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Chapter-III: The Tale of Two Cities

  I

  Notwithstanding the dingy roads, nerve rending traffic congestion, the sweltering heat, the nagging humidity, the relentless power cuts, horrible mosquito menace, suffocating smoggy atmosphere, the nauseating filth scattered all along the streets and alleys, footpaths over-congested with shabby vendors, the traffic damaging political processions and the free play of ballot-box hoodlums, a sensitive dweller of Kolkata may visualize the inner niceties of the great city, its life sustaining force in spite of all the overt or covert complaints against the natural and man-made hazards encountered in the city.

  It nevertheless misses something and a vital one, the romantic thrill, the fancied ambience where one may float leisurely in the mystic world of imagination and a Kolkata dweller may at times get some respite in a sojourn at another city of West Bengal, the queen of the hills, Darjeeling; he may get immense pleasure in the foggy uncertainties, the hide and seek game of fog and sunshine, intrepid adventure in a world where the borderlines of visibility and nothingness overlap, the overpowering mysticism that transcends his soul to an uncanny world where Kolkata, the very source of his existence, is relegated momentarily into complete oblivion.

  II

  A surge of uncanny feeling suddenly took possession of Avik. He felt as though floating in air, in the dreamland of supreme bliss. Commuters of the busy M.G. road went on flowing through him in unending torrents. The sensation was so novel, so unimaginable that it benumbed all his senses. He could not make out what exactly had happened to him and how. He could not at first realize it but as he started surging through the crowded footpath the sensation suddenly triggered him, first as a streak of queer sensation and then it started snowballing until it engulfed his entire entity.

  It was not to happen if the saying “morning shows the day” has any real connotation at all. Last night he had a bad sleep and the reason was deep chagrin for the audacity of the craftsman who had been continuously harassing him for the last few weeks. It would be the fifth time today. All through the sleepless night, tossing from side to side, he planned again and again how to greet the man whether he delivered the metallic seal or not. Last year he had borrowed one from a senior professor, but he was not satisfied as the initials were not his own. The university clerks told that it did not make any difference at all. Avik too had forgotten the matter. Then while walking toward Sealdah he suddenly came upon the signboard “all kinds of rubber stamps and seals are made here” at the Amherst Street crossing. The cost was moderate. So, this year he would be able to seal the scripts with his own initial “A.R”.

  While approaching the shop on the agreed delivery date, this sort of inner comfort started playing through his mind. But it was only short lived as the craftsman politely expressed his apology giving him another sure date. But Avik was to be greeted with three more sure dates and this time he resolved not to remain polite. To his utter surprise and confusion, he could not find any trace of the ill feeling that he had nurtured all through the torturous night. The unexpected spectacle had dissolved everything and only an uncanny sensation of enthusiastic emotion forced Avik to hurriedly take delivery of the seal (this time the craftsman did not fail), make payment and leave without uttering a single unpleasant word to the craftsman.

  Only half an hour back, wading through the jungle of pedestrians, Avik had felt languid in the summer heat and rested for a while under the shade of a stall encroaching into the sidewalk. He had looked up and came upon the fragment of the sky that showed through the small triangle etched out by the foliage of three drooping trees – a chhatim, a krishnachura, and a banyan, fortunate yet to have escaped the choppers of the loggerhead politicians who seem to have resolved to make the city tree-less. He was overwhelmed to watch a bunch of cloud floating across and forming multiple designs, a vast sooty canvas edged whitish and untiringly fragmenting into shapes and forms. He could not remove his eyes from the spectacle never experienced before in the dingy city. He looked at his wristwatch and hurried off to reach the craftsman’s shop on time lest any delay may give him some excuse if he failed this time too.

  Since he had returned from North Bengal he felt utterly morose and dejected. The Marwari travel agent at Siliguri had warned that Darjeeling would be unsafe because of Gorkha movement and there was little likelihood that the intricate issue would be resolved in near future – they would not budge an inch from their demand of Gorkha Land and the government would never open up Pandora’s Box by acquiescing at such unjustified demand. As soon as he had stepped down the narrow staircase a Nepali boy approached him and asked if he was looking for a trip to Darjeeling.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Avik asked.

  ‘Why not?’ The boy expressed surprise.

  ‘The movement?’

  ‘Oh it’s politics and nothing to do with tourists. You know sir we would starve if tourists are frightened off this way by these kaiya buggers. There’s still a vacant seat in the land rover. Come with me, quick.’

  It was a back seat, likely to jolt at every sharp turn, but Avik did not mind as he would be able to have the panoramic view both from the side and through the open backside of the vehicle. At the last moment, however, his hopes were shattered as a bulky Bhutia was thrashed into the little space remaining to his side and at every turn, which was very frequent, he had to endure the weight that almost crushed him and the stench from the unwashed clothes and body of the giant with a large mouth, tiny eyes and creased forehead, was morbidly sickening.

  The stopovers for tea at Kurseong and Ghoom gave him some relief and he could freely stretch the strained legs and finally the stinking demon alighted at Sonada. His left side all the way from shoulder down to the toes was painful due to the relentless thrashing of the bulk of the Bhutia, but his heart leapt up as soon as he realized that he was going to be in his dreamed city in no time.

  As the vehicle turned off right to bring to clear vision the cloud smeared dwellings that sloped gently down the hills taking the outer flank of Darjeeling Avik was seized with ecstasy and closed his eyes to float in imagination in the dreamland that he would encounter in a matter of minutes. The chilly wind through the open window greeted him and relieved all the accumulated chagrin in course of the torturous journey. He asked the driver to stop at Chawk bazaar and got down with his side bag strapped to his shoulder. The place as usual was busy and dingy and he moved sideways down a narrow lane to a tea stall and ordered tea and biscuit getting seated on the half broken bench propped up with a stone slab. It was not at all cold as there was no fog now and the sun was shining bright on the distant hills visible through the opening of the maze of dingy shops down ahead; and he need not open his bag to bring out the sweater. The forty-past Nepali woman with a puckered face and wearing a dazzling sari and a heavy silver ring dangling from her nostril, greeted Avik with a charming candid smile defying her age and said,

  ‘There are good momos, both chicken and veg. Like to taste a plate sir?’

  ‘No need now,’ Avik smiled back. ‘I’ll have it later on while I feel hungry. Please serve the tea hot and fresh from flavor leaves. I’ll pay the reasonable price.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve already put the best tea with me for brewing.’

  Avik watched with amazement Nepalis of all ages, mostly laborers, moving hither and thither, Bhutia women carrying on their backs, attached with stripes fastened across forehead, heavy luggage beyond the capacity of even the stoutest coolie at Howrah station and overhead luggage trolleys gliding up and down leisurely along the ropeway. Memories of the past returned to his mind and seized him with nostalgia. Now the most beautiful segment of the city would open up with all its marvels as soon as he would move up toward the mall. The tea was good; these Nepali women never tell lies unlike the slickers at Kolkata shops. He lighted a cigarette and looked up to have a glimpse of the sky which was clear and azure and he thought soon fog would make it all different. This is the mystery of this hill city.

  He moved ahead a
nd started climbing the first path that led after a few bends to the straight road sloping gently up toward mall, the paradise embellishing the city. As soon as he crossed the dingy market place and turned off to take the road toward mall, the shock came, slowly first and then it engulfed his heart and made him feel morose and hollow. All the way up he could not get any trace of the dream city. All charm gone, it was lousy and seedy with smutty buildings, hillsides overgrown with shrubs and monkeys merrily loitering on the passage with the cubs playing with the dirt scattered around; congeries of mucks, shards and pieces of crumpled papers heaped at every corner with the nauseating fetor. ‘Is this the dream city? Or I’ve come by mistake to some other place, or it’s simply a nightmare?’ Avik said to himself. The mall too was lackluster, vapid and utterly disappointing. Avik hurried down to the bus stand and returned by the first bus he got.

  All the way back he felt painfully what the movement had done to the glamorous city and he also realized the falsity of the outward gloss that so far had befooled him. It now truly looked like a place devastated by heavy bombardment. His uncle used to say, ‘Don’t take anything at firsthand appearance. The first gloss may as well be deceptive.’ He had this wisdom from a bitter experience. He had been one of the most ardent fans of Sonny Liston; he rated the boxer above Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and even Sugar Ray Robinson. Then the two bouts with almost unknown Cassius Clay conspicuously proved his worthlessness hidden below his deceptive prowess. This is the way things go for those who fly into ecstasy at the glimpse of anything that appears enchanting at first sight and without any scrutiny as to the perpetuity of the outward sheen, Avik thought.

  The audacity of the seal-maker had added to his agony; but now he felt free from all ill feeling. The fragment of the city sky peeping through the crevice made by the trees had done all these and the spectacle took possession of his thought.

  III

  The next Sunday he attended, as pre-planned, a get together at Behala to the south of the city, of old friends at college and most of the friends at Kolkata turned up. It was a lively meeting and they enjoyed lively nostalgic gossiping, singing, listening to music, playing card games and the lunch with fried rice, roasted chicken and pineapple chatni was sumptuous. All the friends except Avik and Timir were from the south. Timir’s house was at Shyambazar, only a few paces from Avik’s. So the two hailed a taxi which got slower due to traffic congestion after racing fast up along the Diamond Harbor Road and eventually got stuck up in a traffic jam; but they were not worried as they had no need to hurry back home so early.

  Avik looked through the windscreen and his eyes stuck at a fantastic view – an uncanny palace emerging above the dark line made by the trees beside the race course. It was golden yellow in the glow of mercury lights flowing gently down the dome and the dark humanoid figure above the dome projecting right toward the sky endowed it with weirdness. Avik got befuddled and could not make out what it was. Is it real or figment of imagination, he thought. He turned aside and saw Timir too absorbed in the spectacle. ‘Oh, the Victoria Memorial,’ he commented without looking at Avik. ‘Have you ever seen it like this?”

  ‘No,’ Avik replied. ‘In fact we never had opportunity to see it from this angle and at these hours.’

  ‘So we could rediscover things we’ve seen hundreds of times,’ Timir commented with the seriousness of a philosopher.

  ‘Certainly. As a matter of fact, we ought to change our attitudes,’ Avik too turned a bit philosophical.

  The traffic commenced moving up like a giant getting out of slumber and then the taxi picked up gear and the spectacle zoomed in fast and lost into oblivion as the taxi turned off toward the Red Road. They left the taxi at Hatibagan, had dinner from a restaurant and went home on foot.

  Upon returning home and getting into bed after undressing and the usual chores, his mind got engrossed in the spectacle he had encountered in the evening and he felt himself floating into the golden palace beyond the tree lines and up above into the sky. His dream got interrupted at the music of the door-bell. ‘Who the hell has the audacity to ring the bell at these hours?’ He said to himself in deep disgust.

  Avik tidied his night dress and languidly opened the door and Mrs. Sur ushered in Nira, dead drunk. Nira surged ahead like a zombie and made the bed and fell asleep without even putting off the sandals. Mrs. Sur, the elderly lady, looked up apologetically.

  ‘What the hell have you brought her here for?’ Avik could not resist anger.

  Mrs. Sur said meekly, ‘She’s no where else to go. All doors are closed on her.’

  ‘Mine too would be closed in no time.’

  ‘My son, I share your feelings. Give her shelter for the night at least. I’ll talk with you tomorrow and see what I can do.’

  ‘Where did you find her?’

  ‘My hubby had office meeting that ran late into night and returning home our driver, who knows her, noticed her seated drowsily outside Trincas bar. The driver stopped the car and my hubby sent the car for me and I forced her into our car. Mr. Sur wanted to take her home but it would have bad impressions on my grand children and my daughter-in-law hates her. So I had no alternative but to bring her here. I don’t find words to apologize for causing you so much trouble.

  ‘You need not aunty. Sorry for offending you.’ Avik said in a placatory tone.

  ‘Not at all. I would’ve done the same if I were in your place. My hubby is waiting in the car. I’ll talk with you next morning. Until then.’

  ‘Good night.’

  Avik returned to his room and could not sleep for the rest of the night. The hussy had taken up a new job at Bangalore and left and Avik thought she would not return again. Now, she was here again, boozed to the brim to soothe out the wounds of rat race. Had she lost her job there, would she again opt for staying here? ‘I’m through with her and must do something to rid her’, Avik was determined.

  IV

  To avoid encountering Nira, Avik left bed early next morning, did the usual chores and instructed the gate keeper who had risen early as usual and was washing teeth, to keep watch on her till he returned. The morning breeze was pleasant and removed all the weariness of the horrible night.

  Cornwallis Street was almost desolate now; only a few vehicles and commuters, mostly porters and transport operators, moving languidly, some footpath shoppers were laying their make-shift stalls and shutters of some shops were opening. Soon the road would reverberate with the din and bustle of city life. He waited at the tram depot and took the first tram for esplanade. He relaxed himself on a bench at the Curzon Park and fell fast asleep. He woke around eleven. The sun was high up and the city was now bristling with life. He took tea and bad tasting cakes from a mobile stall and started strolling northward along the Old Court House Street.

  Avik teetered through the congested lanes and alleys around Canning Street, pushing and being pushed by the unending flow of pedestrians, coolies and pushcarts carrying heavy loads, watching the variegated wares stacked in shops and footpath stalls, the dirt scattered around, hollering urchins, buyers bargaining hard with the shop keepers, shabbily dressed menials taking tea on stone slabs and the city unfurling itself with all its life force and clumsiness. These apparently disgusting stuffs have their charms too; he had to go deeper and rediscover, Avik thought with amazement and felt delighted, all ill-feelings and chagrin around Nira’s return gone. He had lunch from a shabby hotel congested with riff-raffs and enjoyed it for the first time in his city life.

  He lighted a cigarette and cruised along the Brabourne Road steadily till he reached the Howrah Bridge, rested leaning against the railing of the bridge and he felt the relentless vibration caused by the free flow of traffic along the bridge as the evening rush and traffic-jam were yet to commence. The Vidyasagar Bridge showed clear in the bright sun shine with its network of chords and towers like a gigantic scorpion. Below to the left nude boys were wallowing in the mud and diving into the Ganges which was now flowing low due to ebb-tide and wres
tlers in loin cloth were exercising with maces, their bare bodies smeared with mud; boats were sculling leisurely and a launch chugging across toward the Howrah Station wharf. Only a few months ago Nira was not like this and she loved Avik for sure. Then she was superseded by a smart girl, a favorite of the boss and took to drinking. These things are natural in private firms and Avik was surprised how such a simple failure had overturned her heart. ‘Lay the stuff off. She’s past and I’m to start anew, to rediscover,’ Avik said to himself and he stomped ahead for the Howrah Railway Station.

  V

  Office rush was yet to commence and he got a side seat in the local train which still had vacant seats. In a few hours it would be plenty different and the doors would bulge with intertwined passengers barely missing the electric posts lining the track. It was afternoon when he alighted at the suburban station and getting out the gate he could not recognize the place and he thought momentarily if he had landed at the wrong place but the name of the station clearly displayed on a board at the outside gate reassured him.

  The large rain-tree lining the station compound was gone and there were clusters of housing in the erstwhile open space in front. ‘Can I find out the house now? There must be new constructions and old identifying objects might be missing. But I can find out anyway by asking local people and at least from the groceries or ration shops. Tapan Datta is well-known in this place.’ Avik thought. He moved slowly on to the rickshaw stand and asked the first puller that came up if he knew Shitala-tala. The puller, a teen age boy with tousled hair and large eyes, nodded assent and added, ‘It’s not far off but the road is broken and difficult to pedal along. You are to pay ten rupees. This is the rate. You may ask any one, I’m not charging beyond rate.’

  ‘No need to ask anybody. I’ll pay you ten anyway. Move along.’ Avik rode the rickshaw and rested himself against the back of the seat.

  The rickshaw at first moved slowly struggling through the jumble of rickshaws, pedestrians, autos and luggage vans and after getting clear off the congested station area it started jolting steadily along the fractured road, devoured at random by rains and wheels of heavy vehicles. The narrow road was lined on either side with houses, complete and under construction, tall coconut and betel nut trees, banana groves and large trees bushy at the top. The cluster of distant trees ahead, dark against the slanted sun dropping leisurely down toward the western horizon, had made a semi-circle and Avik could hardly recognize the place and he doubted if he had ever come to the place earlier. The rickshaw turned off right to a narrow lane and Avik could recognize the Temple and the banyan tree in front reassured him. He alighted and the familiar house not far off made his heart flutter. He paid the rickshaw puller and proceeded for the house. A few old men were seated on the cemented circle around the trunk of the banyan tree and to be confirmed Avik asked pointing out at the house, ‘Is it Tapan Datta’s house?’

  ‘You mean the contractor? He has sold it out and moved with family on to his new house.’

  Avik felt disappointed and his heart sank.; “Do you know the address of the new house?’

  The old man with bald head and sharp eyes smiled. ‘Oh it’s only a furlong from here. You may take the rickshaw or even go on foot.’

  The rickshaw puller was already gone and Avik hurried on following the direction of the old man. The sun had already glided far down and it would be dark in no time. At the place mentioned by the old man, a few young boys were gossiping on the bench of a tea stall and Avik asked them if they could give him the direction of Tapan Datta’s house. A boy replied promptly, ‘It’s barely a minute’s walk. His is the only three storey house here and you can easily recognize it. Just a minute.’ The boy looked across the road and called aloud, ‘Shibu,’ and beckoned a boy around eleven by waving his hand. The boy crossed the road and came over. ‘Guide this uncle to Mithu’s house.’ Avik’s heart leapt to hear the name. ‘So they are here’, he felt an inner comfort. He thanked the young boy and proceeded ahead alongside his tiny guide. Avik felt indecision surging through him and his nerves gave way. ‘Should I go with him or go back? But now I’m at least to go up to Tapan’s house, let the boy off and rethink what to do.’ Avik said to himself. He braced himself up and to ward off shakiness started conversing with the child.

  ‘Is your house close to theirs?’ He asked the boy.

  ‘Only two houses in between Mithu is my friend.’

  ‘You read in the same class I suppose’.

  ‘Same class indeed but not the same school. He reads at an English medium school, Don Bosco. You must have seen the large beautiful building. His mama (maternal uncle) is rich but my father cannot afford a good school like that. I read here at a Bengali medium school and it’s not good.’

  Avik felt relieved that Mithu’s studies have not been hampered. Suburban Don Bosco is not as good as Calcutta Boys’ School but nevertheless a good one.

  ‘How come Mithu is your friend?’

  ‘His mother teaches me privately.’

  Avik felt a sudden jolt at his heart and blood rushed up toward his head. He struggled hard to control his quavering voice and asked in a thick voice, ‘Is his mother okay?’

  ‘She had jaundice last month.’

  ‘Fully cured now?’ Avik could not conceal worry.

  ‘Cured but she’s become weak and sadder. Who are you to them uncle?’

  ‘I’m his father’s friend,’ Avik lied.

  ‘You too stay in America like his father.’

  ‘Who told you his father is in America?’

  ‘Mithu told me his father has gone abroad on a highly paid job and would come as soon as the contract there terminates.’

  ‘How does he know this?’

  ‘His mother told him. They would get back to their house at Kolkata as soon as his father returns.’

  So she has done well with her story to save the boy from emotional turmoil, but for how long? Avik felt remorse.

  The boy showed the house and ran off saying, ‘I’ve home tasks to do.’

  VI

  Avik now was alone and sensed the depth of his loneliness. The beautiful three storey building stood majestically in front and the wicket of the grill gate was open. The sun had now turned crimson casting orange tinge over the cluster of clouds drifting across the placid mid sky. A sooty nimbus was rising gently up the southern horizon like the ugly head of a demon. It would rain for sure this night, Avik thought. He stretched out his hands and reached for the wicket and withdrew irresolutely. His heart sank as soon as he thought of confronting her. The great city of Kolkata has encountered many stormy movements far more violent and turbulent than the Gorkhaland movement that at a single stroke has peeled the sheen off the glamorous hill city. And Kolkata not withstanding the cyclonic turmoil is still there with its majesty and hidden beauty. Ananya is tolerant and patient indeed but you cannot carry these attributes beyond limit. She’s after all a human being with mind, intelligence and sense of dignity and not a city which has no soul of its own. He resolved to return.

  The station was not far off and he could walk back and get a return train. He turned around and went a few steps back. It would not be justified to return after taking so much trouble to get near to the place only a few steps from where may lead him on to the world he resolved to rediscover only a few minutes back. He again turned for the door and looked intently at the wicket. Just open it, take a few steps and ring the door bell. No I cannot face her, better go back, he thought. But why not try, she may accept me; no she won’t, she cannot after so much injustice and humiliation. But why not face her to see to the end; she may as well forgive and forget, at least considering the future of the child. I can at least get a glimpse of Ananya and above all the sweet child. You ought to have courage to rediscover and to be ready to face whatever comes that way. But things would never be the same; the chasm would never be closed. A ceramic cup cracked could never be repaired. I cannot, my heart is sinking and nerves giving way, I must return. But then what? I m
ust return anyway. The chiaroscuro cast by the bushy kadam tree against the mellow dusk light opened before his eyes a seamless pit of loneliness.

  ‘Mithu, stop your games and sit down to your studies. You’ve plenty home task for tomorrow.’

  The voice floated past Avik’s ears like the sweetest music he’d ever heard. Torrents of reminiscences of the past coursed fast through his mind and all seemed charming as he now was rediscovering. From the knolls and dells of memory, her last words before she had left home struck him like lightning, ‘I strongly believe your illusion around the girl would wear off one day and you’d fall back on me.’ Avik stood motionless and irresolute. The nimbus was now high up; spread around like a dark blanket unfolding and taking up a quarter of the sky and a humid wind blew hard. It would commence raining very soon.