. Calcutta was now a city of the dead, no living beings survived there, not even a single jackal or a dog.
Reflecting now upon the different accounts of the events, he tried to come to some rational conclusion, even though the whole affair was so perplexing and all the accounts were so contradictory. Reconciling all of them and arriving at a conclusion was very difficult, at least as of now. If it was held that a terrible flood had occurred in Calcutta, as a result of which the entire city now lay under water, in that event, even though the incident might be within the realm of natural possibility, it did not seem possible. Because even twelve hours after such a terrible natural disaster, neither newspapers nor television had broadcast an authorized account of the extraordinary events. Second, the reports of eyewitnesses lacked credibility. Could the entire city have been submerged by the floodwaters of a suddenly turbulent Ganga, causing the death of the entire population of the city? Surely this must be an exaggeration! And third, if there had been a possibility of the Ganga frothing up like that for some reason, then, in this age of science, that would surely have been known in advance and there would have been a public warning. Even though some things still happened, which science, despite all its powers, could not anticipate – such things were merely exceptions, and it was dangerous to come to a conclusion about something on the basis of exceptions.
If the issue of a flood was rejected, some other very natural occurrences which were described by the eyewitnesses had to be considered. Pir Baba’s counsel, or the incident of a vulture sitting on top of Writers’ Building, or the matter of ligh
tning striking the Kalighat temple – even if these were accepted as natural events, they did not prove anything. Because Pir Baba’s warning, or a vulture sitting on top of Writers’ Building, or lightning striking the Kalighat temple did not amount to portents of Calcutta’s destruction, even though they were not normal incidents and we did not usually see such things. Consequently, just because they were not normal, they worked on common people’s minds and, as a result, their superstition-riddled minds made much of some very natural things. Hence, in order to know what exactly happened in Calcutta, all these incidents could be ruled out as irrelevant. But one reference which he still wanted to analyse without dismissing was the story of a very tall man appearing in the northern sky, a man who walked with a red lantern slung from his hand. It seemed that there was some meaning in this – of all directions, why specifically from the north, of all colours, why red? If only convincing explanations for all such questions were found, some clue about the whole thing might perhaps emerge.
If the references to a flood and some purely natural phenomena were discarded, another account remained, which could be looked at in relation to the disaster in Calcutta. What the three youths from Presidency College said – the arrival of refugees and their takeover of Calcutta; even though it might appear to be improbable, the possibility of it had to be scrutinized and evaluated. First, the number of beggars in Calcutta was a few hundred thousand. That they wandered around crazily in search of food, clothing and shelter was a well-known fact. With their combined strength – if ever their coming together really occurred – they could well occupy a city like Calcutta, and it would not be right to rule this out as impossible. In fact, about one hundred and fifty years ago, in 1830, the city’s beggars had actually assembled at some funeral ceremony. According to estimates, they numbered about two hundred thousand and, eventually, not getting any food, they began to loot shops and establishments – proof of it was there in the 15 May issue of The News Mirror. The news had appeared thus: ‘The mass of humanity spread across the city and, becoming enraged after two or three days of starvation, having repeatedly returned to hundreds of places out of a motive of feasibility; or alternatively, all the youths, distressed at being so starved, lacking livelihood or any means, possessing not even a penny, began looting all the shops. And wherever foodstuff was available, they grabbed it. Then there was a rumour among them that the government had ordered that they should take whatever life-sustaining goods they found anywhere. In reality, this order was false, but that only enhanced their lust for looting. Some people did of course obtain food, but the majority of them were almost famished to death.’
Since there are many more such proofs, not just this one, a normal conclusion could be arrived at: that the beggar class of the city – in a word, the destitute – nurtured in their hearts a revolutionary spirit, even though only a few of these people agitated and ‘the majority of them were almost famished to death’. Now, if we add to this incident the question of life or death of the seven million people who arrived from Bangladesh – a figure which is continuously increasing – then the whole matter becomes very dangerous. Seven million people, helpless, lacking means, who had borne the trauma of the partition of the country, borne the oppression of the Pakistani government, and had withstood the terrible floods in East Bengal – when they, unable to bear the oppression of Yahya Khan’s army, fled with their wives and children and crossed the border and saw that the Indian government had nothing for them apart from a fistful of compassion, then they could well have risen spontaneously in revolt. ‘Dire consequences unless two and a half million refugees are removed within a month’ – when the newspapers publish reports with such headings, when they say that a few hundred thousand refugees ‘are living under the open sky, in some places in knee-deep and elsewhere in waist-deep water, an indescribable plight after the last few days’ heavy rain’ – it is not impossible for them to revolt. And if they are joined by the local populace living on pavements, under trees, in motor garages, inside seventy-two-inch pipes, and beggars living like jackals and dogs, then it is not impossible that a city like Calcutta could be taken over.
But here, along with various other questions, one question assumes great significance, which is: how was this revolt accomplished in one day? If it is held that it didn’t happen in one day, that it was in preparation for a long time, that some recent events merely added fuel to the fire, then the question remains: how did no one ever come to know about such a major underground movement, did not have the slightest inkling about it? Not even our police’s criminal investigation department – how is that possible! Therefore, even if there was a probability of the whole thing happening, it remained unbelievable because there was no preparation for such an event, and no incident of this nature was known to have occurred in history without preparation. But if someone said there were preparations, that they had been going on, and, because we did not exercise our eyes and ears in the course of our daily lives, we were unaware – some might well contend so – then the present improbable situation becomes definitely possible and there is no option but for us to confront a terrifying future.
1971
Feeling Distant
Elena: Are you a revolutionary?
Sergio: What do you think?
Elena: I think you aren’t a revolutionary, not even a counter-revolutionary, you are nothing.
Sergio: Then what am I?
Elena: Nothing.
– T.G. Alea
from the film Memories of Underdevelopment
ONE
At dawn, after nightlong dewfall, the Choudhuris’ tin roof glistened like a silver sheet in the moonlight. At the banks of the large lake, fish found their way to Patit Paban Choudhuri’s buoyed nets. Patit Paban squatted on the platform and hauled in the catch to the bank. It was the month of Poush. The smell of dumplings wafted in from the next house. Grain-gathering girls stayed up all night, dreaming of that fragrance. Extraordinary dew, like an unseen hand, poured down relentlessly on the Choudhuris’ five granaries.
Using rice paste dissolved in water, the peasant’s daughter tried to draw the goddess Lakshmi’s footprints across her courtyard, her alpona smudged by tears. Last night, her father had been taken away on the pretext of trespassing on the landlord’s land. Pressed close to her, the younger brother pestered his sister: ‘We’ll get the fine-rice dumplings today, won’t we, Didi, with grated coconut?’ Wiping her tears with the palm of her left hand, the peasant’s daughter consoled her innocent little brother. A raven cried ka! ka! inauspiciously from a branch of the shirish tree in the courtyard. Going to shoo it, she stumbled and stubbed her toe and caused blood to spill.
TWO
There was a dog show at the Maidan. He and I went there. Shiny cars, sparkling women. A winter’s evening. I wished I could drop a mouse inside the suits of a couple of gentlemen. That didn’t happen, found a girl. Light fell on the girl’s bosom. Didn’t see her face, didn’t get the chance and didn’t think about it either. I said, ‘Give a lot of sex, do you, sis?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Come along with us?’
‘For free?’
‘No. Treat you to phuchkas.’
Ultimately, it was settled on breast cutlet. We fed her breast cutlet, she kissed us.
She said, ‘But I’m not in the trade.’
I said, ‘Neither do we go pleasure-cruising accompanied by our wives.’
The girl went away after finishing her work and stood behind a lamppost. We crossed the thoroughfare and entered a side street. We walked by a shoe store and a liquor store. I remembered I had to buy shoes for Eva this month.
He said, ‘Country spirit?’
I said, ‘That’ll do.’
We sat on a bench and drank from clay cups. An old fellow with a pointed beard was also drinking, the end of the pleated folds of his dhoti over his shoulder. As he drank, he sang to himself, ‘O mother, how long will you make me-ee-ee wander?’ Tears flowed down the old fellow’s su
nken cheeks.
THREE
In the morning, we found our pussycat lying dead in the veranda. Eva hadn’t let me sleep until quite late last night. Mid-morning, when weak sunlight streamed into the room through the window, Eva pushed and pinched me. The sound of pouring water floated in from the bathroom. Rintu and Fintu learnt the alphabet: ‘C-a-t spells cat, cat means beraal.’
Eyelids locked in sleep. I bought all the balloons from a balloon vendor at the Chowringhee crossing and standing there, all night long, burst them one by one. Eva pinched me hard and said, ‘Come now, don’t be so lazy, what will they think? Do you know, our pussycat died last night.’ In front of my eyes, Eva’s just-bathed face, wet hair spread all over her back. Today, I’ll buy a whole lot of balloons and burst them one by one all night long. Burst them, but the pussycat – our pussycat died last night. Who loved the cat more – you or me or Rintu and Fintu?
Baba was sitting in the room upstairs, reading the newspaper. Dada must have left for the factory.
Rabindrasangeet played on the radio: ‘Look how the morning star casts its eyes and gazes…’ I wanted to laugh out aloud. I wished I could draw a cross with black pitch diagonally across the sparkling white walls of the orderly room, over that a skull, and in big bold letters write ‘440 volts, Danger’.
Eva hummed that stanza of Rabindrasangeet: ‘Look how the morning star…’ I gazed at Eva.
FOUR
Although the bed she lay on was in darkness, she recognized the man. The man groped and moved towards her. She wanted to say, ‘No… no…’ But no sound left her throat.
The Golden Gandhi Statue From America Page 11
