by Satyajit Ray
There had been nothing there but a bucket. Now I saw a metal bath tub and a mug kept on a stool beside it. The thing I was looking for was right in front of me: an oval mirror fixed to a dressing-table. I looked into it, but the person reflected in it was not me. By some devilish trick I had turned into a nineteenth-century Englishman with a sallow complexion, blond hair and light eyes from which shone a strange mixture of hardness and suffering. How old would the Englishman be? Not more than thirty, but it looked as if either illness or hard work, or both, had aged him prematurely.
I went closer and had a good look at ‘my’ face. As I looked, a deep sigh rose from the depths of my heart.
The voice was not mine. The sigh, too, expressed not my feelings but those of the Englishman.
What followed made it clear that all my limbs were acting of their own volition. And yet it was surprising that I—Aniruddha Bose—was perfectly aware of the change in identity. But I didn’t know if the change was permanent, or if there was any way to regain my lost self.
I came back to the bedroom.
Now I glanced at the table. Below the lamp was a notebook bound in leather. It was open at a blank page. Beside it was an inkwell with a quill pen dipped in it.
I walked over to the table. Some unseen force made me sit in the chair and pick up the pen with my right hand. The hand now moved towards the left-hand page of the notebook, and the silent room was filled with the noise of a quill scratching the blank page. This is what I wrote:
27 April 1868
Those fiendish mosquitoes are singing in my ears again. So that’s how the son of a mighty empire has to meet his end—at the hands of a tiny insect. What strange will of God is this? Eric has made his escape. Percy and Tony too left earlier. Perhaps I was greedier than them. So in spite of repeated attacks of malaria I couldn’t resist the lure of indigo. No, not only that. One mustn’t lie in one’s diary. My countrymen know me only too well. I didn’t lead a blameless life at home either; and they surely have not forgotten that. So I do not dare go back home. I know I will have to stay here and lay down my life on this alien soil. My place will be beside the graves of my wife Mary and my dear little son Toby. I have treated the natives here so badly that there is no one to shed a tear at my passing away. Perhaps Mirjan would miss me—my faithful trusted bearer Mirjan.
And Rex? My real worry is about Rex. Alas, faithful Rex! When I die, these people will not spare you. They will either stone you or club you to death. If only I could do something about you!
I could write no more. The hands were shaking. Not mine, the diarist’s.
I put down the pen.
Then my right hand dropped and moved to the right and made for the handle of the drawer.
I opened it.
Inside there was a pin cushion, a brass paperweight, a pipe and some papers.
The drawer opened a little more. A metal object glinted in the half- light.
It was a pistol, its butt inlaid with ivory.
The hand pulled out the pistol. It had stopped shaking. A group of jackals cried out. It was as if in answer to the jackals’ cry that the hound bayed again.
I left the chair and advanced towards the door. I went out into the veranda.
The field in front was bathed in moonlight.
About ten yards from the veranda stood a large greyhound. He wagged his tail as he saw me.
‘Rex!’
It was the same deep English voice. The echo of the call came floating back from the faraway factory and bamboo grove—Rex! Rex!
Rex came up towards the veranda.
As he stepped from the grass onto the cement, my right hand rose to my waist, the pistol pointing towards the hound. Rex stopped in his tracks, his eye on the pistol. He gave a low growl.
My right forefinger pressed the trigger.
As the gun throbbed with a blinding flash, smoke and the smell of gunpowder filled the air.
Rex’s lifeless, blood-spattered body lay partly on the veranda and partly on the grass.
The sound of the pistol had wakened the crows in the nearby trees. A hubbub now rose from the direction of the factory.
I came back into the bedroom, bolted the door and sat on the bed. The shouting drew near.
I placed the still hot muzzle of the pistol by my right ear.
That is all I remember.
I woke up at the sound of knocking.
‘I’ve brought your tea, sir.’
Daylight flooded in through the window. Out of sheer habit my eyes strayed to my left wrist.
Thirteen minutes past six. I brought the watch closer to my eyes to read the date, April the twenty-eighth.
I now opened the door and let Sukhanram in.
‘There’s a car repair shop half an hour down the road, sir,’ he said. ‘It’ll open at seven.’
‘Very good,’ I said, and proceeded to drink my tea. Would anyone believe me when they heard of my experience on the night of the hundredth anniversary of the death of an English indigo planter in Birbhum?
Translated by Satyajit Ray
First published in Bengali in 1968
Pikoo’s Diary
I am writing my diary. In my new bloo notebook I am writing. Sitting on my bed. Dadu writes diary too but not now bcoz he is sick, so not now. I know the name of his sicknes and that name is coronani thombosi. Baba does not write diary. Not Ma or Dada. Only me and Dadu. My notebook is bigger than Dadu’s. Onukul got it, he sed it cost one rupee and Ma paid him. I will write in diary evry day yes when there is no school.
Today I have no school but it is not Sunday. Just there was stryk so no school. Offen we have stryk and no school that is fun. Good this notebook has lines so my writing is strait. Dada can write strait without lines and Baba of corse but it is not holiday for Baba. Or Dada or Ma. Ma does not go to office, only works at home. Now Ma is out with Hiteskaku. She sed she will get me something from New Market. Thees days she gets me many things. A pencil-shapnar a wristwach but it only shows three oclock and a hockee stick and ball. Oh and a book. It is Grims Fairy Tails it has many picturs. God knows what she will get me today may be airgun so lets see.
Dhingra killed a maina with airgun so I will try that sparow. It comes and sits on the raeling evry day. I will aim and pull the triger bang bang it will definitly die. Last nite a bomb went off it made big bang. Baba sed bomb Ma sed no no may be police gun. Baba sed has to be bomb, thees days I hear bang bang offen thru my window. Hey thats a car horn. I know its Hiteskaku’s standad heral so it must be Ma come back.
Yesturday Ma gave me airgun but Hiteskaku sed Pikoo babu it is from me not yore Mummy. Hiteskaku bot a band for his wristwach. I sed its name was Tissot but Hiteskaku sed oh no its Tisso bcoz the last t is not spoken. My airgun is very good and in a big box there are bulets lots of them. May be more than hundred. Hiteskaku taut me to fire so I fired in the sky and Onukul scared. That sparow never came yesturday and not today. It is very noughty but tomorow it must come so I will be reddy.
Baba came back from office he saw my airgun he sed why did you get him a gun Ma sed so what. Baba sed we already have bang bang all the time why bring a gun in the house Ma sed it does not matter. But Baba sed you have no sense then Ma sed why are you shoughting you have only just come back from office. Baba sed something yes it was in english and Ma also sed english very quickly like people in the cinema. I saw Jery Louis and Clint Eestwud and a Hindi cinema but it had no fiteing. I saw it with Milu didi oh no I think the ink in my pen is go
I put Baba’s green ink it is Quink with a droper in my founten pen. It is Ma’s droper she used it to put drops when she had cold. Today I am writing my diary at Baba’s desk. Just now the phone went krring krring so I ran and pickd it up and sed halo and guess what it was Baba he sed is that you Pikoo so I sed yes and he sed isnt Ma there I sed no. Baba sed were is she I sed she went out with Hiteskaku. Baba sed oh I see and put the phone down and I did hear it klick. Then I dialled one seven four they told me the time sumtimes I do tha
t to hear the time but what they speak I just cant follow. Today that sparow came. I was reddy with my airgun at the window and the sparow came so I fired it hit a wall and then I saw a hole in Dhingra’s wall. The sparow was very scared and flew away. Yesturday Dada has very good aim he put the smallest clay pot on the tank on our roof and fired from far away and the pot was broken. Some peeces fell down on the road I sed oh god if sumone is hurt we are in troubel. Dada is much biger he is biger by twelve years so his aim is so good. Dada goes to collage and I go to school. Dada goes out evry day but I am just at home only sumtimes I go to cinema and I saw one theatar. Dada came back very late last nite so Baba scolded him and Dada shoughted so laud I woke up so I didnt finish my luvly dream. I was rideing a horse and going so fast Dhingra cudnt catch me. Then Hiteskaku gave me a new gun it was a revolvur he sed its name is Fisso and Dadu he was a cowboy like Clint Eestwud he sed lets go to Viktoria Memorial and just then I woke up the dream broke. Now I will go to bathroom.
Yesturday we had a party. No it wasn’t my birday or anything just a party. Only old people so I didn’t go just wached a littel. Only Baba’s frends and Ma’s but not Dada’s frends not one. Dada is not home he went day before yesturday or may be before that I don’t know whare. Dada does politis it is hopeless Baba sed and also Ma. Ma told me dont go whare the party is so I didnt but I ate three sosseges and a cocacola. There was a sahib he was laffing very lowdly ho ho ha ha ho ho and a mem too. And Mister Menon and Mises Menon and one sardar I cud guess immijetly bcoz he had a pugri. Evryone laffed and I cud hear them from my room. Then Ma came in and went to bathroom and then saw her face in the mirror. One more ledy came in too and went to bathroom she was wareing scent a new scent Ma hasnt got that one. Then Ma came in again and sed why dear why are you still awake go to sleep so I sed I was scared alone she sed dont be silly its eleven just close yore eyes and you will sleep. I sed whare is Dada she sed thats enuff just sleep and left. But Baba did not come to my room now Baba and Ma were fiteing they talk in english a lot only sumtimes in bangla. But not in the party they did not fite in the party so the party is good no fiteing only drinks one day sumone was sick Ma sed he wasnt feeling well but Onukul sed he was drinking thats why. We have bottels in our frij when they are emty Ma fills them with water cold water. When they smell Ma scolds Sukdeo she sez why dont you wash them proparly. Sukdeo sez no memsab why does he call her memsab is Ma a mem or is she a sab no its really very funny. Then I fell asleep no one knows how sleep comes. Dadu sez if you die you go on very long sleep and you can dream what you want. only dream all the time.
I hide my diary in a plaice no one knows. It is our old gramofon no one plays it any more bcoz the new one is elktrik it is long playeing so no one touches the old one thats whare I hide my diary and so no one knows I write a diary. I write a lot so my finger pains a littel when Ma was cuting my nails I sed oooh so Ma sed why is it painful I sed no no its nuthing bcoz then she wud know I write my diary. Dadu sed show yore diary to no one only you will write and read it no one else. I have 22 bulets left I counted but that sparow is so noughty it didnt come again. I go to the roof and fire at the tank it makes a tong tong noize and then small rownd rownd marks so I think I will kill pidgeons. Pidgeons just sit and may be walk a littel but they dont fly that much. Dada has bin gone for five days his room is emty only there is a shart a white shart on the rack and a bloo pant and his books and stuff.
I was bloing bubbels yesturday then I herd a horn so I sed thats Hiteskaku and Ma sed darling why dont you go and play with Dhingra its his holiday. I sed Dhingra pulls my hair he hurts me I wont go then Ma sed well you can go to the roof with yore airgun so I sed then I will kill pidgeons. Ma sed oh no not that just fire it at the sky I sed thats no good how can I aim at the sky. Ma sed then go to Onukul I sed Onukul he only plays cards and durwan and Sukdeo and one more man they only play cards all day so I wont go anywhare. Then Ma slaped me hard and I nocked agenst the wood on my bed. So I cried a littel not much tho and Ma left so I cried sum more but not a lot and thot what can I now do. Then I thot lets see whats in the frij there was a creem role and two gulab jamuns I ate them then had water strait from a bottel no I didnt pore in a glass not at all. Then I saw one Illustated Weekly it was on Baba’s desk but there was no nice pictur only a donald duk. Then I ran to the varanda and did hi-jump over a small stool that was easy but I tried a bigger stool I fell and got a cut. Only a littel blood but there was detol in the bathroom detol doesnt hurt but tincheridin does so I put detol. Then I ran out bcoz a jet plane went very lowdly I saw when Baba went in a jet I went to dum dum he braught a elektrik shaver from london that was for him and shoes for me and a astronot that was very big but Ronida spoylt it. Now I supose I shud go and do sums.
I am writing my diary agane today. All my bulets are gone why didnt one hit that pidgeon? That gun must be useles. I think I will thro it away. I saw a machbox in Dadas drawer it must mean Dada smokes cigrets or why shud he have machbox. But Dada did not cum back god knows whare he is or may be even god doesnt know. Now if Ma goese too there will be truble bcoz last nite Ma told Baba she will go I had slept in the afternoon so I cudnt sleep I was awake but my eyes were shut tight they thot Pikoo is sleeping so they did talk lowdly. Now there is no one home just me and Dadu whare is Onukul he must be playing cards so only Dadu and me in the house. Dadu lives downstares bcoz Doctor Banarji sed Dadu can not climb stares bcoz he has coronani thombosi. So Dadu has a bell it makes a noize ting ting ting we can all hear it. Today I heard that noize once I was then spitting out of my window making it go far and just then I heard ting ting ting and I cud tell that was Dadu but I tried spitting four times againe one spit went over the wall outside then I thot let me see what Dadu wants. I ran downstares it made such a noize bcoz they are wood stares they make thud thud noize. But Dadu was lying not talking but he wasnt sleeping. So I sed whats the matter Dadu what is it but Dadu sed nuthing he just stared at the fan. It is a Usha only Dadu has Usha evry other fan is GEC. Then I heard the fone ring so I ran and it rang so many times when I sed halo sumone sed is mister shurma there I sed no shurma here wrong number and put it down. It klicked. I was huffing and puffing bcoz I ran so fast so I lay down on the sofa and put my legs up Ma wud scold me but shes not here I saw immijetly my legs ware durty but Ma isnt here anyway. And now I am again writing my diary sitting on my bed but no pages left now and no one in the house only Dadu and me and theres a fly it keeps coming again and again. A very stoopid fly what a bothre and now this page is finished notebook gone all over The End.
Translated by Gopa Majumdar
First published in Bengali in 1970
Ratan Babu and That Man
Stepping out of the train onto the platform, Ratan Babu heaved a sigh of relief. The place seemed quite inviting. A shirish tree reared its head from behind the station house. There was a spot of red in its green leaves where a kite was caught in a branch. There was no sign of busyness in the few people around and a pleasant earthy smell was floating in the air. All in all, he found the surroundings most agreeable.
As he had only a small holdall and a leather suitcase, he didn’t need a coolie. He lifted his luggage with both hands and made for the exit.
He had no trouble finding a cycle-rickshaw outside. ‘Where to, sir?’ asked the young driver in striped shorts. ‘You know the New Mahamaya hotel?’ asked Ratan Babu.
The driver nodded. ‘Hop in, sir.’
Travelling was almost an obsession with Ratan Babu. He went out of Calcutta whenever the opportunity came, though that was not very often. Ratan Babu had a regular job. For twenty-four years he had been a clerk in the Calcutta office of the Geological Survey. He could get away only once a year, when he clubbed his yearly leave with the month-long Puja holidays and set off all by himself. He never took anyone with him, nor would it have occurred to him to do so. There was a time when he had felt the need for companionship; in fact, he had once talked about it to Keshab Babu who occupied the adjacent desk in his office. It was a few days
before the holidays; and Ratan Babu was still planning his getaway. ‘You’re pretty much on your own, like me,’ he had said. ‘Why don’t we go off together somewhere this time?’
Keshab Babu had stuck his pen behind his ear, put his palms together and said with a wry smile, ‘I don’t think you and I have the same tastes, you know. You go to places no one has heard of, places where there’s nothing much to see, nor any decent places to stay or eat at. No sir, I’d sooner go to Harinabhi and visit my brother-in-law.’
In time, Ratan Babu had come to realize that there was virtually no one who saw eye to eye with him. His likes and dislikes were quite different from the average person’s, so it was best to give up hopes of finding a suitable companion.
There was no doubt that Ratan Babu possessed traits which were quite unusual. Keshab Babu had been quite right. Ratan Babu was never attracted to places where people normally went for vacations. ‘All right,’ he would say, ‘so there is the sea in Puri and the temple of Jagannath; you can see the Kanchenjunga from Darjeeling, and there are hills and forests in Hazaribagh and the Hudroo falls in Ranchi. So what? You’ve heard them described so many times that you almost feel you’ve seen them yourself.’
What Ratan Babu looked for was a little town somewhere with a railway station not too far away. Every year before the holidays he would open the timetable, pick such a town and make his way there. No one bothered to ask where he was going and he never told anyone. In fact, there had been occasions when he had gone to places he had never even heard of, and wherever he had gone he had discovered things which had delighted him. To others, such things might appear trivial, like the old fig tree in Rajabhatkhaoa which had coiled itself around a kul and coconut tree; or the ruins of the indigo factory in Maheshgunj; or the delicious dal barfi sold in a sweet shop in Moina . . .
This time Ratan Babu had decided on a town called Shini—fifteen miles from Tatanagar. Shini was not picked from the timetable; his colleague Anukul Mitra had mentioned it to him. The New Mahamaya hotel, too, was recommended by him.
