Exile

by Akhilesh

  It seems you have forgotten the times when one had to make a booking and wait for years to get a Priya Bajaj scooter, but now nobody casts a glance at the Priya. Faster bikes, cars and trains – does this not impress you?

  You’re right, speed is the foundation of the present civilization. One searches for speed in everything – computers, automobiles, life, progress. There is splendour in speed. Everyone finds a gently loping deer a beautiful sight, but is a terrified deer, fleeing from a huntsman, equally beautiful? The fact is that people are always running speeding, scurrying from the dread of hunters. They do not realize it. They do not realize that they are the prey. My dear nephew, you cannot put the speed of a killer bullet and a bird in the sky on the same scale.

  You refute everything I say. But how can you challenge my assertion that the condition of the Dalits and the backward communities has improved?

  Why can’t I? Were Ambedkar, Phule and Tarabai Shinde born in the twenty-first century? What nonsense! You are reaping what they sowed in the past – not actually reaping – but trading it off to fill your coffers. If one accepts bribes worth millions on his birthday, another indulges by holding dance shows of film heroes and heroines. Each depraved fellow recruits a militia of goons and crooks. Can this private army usher in social change or transformation? I say Ambedkar delivered more than his share of history, but the current mafia of Dalits and backward people, those that history chose to pass on the baton of the mission to, did they accomplish it – or relinquish it? Their prime aspiration is to achieve power and riches at any cost, not emancipation.

  You play your own tune all the time. I think you have decided to oppose everything new. You are against modernity.

  What kind of modernity is this? True modernity is something in front of which the old should yield voluntarily. Vanish inevitably. Modernity that erases the past forcibly only destroys it, establishing something by razing the former is not true modernity. Whatever makes itself acceptable by dint of power, deception, illusions, money and cruelty is tyrannical, not new. Listen, the truly modern can defy god and death. Today, people are modern only outwardly because of their glamour and lifestyle, but they are hollow inside. Forget about god and death, people are scared of babas, shamans, soothsayers and shrines. Your supposedly most advanced state sponsored mass execution of Muslims and the individual who orchestrated the pogrom is now enticing visitors seeking modern entertainment. My brother, going to the gym and building a great body does not make one intellectually tough enough to dare god. This courage comes from spiritual strength, which is rare nowadays.

  Chacha, I don’t want to get into a fight. My only request is that you dissolve your differences with your family and live happily with them.

  I don’t want to quarrel with anyone, let alone my family. But I want to say that being with my wife and children would lead to my becoming one of them. I’d need to ape them, chomp on chow mien, burgers and pizza. Indulge in spicy reports of the bare-buttocks. I won’t. Let them call me mental – I’ll consider them fallen. I know they do not yearn for me but my money. They have a one-point agenda – I should join a job and meekly place my salary in their hands for them to enjoy. Forget it, Suryakant. I can’t do that any more.

  You are not a dishonest officer, politician or businessman, Chacha, to net in wealth without the prick of conscience. If you can save something after fulfilling your needs, and the family can have a party or buy something, it is not wasteful. How is it irresponsible revelry?

  Well said, nephew. Have you joined the legal fraternity? Listen to me now! Everything is relative. Do you know the idiom ‘Kahan Raja Bhoj aur kahan Gangu Teli’? Compared to the richest man in this town, Nandkishor Agrawal, I’m Gangu Teli, a man of very limited means. But Nandkishor also is Gangu Teli compared to Mukesh Ambani. The issue is not whether I earn well or not. There are several concerns. First, are you spending your extra income for pleasure or wasting it to display your wealth? Are you merely copying others just to be one of them? My family finds prestige in embracing ruin. It is nothing but wastage. Second, I know that happiness, amusement and enjoyment are important, but there is a time and there is a place for them.

  It is not proper that you start making jokes at a cremation ground and if someone has died, you start singing sohar. I was lying sick in bed and they were enjoying the song ‘Kanta Laga’ on TV. You’re spoiling your mind and think that it is entertainment. Thirdly, only he who works can claim enjoyment. Similarly, only he who can empathize with others should be entitled to entertainment. I told them many times that I wanted to bring my mother to stay with us for a few days. But the moment I proposed something like that, they started sulking, fussing, grumbling. Ultimately, they would make such an uproar that it would be impossible for Amma to come. And the irony is that she believes I’m the real culprit. When I talk to her at Bhaiya’s house, there is such accusation and desolation in her eyes that I am terrified.

  Chacha, don’t you think that you have deceived Chachi? You have not married Chachi but a lookalike of Balwant Kaur … Chachi might be under the impression that you love her, but the truth is that you were always in love with Balwant Kaur. At least, as atonement to this sin, you should accept Chachi once again.

  All right, I deceived your Chachi, but I practised a deception of a greater magnitude upon myself. It was really I who was deceived – by myself. The one who looked like Balwant Kaur was not actually Balwant Kaur. The new world you are so gaga about is similar – it is not what it appears. As far as my repentance is concerned, this is my hell, this is my self-exile, this is my loneliness, this is my punishment and my atonement.

  Chacha, don’t you think that you are hurting Balwant Kaur’s great beauty by hurting Chachi? At least you can own Chachi as a tribute to Balawnt Kaur.

  You imply I should deceive your Chachi, myself and Balwant Kaur once again. Making a compromise with your Chachi for the sake of Balwant Kaur would be indulging in a larger sham. Nephew, you say first one thing and then the other.

  Chacha, I can see that you still have not forgotten Balwant Kaur. Whatever you might believe, I suspect it is the memory of her that provokes you to treat Chachi unjustly.

  Suryakant, for my sake, don’t mention Balwant Kaur. You are right that I have not been able to forget her. But it does not influence my attitude towards Chachi. I also often wonder why I have not been able to stop thinking about her. Most people fall in love when they are young and overcome it. But mine is a different case. Perhaps your Chachi looking exactly like her does not let me put it behind me. No, this is not true at all. The reality is that if you discount the early days of my marriage, I never once recalled her when I looked at your Chachi. Never once did she flash in my mind. Would you like to know what still preserves Balwant Kaur in my heart? It is the anti-Sikh riots of 1984. I wonder what terror, horror and frustration swam in her eyes then.

  You make a mountain out of a molehill! It is hard to argue with you, and so we’d better snatch some sleep. My eyes are burning and besides, the sun is rising.

  The sun was really rising. Sounds of splashing rose from the river below the slope. Chacha’s eyes also were heavy from sleep and drunkenness. He stood up swaying and said woozily, ‘We talked all night only about me – you didn‘t tell about yourself.’

  ‘What can I say, Chacha? You quit your job and I almost lost mine. I am on a new assignment for a few days, I have to find a village in India, a house in a village, and the family of the ancestors of a rich NRI in that house. It’s most likely located in Gosainganj village of this district.’

  ‘I had thought you had come to reunite with the family you had lost.’

  ‘That’s probably the truth but I may not have realized it.’

  Chacha and the nephew stumbled towards the inner room, lurching, supporting each other. Inside, the nephew crashed on the mat on the floor. Chacha approached the surahi to glug water but collapsed there.

  16

  GOSAINGANJ SAGA

  ‘Jagdamba will b
e here in a little while,’ the village pradhan said.

  Whenever Chacha and Suryakant looked bored, the pradhan would sense it and break into the same refrain. They had no inkling that the beginning would be so appalling and that they would have to face such bizarre difficulties. When they had left for Gosainganj, they were brimming with glee and self-assurance, as if certain that they would discover the land of Pandey’s ancestors and progeny that very day.

  They could have left for Gosainganj a couple of days later, but since Pandey had already called him. So, Suryakant thought it best not to delay things any further.

  Pandey said, ‘Get it done quickly. I don’t have much time.’

  ‘Why? You were supposed to remain in India for a while.’

  ‘I was but I may die sooner than expected. I want to breathe my last amidst my family.’

  ‘What kind of talk is this? You still have a long life ahead of you.’

  ‘I do want to live for a long time, but the astrologers in Kashi and Nepal have declared that my death is not far. I have been blighted by Markesh.’

  ‘That’s bullshit,’ Suryakant tried to offer comfort. ‘They only want to frighten you.’

  ‘No, not at all. They have also told me informed me how I can avert this disaster.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By reciting the Maha Mrityunjaya mantra at the Mahakaleshwar Temple in Ujjain.’

  ‘You’re in Ujjain?’

  ‘No, Rameshwaram. I’ll join the online Maha Mrityunjaya recitation at Ujjain.’

  ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘To finish this pilgrimage.’

  ‘When can I see you?’

  ‘The moment you tell me that you have finished the job, I’ll rush to meet my family.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Hurry.’

  It was not a good idea to linger in Sultanpur any longer. The next day, Chacha and Suryakant were on their way to Gosainganj by car. Chacha was driving after a long time. He was in a kurta-pyjama, and a red cotton towel hung from his neck. Suryakant was in comparatively modern clothes. He wore a white T-shirt with blue jeans and cobalt-blue sunglasses. A camera was slung from his neck. He carried a water bottle in one hand and a small bag in the other containing a mini tape recorder and other things.

  Hits from a forgotten era played in Chacha’s car. One was ‘Tu hi bara jag mein jawan sanwal goriya, das gunda aage chalen, das gunda pichwa mein chalalu utaan goriya.’ When the song was over, the singer introduced herself and said, ‘I am Janakibai Allahabadi.’ Another number played, ‘Phul gendawa na maro, lagat karejawa mein chot.’ Chacha slowed down and said, ‘When the song was recorded first, the word ‘karejawa’ was actually ‘jobanawa’. Some people raked up a controversy saying that the meaning of the word ‘jobanawa’ is ‘breast’ and hence, it is quite a vulgar song. The singer, Rasoolan Bai, substituted it with ‘karejawa’. Suryakant considered ‘karejawa’ in place of ‘jobanawa’ and thought of Gauri’s breasts which remained lively in both his hands, spilling out of his palms, during intercourse. Chacha continued, ‘Janakibai Allahabadi’s sobriquet was Chappan Churi. There is a story behind the name: she had a lover, a crazy fellow. He insisted that Janaki Bai should not sing for anyone but him. However, Janaki Bai was a dedicated artist and she refused. The cranky guy attacked her with a knife, stabbing her repeatedly. He plunged the blade in her fifty six-times, but miraculously, she was saved and earned the name Chappan Churi. Later, the name was used as an adjective by flirtatious lovers for their sweethearts.’

  Suryakant said, ‘You’re right, Chacha, I now recall some boys sighing “Hai, my Chappan Churi!”’

  ‘Not only Chappan Churi, several other words were used as well, synonyms for unique beauty, beloved flame, sharp-featured, etc.’

  ‘For instance?’

  ‘Words like killer beauty, dagger, Babuni, birdie, my soul, o my pistol, cracker, etc.’

  Suryakant took a shot at Chacha, ‘What absurd times those were when men were such uncultured lovers!’

  Chacha retorted, ‘Indeed, lovers today are quite civilized – double and triple-timers, murderers, making intimate films without consent and blackmailing girls, splashing acid on their faces …’

  ‘Stop, Chacha.’

  ‘Why? Is there now an artist like Janakibai, who considered the freedom of art greater than love, survived fifty-six stab wounds and kept her talent alive? And the artists, poets and journalists of the day?’ Chacha lowered the volume of the song, ‘Do they possess this courage?’ And then he replied to his own question, ‘Eager to submit, get sold and kicked.’

  ‘Chacha, you can add me to this fraternity. During college, I wanted to become a journalist, keen to sacrifice my life for my duty, but as soon as I got an opportunity, I joined a government job. Now that I have been laid off, I’m going to Gosainganj village with my uncle to track down a rich man’s ancestors and their descendants.’

  ‘Don’t stoop so low. You are not going to rob a bank or turning traitor. You may simply assume that you have been transferred to some other office. Don’t attach too much or too little importance to this work.’

  ‘What if we fail?’ Suryakant said, expressing his fear.

  ‘Why such negativity? I have made inquiries, there are two old men in Gosainganj, almost centenarians. One of them is Jagdamba – people say that he has claimed for the last fifteen years that he is a hundred years old.’

  Chacha pulled over. ‘You’ll get really good jalebis and pakoris here.’ Chacha shouted out his order.

  Just then Bahuguna’s SMS flashed on Suryakant’s phone. ‘Good news: Pandey sent an email that if you locate his ancestors, he would like to produce a big-budget feature film on the true story of his Baba. He will ask you to script it. You’re going to be rolling in it!’

  He thought as he held a dona full of pakoris, ‘If Pandey really produces the film, I can charge eight to ten lakhs for the script.’ He decided he would resign his post at the Tourism Directorate. He would hurl the copy of his resignation letter and a DVD of the film at Sampoornanand Brihaspati’s face.

  Still, it was hard to trust Bahuguna – he was always spinning pipe dreams. The day before yesterday, he had called, saying, ‘I’ll propose to Pandey that the book you will write on his Baba and family should be printed in in different Indian languages and distributed for free in all the villages.’ Bahuguna had thought of the formula for raking in the moolah – he would have a bill for five lakh copies made by the press and the paper seller, although it would hardly be sensible to print more than a lakh. Another of Bahuguna’s plans was that Pandey should sponsor a project to write the personal history of all the girmitiya labourers who had gone to countries like Mauritius, Surinam, Guyana, Trinidad, etc., and Suryakant would be appointed executive director for the project.

  Suryakant decided he would ask Bahuguna not to be so wild with his imagination. There was no need for overenthusiasm. But perhaps he himself was too enthusiastic. The proof was that he was tapping his two fingers on his leg to the rhythm of the song in the car.

  However, the conditions were not to remain so harmonious in Gosainganj. Several crises, hitches and glitches were eager to salute them. It all began with an abrupt and irrelevant statement by Chacha. As he drove, he read out the milestone, ‘Gosainganj, three kilometres.’ After a pause, he resumed speaking, ‘In the past, you could see the mile, not the kilometre on the stone. Gosainganj was at a distance of not forty kilometres but twenty-four miles.’

  He slipped into a monologue, ‘Mile, kos – nothing remains! As if a terrible storm swooped down and forced all of India’s milestones underground and kilometre stones surfaced in their stead. It is a matter of regret and introspection that idioms like “nau din chale adhai kos” and milestone are now expressions from the past. Some children today can get a sense of the meaning because Hindi is taught in schools, but they do not grasp the exact meaning. If words like “paseri”, “man”, “seer” are no longer in use, how can children imagine how
much nine maunds of oil is when they hear proverbs like “Na nau man tel hoga na Radha nachegi?”

  ‘Premchand’s famous story “Sawa Seer Gehun” will become harder to appreciate because measuring units like seer and sawa seer are not in use. The Hindi names of the months – Chaitra, Shravan, Phagun, Agahan, Jeth, Pausha, Magh, are not used now. Where are all these nouns? The British who subjugated our country could not annihilate the nouns. All our places, objects, seasons, weather, distance units, words existed during their times and even after their departure as innumerable name words. But we have squashed them in the recent years. We exiled them. They are either extinct or in banishment! How horrible is the idea that innumerable nouns have been locked up in a prison sprawling for miles and kos! Like a convict in a cell sentenced to hanging.’

  Three kilometres had flashed by during Chacha’s monologue, when suddenly he stopped the car. ‘This is Gosainganj market, the village is about half a mile from here.’

  ‘Why are you stopping?’

  ‘It is market day – you will find quite a crowd here and you can collect information.’

  ‘I want to go straight to the village.’