Eklas had an answer to all these objections. Even a simpleton, he explained, would know enough to try to save himself from a burning house. And in the city, you might say, the house was always on fire. That would do the trick; Hazu would have to learn to save himself. And what was more, what use was the village to him anyway? After all this time in the village Hazu hadn’t a penny to his name. In the city, even if he did nothing more than roll cigarettes, he could earn a good five rupees a day. No, no one went hungry in the city.
Hazu stared at Eklas’s eyes, taking it all in. He had no idea even what the city was. He had never gone outside the circle of villages that surrounded him, with Munsidanga on one side, Suleimanpur on the other, a total of eight or ten villages. And yet when Eklas turned to him to ask, ‘Well then, Hazu, are you coming with me?’ Hazu at once nodded his head and said yes.
They put off going until morning. Hazu bound his possessions in two coarse bundles; his face was radiant with smiles. Eklas assured Sayeda, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after him. You’ll see, in a month or two he’ll be sending money- orders to you.’
They had to walk as far as Adanghata before they could get a bus. It was a good seven miles. There was a new road made when they had dug the channel. It was a perfect morning. The sun was not too hot, and there was a light, refreshing breeze. Hazu sauntered along, watching the reflection of the sky in the irrigation channel. Eklas loved to talk; he kept up a steady stream of conversation, only half of which Hazu even heard. For Hazu seemed to be discovering for the first time the glory of the sky reflected in the shimmering water.
It was near Suleimanpur when Eklas turned to Hazu. ‘Hey! Look over there. Down the field, Hazu, to the right.’
There was a procession coming from that direction, flags raised high. There must have been a good 150 people. They were shouting something, though from that distance Hazu and Eklas could not make out what it was. Another group had gathered on their side of the channel. They had their own flags, and sticks, shovels, and axes as well.
Eklas remarked, There’ll be a real battle here today, I can tell you that. Come on, Hazu. Let’s get going. We don’t want to get mixed up in this one.’
But Hazu was by nature incapable of walking fast; anyway, he just stood there transfixed, staring at the procession with wide open eyes. By now the procession had left the field and was making its way up the embankment, winding and twisting like a gargantuan serpent. Nearby was a bamboo bridge; clearly they intended to use it to cross the channel and then make for the open field. That was where the fight would start.
Hazu had been to Suleimanpur before but he’d never seen the bridge then. Now it held him fast; who has made it and why? Just for this very battle, perhaps?
Eklas quickened his steps. When he looked back he could see Hazu not far behind, but not moving. Hazu was concentrating on the procession with the same intense absorption he had for everything.
The people in the procession and those waiting in the field had begun their shouting not far from where Hazu was moored. Eklas retraced his steps and pulled the reluctant Hazu with him, yelling as they went, ‘You idiot! What are you staring at like that? I suppose you can’t resist the chance to get your head busted again? Let’s go. Come on.’
Eklas had to drag Hazu along. He did not dare stop until they were well past Suleimanpur, right by Ratan Agrawal’s cold storage plant. Both of them were panting by this time and they needed a few seconds to catch their breath.
Eklas remarked, ‘From what I saw, I bet there are already some corpses littering that field, may be five, may be even seven.’
And suddenly it seemed to Hazu that he could see exactly seven men right before his own eyes, some faces down and some faces up, all sprawled out back there on the field. And where there should have been crops he saw patches of blood.
Eklas interrupted his reverie. ‘Do you know why men kill each other?’
Sayeda had always said that when Hazu was steeped in thought he looked exactly like a cow; with its faraway stare. So it was just then. Startled by Eklas’s question Hazu could only answer, ‘Oh, brother, you’re asking the wrong man. What do I know of all that?’
‘Why shouldn’t you know? All you have to do is think about it a bit.’
‘But I do think, plenty. You see, when I was just a baby a big mullah had said that I’ve nothing but burnt cowdung in this head of mine. That must be why I don’t understand anything, don’t you think?’
‘That’s rubbish. Now listen. People kill each other to stay alive. If someone tries to kill you, you’ve got to lunge at him and kill him first. Otherwise you’re a dead man.’
‘But I’ve never so much as touched another person. Why would anyone want to kill me?’
‘It’s because you’re such a fool. Come, let’s get to Calcutta. You’ll see, I’ll make a man of you there.’
They cooled themselves off with a long drink from the tube-well in front of the cold storage plant. And then they started out again.
Eklas had rented a room on Darga Road, not far from Maulali. There were some twelve to fourteen men living there in the two-storeyed mud-house. It was your typical city boarding house; all the men had families back in the village. Here they cooked for themselves and were gone from morning to evening at their jobs.
With so many mouths to feed already, it was no problem to feed Hazu too, but they decided nonetheless that he should help in some way. At first they turned the kitchen over to him. But Hazu was hardly a cook; he not only burned the rice but was on his way to losing his hands as well. And he would sit there, just staring into the fire on the stove, as if he found in it a secret to behold.
Next they gave him all the dishes and the clothes to wash. When they got back in the evening, there were the dishes, piled up in the courtyard along with heaps of wet clothes. Hazu was just sitting there doing nothing. He seemed entranced as he stared into space or watched the water drip from the tap in a steady trickle.
Saiphulla, the leader among the boarders, worked as a messenger in a small claims court. He tended to take himself very seriously. Now after a hard day’s work, to see Hazu like that was more than he could stand. He dashed at him and gave him a sharp box on the ears. ‘You stupid idiot! You damn fool!’
Eklas was right there. He made his voice as grave as he could. ‘I brought him here to make a man out of him, after all. And if it takes a few beatings, well, that’s what it takes.’
And Hazu did grow up, practically overnight. That evening he washed all the dishes, and all the clothes. The whole time Saiphulla and Eklas stood guard; if Hazu so much as stopped moving a hand, they jabbed him in the back.
None of this bothered Hazu in the least. In fact he rather liked his new surroundings. Within a few short days he had managed to fit right in. All fourteen tenants of the boarding house took turns teaching him to be a man. And if he happened to make a mistake at what he was doing, they would give him a sound thrashing. There were even a few in the group who were his son’s age, but that did not stop them; they would grab Hazu by the neck and give him a good shove. Still, Hazu was happy there.
The house was empty during the afternoon, while the street outside teemed with life. Peddlers passed by with their varied wares. Hazu loved to sit on the verandah and watch them all go by.
There was a mosque in the neighbourhood which broadcast the morning and evening calls to prayer over a microphone. Hazu had never heard a microphone in a mosque before. It sent a thrill down his spine, as if the Great Lord on High were calling to him directly from heaven.
Once Hazu sat down to say his prayers he never wanted to get up again. Motionless, he would stare at the ground in front of him, hour after hour if he could. Naim or Kader would have to yank him up.
Eklas had promised his sister that he would find Hazu some work. And it was clear that Hazu could not stay dependent on others forever. There was a cigarette-rolling operation in the shanty town nearby. It took some doing, but Eklas got Hazu a job there. It was easy
work, no big rush, no pressure, no heavy physical labour, not even the nuisance of having to listen to a boss complain. All Hazu had to do was stretch out comfortably in a corner of the room with a basket of tobacco fixings on his lap and roll cigarettes. The pay was six rupees per thousand cigarettes. Some people managed to finish fifteen hundred or two thousand cigarettes a day. But it would be enough for Hazu to do a thousand at first, even five hundred.
On his first day Hazu rolled five cigarettes. The next day he did seven. All the other workers teased him. From every corner of the room came their jeers, ‘Well now, fine sir, you haven’t fallen asleep have you?’
Hazu was not at all asleep. He was staring at the tobacco fixings, without so much as blinking an eye. He was completely bewitched by the aroma and the appearance of the tobacco, so much so that he could not move a muscle. Even after repeated scoldings Hazu never did roll more than ten cigarettes a day. The owner of the operation finally had to call Eklas and tell him that he could not keep a worker like that. He could not pay anyone who rolled a meager ten cigarettes a day.
Hazu was incapable of doing even the simplest of tasks that anyone else could do without thinking. Perhaps God had singled him out for some special work, of which Hazu was yet unaware.
The cigarette-rolling was not Hazu’s last job. There were others that the men arranged for him, all to no avail.
Occasionally late at night Imtiyaz stopped by the boarding house. He was a handsome fellow, a bit on the heavy side with a thick lush beard. Imtiyaz was an assistant cook in a big hotel. He and Saiphulla were from the same village. He enjoyed a good time and dropped in to amuse himself with his friends. And they were always glad to see him, for he never came empty handed. Imtiyaz always brought an ample pot filled with delicacies. There might be spiced rice, or chicken curry, ground goat meat or peas and chillies. No one even bothered to ask where he got all these dishes, whether they were stolen or just leftovers at the hotel.
Hazu had never eaten such food before, and he did so now with great relish. Imtiyaz took a liking to Hazu. He stuck up for him when the others got after him. ‘Shame on you. How many people like Hazu do you see these days, kind, innocent, simple? A man like that who doesn’t even know what’s good for himself, sure’ll never stick his paws into anyone else’s fancy fare.’
Saiphulla grumbled, ‘Even if a thief crept in here in broad daylight our Hazu wouldn’t stop him. He’d just stare at the culprit. He’d probably even decide he liked him.’
Imtiyaz gave a good laugh. ‘These days, brother, it’s not so easy to say who’s the thief. Whatever, I’m going to get Hazu a job at my hotel.’
All of them were dumbstruck. Imtiyaz did not work in any ordinary hotel; he was part of a grand establishment where foreign ladies and gents stopped over and the rich from Delhi and Bombay came to stay. The hotel had a posh verandah; the very sight of it from afar took your breath away. Once Kader had got into a bit of a mess and had gone to the hotel to see Imtiyaz. The doorman had barred his way. No one was allowed out of the kitchen during working hours, and no outsiders were permitted to go in.
Many of the boarders had long been trying to get jobs at the hotel, knowing that there were always tips in addition to the set wages. So far Imtiyaz had not been able to do anything for them, and now he was going to get Hazu a job, just like that?
They all began to talk at once, when Saiphulla, as befit his status as the leader, gravely raised his hand to quiet them. He turned to Imtiyaz, ‘You don’t realize what you’re saying. You’ll ruin yourself. If you get that fool a job in the hotel, he’ll break some of the things he touches, lose some more and destroy the rest. He’ll piss in the guests’ drinking water, and then you’ll see if you don’t lose your own job. A man who can’t even roll cigarettes is not going to be able to do anything at all. Let him be, let him just stay here, minding his business. We can take care of him. He’s one of God’s creatures, useless as he is. We won’t just abandon him.’
Even so, Imtiyaz was not about to give in. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. There’s nothing to break in the job I’m going to get him. It’s an easy job—the simplest job in the world.’
Kader interrupted him. ‘Then in that case, why not give the job to one of us? I hear there’s going to be a lock-out at the factory.’
Imtiyaz answered, ‘You wouldn’t be able to do it. Not everyone is fit for every job. The job I’m talking about is perfect for Hazu, but not for anyone else. All he has to do is stand at a certain spot and bow respectfully to the guests.’
At once Kader and Nairn spoke up, ‘He’ll forget. He’ll forget to bow.’
‘And so what if he does forget a few times? It won’t matter. No one will even notice. It’ll do if he just stands there.’
Eklas turned to Hazu. ‘What do you say, Hazu? Will you work at the hotel?’
Hazu nodded yes, without a minute’s hesitation. It was as if he could already smell the intoxicating fragrance of all those delicious dishes, ground lamb patties, curried fish and meats, all sorts of marvellous concoctions.
Imtiyaz took it on himself to rush out and buy Hazu two pairs of pants and two long shirts at the Intali Bazaar. And then he escorted Hazu to the hotel.
In no time at all Hazu fell in love with his new job. It was an ideal job. He did not have to run around; there was no hard physical labour, not even a grumbling boss. And it was far easier than rolling cigarettes.
Hazu stood at attention along one wall of the glittering, white men’s room on the first floor of the Hotel International. Whenever a gentleman pushed open the door he bowed low. And it goes without saying that no one ever really stopped to see if Hazu was bowing or not. Hazu listened as the streams of urine hit the bowl. Different gentlemen peed to different tunes, it seemed. Even the smells were distinctive. If a guest wanted to wash his hands at the sink, Hazu stepped forward with a towel and soap for him. Many of the guests did not bother with the soap and towels he held out; there were even some who did not stay to wash at all, but just hurriedly did their business and left.
Hazu was astounded at the luxury that surrounded him and all for a pissoir, not even a bath house. He could not help wondering if wise Saiphulla, with all his knowledge, would ever have guessed that people could make such a gorgeous room and only to answer the nature’s call. The walls were so smooth that Hazu’s eyes virtually glided down them. And the mirrors were so imposing. When there was nothing else for him to look at Hazu took to staring at himself in the mirrors.
Hazu was on duty from one in the afternoon till eleven at night. Except for two half-hour breaks, Hazu just stood there. He did not find the job at all onerous; being on his feet all that time did not bother him in the least. Finally he had found a refuge where he was free from taunts all day long.
None of the guests ever spoke to him. Many probably never even noticed him there. The occasional gentleman tossed him a few coins on the way out.
Things were quiet during the day. The guests did not really start to arrive until the evening. The hotel had two bars on the first floor, and as the night drew on and things got hopping, the door to Hazu’s white room swung open more and more frequently.
Of course, Hazu had seen a few drunks in his lifetime. They sold palm liquor in the marketplace at Gajipur. Although it was true that Hazu himself never visited the toddy-shops, he had been there when some acquaintances had kicked up a row after drinking their fill. But the drunks at the hotel were an altogether different breed. There was no commotion, no rowdiness, no fighting. It was true that a gentleman might be unsteady on his feet; he might even talk busily to the wall or have a hard time buttoning up his pants, standing there rocking back and forth in his own steps. There was even the odd guest who got sick and threw up or the guest who stood in front of the mirrors seemingly unable to identify his own face as it stared back at him.
Through all of this Hazu remained like a statue, pressed close against the wall watching intently. He never even moved to help the sick guests. Imti
yaz had told him again and again never to say a word unless directly asked and never to approach anyone unless first summoned.
In the afternoon there was a pervasive odour of napthalene. As the day advanced other smells took over.
One night at quarter to ten two young men came into the men’s room. Their eyes were red, their hair all tousled; they were clearly drunk.
By this time Hazu knew many of the regulars. He had never seen these two before. With every new face Hazu would watch all the more intently, listen all the more carefully, even though he never understood more than a fraction of what the guests said.
These two young men were poets. As a rule, not many poets came to the hotel, except for the rare occasion when a wealthy patron might invite his protege.
One of the poets glared at the wall, as he muttered dejectedly, ‘I can’t stand it another minute. The longer I see him, the angrier I get.’
The second poet also addressed the wall. ‘Who? That midget with the woman? He’s just about talked my ears off. The next time he opens his stupid trap, I’m going to belt him one.’
‘No, no, not him. I mean this stupid lavatory attendant. What’s the use of making some poor fool stand in a pissoir all day long?’
‘It’s a legacy from the British. Another example of our disgusting servile imitation of all things British.’
‘Do they still do such things in England?’
‘They reserved all these repulsive practices for the colonies.’
‘But this country’s a Marwari colony now.’
The two poets made their way to the sink to wash their hands. One started to splash water on his face while the other stared at himself in the mirror.
Stone-faced, Hazu stood there with soap and towels.
Suddenly without warning one of the poets bellowed at him, ‘Where are you from? Village? District?’
Frightened, his eyes like the eyes of a cow tethered to a post, Hazu just stood there. Startled by the unexpectedness of the question, he was at a loss for an answer.
The Penguin Book of Modern Indian Short Stories Page 24
