Both she and Amman assisted Pheenu in his work but still he had so much to do that he became tired. How difficult it was to complete all this work and keep the long park spread on both sides of the canal tidy! It was too much for a single man — picking up leaf plates, fallen leaves, empty matchboxes, cigarettes stubs, bits of papers. It could drive a man out of his wits.
People simply came, spread a lot of litter and left. Pheenu would survey the whole thing in the morning, get annoyed and then start cleaning up.
'What do these bastards thinks? They spread offal and go,' Amman would start swearing in a quivering voice.
The flow of water in the canal was closed during the winter months. The canal looked like the bed of a dry drain. The number of visitors had also dwindled. Only in the afternoons and evenings some people came, ate what they brought along, played cards or just lazed around. They would pick the leaves of flower plants or split canna-leaves and crush them with their fingertips. Amman hated these people, 'Why can't they eat and drink at home?' she would say. 'The trees are without leaves. It is not spring and there are no flowers. These rotten people come here only to spoil the garden.'
'Fun lovers revel even in cremation grounds, Amman! What do they have to do with spring or autumn?' Pheenu had tried to make her see the point every now and then during these ten years.
Amman would offer thanks-giving when the dry grey season ended. She wished that saabs from the city would come with their families and spend their afternoons in the park, and children would chase butterflies. In summer, when there was a rush of people, the number of those who came to the park to drink, decreased. All told, summer suited all the three of them when the whole park turned into a fair. They had to work till late in the night. It would sometimes be daylight while they were still sweeping the litter. Sometimes they would find some small treasures in the heap of sweeping — spoons, cigarettes; notes, small coins. The canal flowed with snow water from the Chenab, Amman took her bath thrice a day or sat on the square stone slab placed under a sheesham tree on the water's edge, with her feet dipped in the cold water. A branch was bent over the stone slab and thick leaves spread a sort of umbrella overhead. In the scorching heat, when some wandering whiff of breeze shook the tender leaves, Amman would start humming some Pahadi folksong. Kalo wondered how Amman's voice became so sweet at such moments. If one were to hear her shouting abuses, one would close one's ears and jump into the canal. That slab was Amman's throne on which she sat like a Mughal queen, surveying the meena-bazaar of the fair.
In winter, work was less but there were no gains. At best, they would find some half a quarter liquor bottle among the cypress bushes, which could be sold for a few annas.
Amman waited impatiently for the onset of summer but when it came, she started feeling fed up. Hearing the interminable noise of people, she longed for winter. While waiting for winter, she had encounters with several men and women. Those who tasted these encounters did not dare to talk to her again.
'The old hag looks every inch a witch.'
'She can fly in the air and gobble up a sparrow's liver.'
'She changes herself into a witch at night. Then her eyes burn like lights and her hair is let loose.'
Gossip of this kind was indulged in by the children of clerks who would go to the park to pass their afternoons. These children repeated what they heard from their mothers, like parrots. Then such talk would travel to the children of petty vendors who played truant from school and came for a cold bath. The gossip then gathered more floss. Some children rubbed sandy soil over their bodies, seated themselves under the shades of trees and narrated stories heard from their uncles and those concocted by themselves. As the lips of the raconteurs moved slowly, those of the listeners trembled, their eyes widened as though ghosts had really descended around them. Vendor Sharma's little son said, 'If you see a ghost or a witch, you should repeat the Hanuman mantra.'
'Will the ghost allow you to do all this?'
'Be quick with it, mentally. Hanuman is so powerful!'
All the boys had their faces shadowed by dread. The whole group looked up to the young Sharma. He knew more than the others. But Kaku bucked all of them up. 'If you have a piece of iron in your hand, no evil spirit or ghost can come near you. Or you should have fire in your hand. It can be a lighted cigarette also. The ghost will simply flee.'
That day other boys were surprised to see a steel bangle in Dayal's wrist and a lighted cigarette between his lips.
'One should have all one's weapons ready. One never knows which weapon will work against the ghost.' said Dayal.
The next evening all boys except young Sharma came equipped with steel bangles and cigarettes as soon as it was dark. Sharma looked odd without the bangle and the cigarette. He begged Dayal to give him his bangle.
'You get another. I've spent full four annas for it.'
'Is this how you value friendship? I'll tell your brother that you smoke stealthily.'
This strategy worked. Dayal removed the bangle from the wrist and gave it to him, saying. 'There is one condition, however. You should teach us the entire Hanuman mantra.'
'Yes, Yes,' shouted all of them: some of them threw up their cigarette packets in the air to catch them falling. It was decided that like the school prayer, Sharma would pronounce the mantra first and others would repeat it after him, like a song. In order to purify themselves before singing the Hanuman aarati, they jumped into the canal. Then, coming out of the water, they sat in a circle under a mango tree and began singing: "Aarati keeje Hanuman Lalaki." But when they saw the old woman coming towards them with a twig in her hand, they started shivering with fright. They showed their steel bangles, lighted their cigarettes and puffed at them singing — "Aarati Keeje Hanuman Lalaki, dushta-dalan Raghunath Kalaki." On the one hand, the cigarette puffs made them hiccup, and on the other they were seized with a fear of the old witch. They were shivering. Singing the Aarati loudly, they began to take to their heels. If only one of them would take the lead! They looked at each other for support. Suddenly the old woman turned back, and they heaved a sigh of relief.
'See how powerful the Mantra is! The witch had come so close and yet she turned back,' they told each other.
They would come to the canal for a cold bath and repeat the mantra over and over again. And when they started this topic, a sensation of fear would run through them. That is why, even these stale stories tasted fresh.
'If you come across a puny ghost, catch him by his hair and lift him into the air. Never allow him to touch the ground. Then you can have control over him and make him do things for you." Sharma would tell them. Then they would talk of how a jogi conjures up a ghost, how a jogan takes jadian by becoming stark naked and putting her hands behind her. And if she does not transfer them to another for six months, they start troubling her inside. How a duala makes a ghost dance, how people master ghosts on moonlit nights, sitting in cattle pens.
Then all the boys would imagine themselves to be master dualas whom no ghost, no dakinis could harm. Sometimes, they would shed all fear and walk up to the old woman's slab. One day the old woman asked little Sharma, 'Why do you smoke?'
Nobody replied. It were as if they had been stunned into silence. Suddenly, an unripe mango dropped on the bank opposite. The boys looked in that direction. The old woman said. 'Go take it.' Dayal was crazy about unripe mangoes. As he made to move towards the fallen mango, Sharma caught him by the shoulder and took him aside. 'Nobody should touch the mango. The old woman must've used her mantra on it. Didn't you see that even the crow dropped it?'
'Oh, yes! Maybe the same crow is the keeper of her life breath. How cleverly she asked you why you smoked. The cigarette has fire at the burning tip and because of this she can do us no harm.'
Meanwhile, Dayal took out his gulel and aimed it at the crow sitting on the mango tree across the canal. The stone flew and there was the sound of chhar-chhar among the leaves. Some crows shrieked caw caw and flew off. Another unripe mango fell o
n the ground.
'Don't touch it. It's all the old woman's chhala-vidya.'
'Why does she keep her feet submerged in the water, yaar?'
'Her feet are facing backwards, she does not want to show them.'
It was decided that an effort should be made to see her feet, by repeating the Hanuman Mantra. And the crow that kept her life breath should be shot down. The next day each one of them came armed with gulel.. They shot at several crows but could not hit any. A stone or two hit some passerby and Dayal had to take a few slaps.
Seeing the falling leaves, Kalo told the boys, 'If you need unripe mangoes, I shall get them down for you.'
Sharma was the commander of the corps of boys. He shouted at Kalo. 'We don't want any mangoes. Who are you to give them to us?'
'If not unripe mangoes, then is it the leaves that you want?'
'We want that which keeps the life-breath of the witch.'
'I see.'
'We shall finish it. We have Hanuman Shakti with us.'
'But all the crows have flown away. You are throwing stones on branches of the tree.'
'Then what should we do?'
'I shall call the crows.' Saying this, Kalo imitated the call of crows. The crows flapped their wings on the trees at some distance and started floating in the sky. The boys broke into a dance of joy. The crows responded to the call of caw-caw and returned. The boys shouted. "Pawan-Sut, Hanuman Ki Jai" and filled the sky with stones.
Just then Amman arrived on the scene tapping the ground with her staff, looking for Kalo. Seeing the boys shooting at the crows, she cried, 'You should go to hell.'
'The witch, the witch has come!' shouted the boys and ran off. Kalo kept standing, crestfallen and sad. What was all this? Kalo felt her blood freeze in her veins. The witch could tear her up and gobble up her heart. But this was Amman. Her own Amman. Even so, Kalo said in fright, 'They were saying that you are a witch, and your life breath is imprisoned in a crow. They are out to kill that crow.'
'What?' cried the old woman, 'they called me a witch! I shall teach them a lesson that they will remember all their lives.' Her words reached the fleeing boys. 'See, how the old woman senses human presence. She rushed for the smell of human flesh.'
The boys were convinced that day that the old woman was surely a witch. There were consultations and it was decided to espy her feet. Dayal said that he would dive into the water, go near her quietly and thrust a babul thorn into her feet. And when startled thus, she would take her feet out, everyone would get a look at them. He filled his lungs with air, sang the Hanuman aarati in his mind and entered the water at the bend. His other companions hid themselves and waited to see the old woman's feet which rested in the sand-tinted waters of the canal.
All of a sudden, the old woman shrieked, scared out of her wits. She thought that some water-snake had bitten her. Old age and light body. As she pushed her legs, she slipped from the slab and fell into the water. There was a rumbling sound in the water. Kalo shouted for help but all those who collected around just looked on. No one wanted to pull out the sharp-tongued old woman. At last, Pheenu jumped in and rescued his mother from the jaws of icy death.
None of the boys had been able to see the old woman's feet. All of them had fled as she fell in to the water.
For a few days, Amman's stone slab seat remained unoccupied. There was not the slightest change in the old woman's nature. 'Let the scoundrels come. I'll teach them a lesson!' Amman was showering abuses on their airy existence. Pheenu thought she was annoyed with those who had spread litter. Kalo knew she was referring to those boys.
Amman sat muttering something to herself. One moment her face would be overcast by a frightful shadow of death and at another it would start flushing with anger. Kalo felt as though she was talking to ghosts. Seeing Amman's eyes turn towards her, she became scared. She took the broom from her father's hands and said 'Bapu, I'll do the sweeping, You make the flower beds.' What Amman was going to say remained unsaid, 'Why are you staring aimlessly like that? Eating all the time and becoming fat! You have no concern for your ageing father?'
Pheenu took the khurpi in his hand, tied a rope between two sticks on two ends of the flower bed and began to straighten out the side. She joined bricks thus, forming a jagged line. Somebody would come along and casually kick a few of them out of place. Pheenu would put them patiently back again. Somebody would again dislodge them. It would go on like this.
'Bapu, why don't you pull the ears of those who break the line?'
Pheenu just smiled back. She had grown tall, like the sunflower plant, but she continued to be innocent.
'If I were you, I would catch them and push them into the canal and shut out all those who spoil the park.'
'Yes, you are very brave. But, daughter, the government has employed me to make these beds.'
'The government has also hung up the notice on the poplar tree. PLUCKING OF FLOWERS PROHIBITED. Then why should we allow them to pluck?'
'The pluckers are also government servants, daughter.'
A koel cooed in the canopy of the green leaves and Kalo's attention was drawn in that direction. She mimicked the koel's voice.
A group, of men drinking near the hedge became excited at this childish prank. Pheenu thought to himself, 'She will never grow up.'
The red-streaked eyes of the fat drunkard had become frightening. The group had been having its sessions there for a number of days. Pheenu knew the contractor. Young boys from the villages who had not yet grown moustaches worked for him. Many years ago when Pheenu had first come to town, he too had worked for a couple of days with this man but his destiny had made him a gardener.
He feared white-collared men. Fear teaches respect for others.
'O Chaudhari, come here,' one among the group called out to Pheenu, 'This stuff...'
'Shut up...' the fat contractor quickly put his hand over the man's mouth and laughed loudly, like a querulous cat.
'Who are you going to vote for, Pheenu?'
For the last few days, election propaganda had been in full swing. Pheenu did not understand the meaning of all this noise and claptrap. People said that a vote could decide governments. If the government got changed, what would happen to them? They got their daily bread from the government. He pondered, but nothing seemed clear. If he voted against the government, it would amount to betrayal of someone whose salt he ate, and if he voted in favour of the government, he would be breaching the unity of his community as well as exposing himself to excommunication. I shouldn't vote at all. Why get into all this trouble, he brought. But to the government contractor, he replied:
'We'll vote for the government, sir.'
'Good, come, sit down, and smoke this cigarette.'
'No, sir, I've too much work to complete.'
'Come on, friend, work never finishes as long as one lives.'
The contractor handed over the darkish cigarette he had in his hand to him. Pheenu had always wanted to smoke a sweet-smelling cigarette. He had tasted the stubs of such cigarettes which he had found in the sweepings. But they did not taste like this. Pheenu squatted and started pulling at the cigarette. The long-faced one opened the packet of sweets and placed it in front of him. 'Come, have some,' Pheenu wanted to refuse but couldn't. His mouth had started watering and the words of offer floated with the seeping saliva down his throat. When all of them began to pick up pieces to eat, Pheenu also wiped his hand over his dirty shirt and picked up a few pieces. He wanted to hide one sweet for Kalo secretly. Why couldn't this be done? As a child when he had sat down for meals, he would get the maximum quantity of rice in his plate. Amman would say. 'Take only as much as you can hold in your belly. If you leave some uneaten, you'll get slapped.' The belly got filled but the eyes? He would tell Amman. 'See Amman, there is a lizard behind you.' When Amman looked behind, he would quickly push handfuls of leftover rice into her plate.
'Where is it?' asked Amman.
'It was there on the wall, Amman.' And she failed to c
atch his trick. Remembering his childhood, he said, 'See, what is floating in the canal.' All of them looked in the direction of the canal. He put some pieces of sweets in his pocket. There was nothing in the water. They broke into guffaws. They thought perhaps that a few puffs had made the gardener have hallucinations. They knew what to do when and decided accordingly, as if they had perfect rapport with the moments. They started filling their glasses with liquor. Pheenu felt the compulsion to leave.
'Sit down, friend. Saab (the contractor) has got the payment of his bill today,' said the long-faced one, 'This was for the work of your canal only....'
Then Kalo passed by that way again, frisking and prancing. The contractor looked at her open-mouthed. He was about to say something which was left incomplete and his arm was raised as if he was about to shout some slogan. It remained hanging in the air. Glasses were refilled, emptied again and the cycle went on. In between, Pheenu kept saying, 'You are very kind, sir.' In reply, the contractor said, 'Your days of hardship are going to end. Please know that a new age is going to dawn. All that is necessary is the use of the vote.'
'You are very good people, Bapuji,' repeated Pheenu. He felt that he was losing control over himself. His head felt like a leaf in the wind. And his legs and feet felt as if they were not there at all.
For quite some time they kept jabbering and singing songs. Pheenu got up and started walking towards his shack. Faint light from an earthen lamp was filtering through it outside.
He entered and the door was shut behind him. Kalo became scared. Pheenu fell unconscious on his broken cot. Amman was muttering. 'May you lose all, may you become paupers. You, who spoil others' homes. May your children die. May you die intestate.'
Away from the lawn, some distance near the hedges, in the dark, strains of singing could still be heard. The impetuosity in Amman's nature made her intolerant of this sort of interference in her domain. She thought of going out and giving them a piece of her mind. What foulness they were mouthing! Don't you have mothers and daughters at home, you bastards? Kalo's eyes were getting heavy with sleep. The shadows in the shack, dancing to the tune of the moving candle light looked very frightening. Bapu lying unconscious was like a ghost and Amman a sorceress incarnate. How deep are the wrinkles on her face! The upper two front teeth are missing! Was she the grand-daughter of this sorceress? Kalo broke into a cold sweat. She hastened to hide herself in the quilt.
Our Favourite Indian Stories Page 34
